Archive of Our Own

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“He who controls others may be powerful,

but he who has mastered himself is mightier still.”

– Lao Tzu

John Smith stood staring blankly at the rampant chaos below through his penthouse window. His fingers balled into fists within his trouser pockets, wanting nothing more than to release them, to punch a hole through the damned impenetrable glass.His seemingly impenetrable façade was beginning to dissolve.The phone ringing was a blissful interruption.John hoped it was Helen, who had just rung not an hour earlier. He hoped that she, who decided to desert him on a whim, taking their young daughters along for the ride to who knows where, had a change of heart and was turning the car around. That
Helen absconded
to protect their daughters from genetic testing he could understand, however her main justification was much less transparent.It was his fault he had risen through the ranks too quickly, had proven himself all too worthy of his recently elevated status. Simply put, he was so talented, there was nowhere else to go but up.Every carefully orchestrated scheme he devised to keep his family secure had fallen apart. He had no idea how he could possibly cope without them. Who was he supposed to fight for now?The person on the other end of the line was not his wife, either. The call was to notify him that a special visitor had just arrived.He straightened his slumped over spine to his full six feet, a rigid posture aligning as each vertebrae stacked atop the other in a regimental fashion. His lips held in a grim line for several days, John let all warmth drain from his irises and waited next to the elevator. He still had trouble getting used to not having a door to unlock. It dinged and in strode an armed guard, standing erect and saluting the reluctant Reichsmarschall, while another came forward, gruffly pushing someone ahead of him: a slight-framed prisoner steaming with subdued ire.Without question, this was Juliana Crain.
She was garbed in the regulation blue-grey prison jumpsuit; handcuffed, her long, loosened braid trailing over one shoulder. Stray brunette hairs slashed across her face like the fresh cuts that marred its surface. Those injuries were all her fault. She had committed no minor offence to earn them.Her day (or in this case, night) of reckoning had been a long time coming, and they both knew it.The notion of a hunter chasing a hare flitted through his mind. In a fictional world he could play the perpetually frustrated Elmer Fudd to the elusive Resistance angel’s Bugs Bunny, characters which were part of an absurd cartoon reel confiscated and destroyed years before.A quiet laugh threatened to emerge, but he checked himself by biting his cheek so hard it threatened to bleed. He would display nothing short of the icy emptiness that had successfully scattered so many once ethically empowered individuals into submission.John, finger on the elevator button, eyed his nemesis up and down and wordlessly nodded to the guards, who Seig Heiled to him and swiftly disappeared. He idly ran his fingers through his short curls, rolling his head in a circle, prolonging his captive’s trepidation.The feeling – this fear of the unknown that she must be accustomed to by now – radiated from her as much as her goodness, a trait that simultaneously annoyed and unnerved him. For as exulted as John was, he was only human and could thus be affected enough to allow doubt to seep in.He would never forget standing aboard that massive, garishly lit ship as fighter jets shot at the Statue of Liberty. He tried to mask his disgust and sorrow as the great lady crumpled before him amidst the misguided children’s chanting, fireworks bursting to the ironic “Ode to Joy,” and Himmler’s huge, sickening grin and maniacal glee.He recalled the words of command he himself spoke that started it all. It took everything he had not to break his composure.
It was decided once he knew Helen and the girls were lost to him. He needed to vent. But he was afraid to be alone with himself. He also had to deal with his prisoner - on his own terms.John always knew he could be a truly cold bastard. Therefore he was unfazed when the gears in his mind twisted into something sinister.He was a faithful husband, though he had been tempted several times. But there was one woman who made such a strong impression on him, he became almost fixated. He would dream of her involuntarily while cuddling Helen in the night. Her elusiveness tormented him; she got under his skin.Perhaps if he got her out of his system, he wouldn't hate himself as much as he did.As he turned towards Juliana she twisted her head away, nearly smacking him in the face with her errant, tangled braid.He stepped forwards and gripped her by the handcuffs, not harshly, but hardly gently. Pinning his eyes to hers, he was taken aback by the ferocity glaring back at him. He narrowed crystalline green eyes and tugged her closer, cocking his dark eyebrow in satisfaction upon hearing her emit a soft gasp.Her thick lashes were flecked with moisture as she blinked rapidly, breaths heaving through her nostrils like a bull gearing up to break loose.But that wasn’t going to happen tonight.“Welcome to my home, Miss Crain. I hope you enjoy your stay.”Juliana kept her head down and raised her eyes to his, borne with the beautiful but treacherous defiance that could rattle a lesser man’s bones.

“Go to hell,” she half whispered, half growled.
Finally, John had cause to smile and allowed his lips to curl dispassionately. He was really going to enjoy this. He had quite a fun evening planned out for her.“You first, Miss Crain. I insist.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John had released her only to shed his coat and discard his iron cross and tie in his bedroom, leaving his suspenders on over a crisp white shirt. Upon his return, he slowly slid his fingers beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of the suspenders. Juliana watched transfixed as he trailed his thumbs lower and lower…“Come here, Juliana.”She didn’t move. He fixed her with his hollow, arctic eyes.“When I tell you to come, you will obey. You will do whatever I tell you to do. Or else, your friend…Mr. Abendsen…Abe as I’ve now discovered…will have to face the consequences. I have no qualms about calling in the order to inflict a special kind of torment on him. Perhaps I’ll have him shot in that gibberish-spewing mouth of his.”Juliana shuddered and inched forward like skittish a doe.“That’s a good girl. But please, I can’t keep this up all night. And I bet you’re a bit tired, am I right?’She said nothing.He strode up to her and grasped her by the collar, breathing into her neck. “Answer me.”Oh, I see how it is, she thought.“Yes,
I'm rather...tired.”He then took her by the shoulders, and guided her to the dining room table, where he pulled out a chair and shoved her down. If not for the cushion, the abrupt contact might have bruised her.He went to the kitchen and returned with a chilled bottle of Dornfelder and a glass. She stared straight ahead as he effortlessly tore off the cork and poured her a generous amount of the German red wine. He swirled it and lifted it to his nose and inhaled. He pushed the glass in front of Juliana’s face and she pulled away in disgust.“Don't you approve of the wine, Juliana?”When she failed to budge, he grasped her by the back of the head and brought the glass just under her nose. “You don't approve?”She shook her head no.“That’s too bad, because you don’t have a choice in the matter.”He yanked her chin up and brought the glass to her mouth. “Drink.”She reluctantly opened her mouth, but not enough to accommodate all of the dry, sweet liquid. It dribbled down her lips, onto the collar of her jumpsuit.John became inpatient. “Drink it all, damn it,” he demanded. “I don’t care where it lands,” he added, as droplets fell onto the pristine gleaming tabletop.Juliana took immense gulps just to get it over with. All she could think about was her friends and her mission to travel. If only she could train herself to become robotic, she could disassociate enough from the impossible situation she was caught in.She would become whatever he wanted and when he least expected it, she would be gone. She would let him have his fun and then have the last laugh in the end.After the last of the wine had been drained, he pulled the glass away. One hand remained tangled in her hair, while the other moved slowly down her throat and found her pulse points, squeezing ever so carefully. By pure reflex she jumped, and he bent over, lowering his mouth to her ear.“Oh Miss Crain, you’ve stained your uniform.” He grinned maliciously.“It’s fine.”He tightened his hold on her hair, showing her scalp no mercy.“I tell you, it’s not fine. In fact, I think you’re a bit too grungy for my tastes.”She glared at his comment
and was frustrated that he held her head in such a way she was a unable to meet his eyes.“Tell me, Miss Crain…have you soiled yourself?” He slid his hand from her throat to her chest.The implication came across as much more humiliating than the situation called for; he treated her like a child. Only a little wine escaped from her chin and two thin pale burgundy lines marred the collar of her rough jumpsuit. Otherwise, why use that particular phrase?He gently released one button, then two. When she didn’t answer, he lightly bit down on her collarbone, emitting a sharp cry from her.“Miss Crain,” he crooned, against her ear, “Are you in agreement?”She thought about
Hawthorne with no hesitation.“Yes, I have soiled myself.”“Yes, what?” He looked up at her expectantly, with raised eyebrows.Her mind was cloudy, so cloudy. “Erm, yes…Sir?”He
sunk his perfect white teeth
into the
cartilage of her ear.“Ow!”“Oh, you know who I am…”“Yes…Reichsmarschall?” All confidence had eluded her at this point. She was petrified by his proximity to her.“Not tonight.” Her heart thudded beneath her small breasts hidden inside a thin white cotton bra. “Say it with me...” he paused,
poring over her incredulous eyes. “...Yes, John.”“Yes, John, I have soiled myself."He smiled and pulled her up.
“You certainly have.”He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. For a moment Juliana felt elation as he slid the key into the lock and slipped off the shackles. They clattered when they hit the table.She immediately rubbed at her wrists, looking down at the tiles of the floor for some semblance of calm. John chuckled to himself as he grabbed her arm and led her down another hallway, boots stamping their mark over his territory. Juliana struggled to keep pace with him.
At the very end of the hallway, he held her by the back of her jumper and knocked. A conventionally pretty woman in her 20s with black hair and milky skin answered. She was clad in a maid’s uniform, hands folded before her wearing a gentle smile.
What in the world?
“Ah, Miss Crain. Meet Meghan, my maid Bridget’s discreet cousin. She will be taking special care of you this evening to prepare you for the…festivities.” He had an awful gleam in his eyes.Juliana’s eyes widened as she took in a modern yet enormous bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles. The room was overwhelmingly imbued with some sort of warm, exotic perfume…vanilla…patchouli? It was very inviting, she had to admit. But this was no romantic gesture.John pushed her into the room as Meghan held the door open.“Scrub up well. You smell like a gutter rat. I want you clean – every, every part of you.” His eyes glowed a lush, dangerous forest in the candlelight.“Every part, John?” she dared to interject.“Everything,” he said, dragging out the syllables as effortlessly as he exhaled cigarette smoke.She gulped.“Don’t be shy. Meghan knows what to do, don’t you?”The maid acquiesced with a practiced nod.“There you go. Nothing to fear.”Her skin screamed for soap, not having properly bathed since her stay at Sabra; well, properly bathed according to standards in the neutral zone.
John nodded his head toward a large black shopping bag situated on the vanity table. “When you’re done, Meghan will help you into your new clothes.”He
bought her clothes, too?
This was getting to be so strange.He stepped in and gripped her chin once more. “What do you say for my generosity, Juliana?” he rasped. Just then she noticed his own smell. As heady as his eyes: smoke;
stress sweat; resin.“Thank you, John.”

Thank you for the soothing bath that may just help me focus my mind enough get me the fuck out of here.
“I’ll give you half an hour. If you’re not ready by then, I’ll come and fetch you myself.” He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “And believe me, we wouldn’t want that to happen.”Juliana knew his casual demeanor to be a ruse – she always saw right through him.“I’ll be ready, John. I promise,” she replied staring at her raw, reddened wrists.“I very much look forward to it,” he replied with a disturbing lilt to his voice. And he shut the door, leaving Juliana alone with the maid.God knows if she could trust her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

However kindly and well-meaning Meghan was, it was nonetheless an entirely degrading experience.After being stripped naked, Juliana was led to the steaming bath. As she was a little unsteady due to the wine, not to mention her electroshock treatment that morning, she let Meghan carefully guide her into the deep gilded porcelain tub, her small hands wrapped around Juliana's slender waist.She tentatively sunk into the water, judging it to be the ideal temperature. Minutes later, Juliana watched each fluffy pile of bubbles float beyond her, along with any thoughts of her disastrous spy mission in the Poconos.The warmth cocooned her weary limbs and, frustratingly, she began to luxuriate in the experience of having her hair scrubbed and massaged with high-end shampoo. After all, who knew when she would ever get to experience such generosity again?Regardless, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The fragrance reminded her vaguely of what a courtesan might wear in ancient Egypt. She concentrated on the stillness of the water, the weightlessness of her limbs. She leaned her head back as Meghan started to rinse away the suds.How could this possibly be construed as hell?Her mind started to drift further and further away from reality as soothing water was poured over her head repeatedly. She was getting close, so close to finding a way out of the dungeon known as the GNR.Incessant knocking broke through her reverie, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.“I hope you haven’t drowned in there, Miss Crain.” The sarcasm was dreadful under the circumstances. “You have ten minutes, or else I’m going to come in there and finish the job.”When no further comment was made, Juliana reached for the thick bar of triple-milled soap. “It’s ok, I can manage from here.”“Of course,” Meghan replied perkily.Juliana hurriedly lathered every part of herself, but against his 'rules' omitted
her privates in favor of plain, fresh water from the tap. Her wrists were slightly tender and whatever perfumed the water irritated the marks, but she pushed through the pain and gingerly rose out of the tub. Meghan immediately helped her step out and patted her dry with a plush towel of the highest quality as Juliana wrung out her mass of hair.Next came the scented oils, which were rubbed into her skin with deft precision, avoiding her most sensitive areas. When the maid placed her hands atop her rear, Juliana squirmed at the intrusion.“Sorry,” the young maid whispered, kneading the oil in. Was she supposed to play Cleopatra today?Meghan wasn’t finished. Perfume was spritzed all over her skin, to intensify the sweet yet potent musk. This was not something Juliana would usually wear. She favored subtle floral fragrances such as lavender or something light and fresh. Due to her relative poverty as of late, she now wore nothing at all.She began to pin her damp hair atop her head, but Meghan stopped her.“Your hair must be worn down in a braid, as before. Reichsmarschall Smith’s orders.” The braid was redone and secured with a silky black ribbon.When the contents of the bag were finally revealed, her mouth fell open in awe.
Juliana knew not to question just how he managed to procure such items at this time of night (unless he had them hidden away already, though that was highly unlikely). Her stomach tightened as Meghan pulled out the contents in quick succession.John Smith was quite the pervert.After being successfully trussed up, the maid told her to wait and returned quickly with another box. Juliana’s jaw dropped when she peeled back the black and gold striped tissue paper. Even her legs started to quake.In addition, he was undoubtedly a sadist. What else could one expect from the head of the Greater Nazi Reich of North America?Through with her duties, Meghan had Juliana sit at the vanity table as she opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Low conversation, soft and gruff voices, words undecipherable.“Thank you. Be assured you will be highly compensated.” The unmistakable rasp of her captor.“It was a pleasure, sir.” The elevator dinged once more.She was alone again. With him. And his deranged plans, whatever they were.
There was no time to collect her thoughts, nor even to marvel at the devilish creation she was attired in as the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open. But no one was on the other side. But then, footsteps.“Time for inspection, Miss Crain.”Juliana gripped the arms of the ornate vanity chair to steady herself. This was going to be so humiliating. She rose and took a small step forward and tottered. She held onto the vanity and straightened her back and literally pushed herself toward the door.“Miss Crain?” He sounded impatient as always. What did this insane man want from her?She peeked out and, noticing his eyes widen, immediately lowered hers to her body. Whatever was going to happen, she wanted to get it over with. Right now, luck was eluding her.John stood with his hands in both pockets once more, head cocked to the side as he let out a low whistle. His eyebrows quirked up, betraying his excitement. In all his fantasies, nothing could have prepared him for this stunning vision. He blinked a couple times and knit his brows together.“Why are you cowering in the doorway?” When he received no response, he smirked a little and pointed at her shoes. He sniffed out a laugh. “I could see why those might be problematic.”Juliana cringed.Of course she was having trouble with the five inch black spiked stilettos. They had rounded toes, a slight platform, and were adorned with a tiny bow in the center. She was used to wearing flats or low-heeled shoes, another fact he had long filed away in that vindictive part of his brain that was always poised to catch her.Too late, she realized the full extent of his plans.He turned his palm over and crooked his index finger toward him.“Walk towards me, Miss Crain. Stand right
over here,” he pointed.She placed a tentative foot on the ground and willed herself not to fall. The floor proved to be slightly slippery. But she managed to move about two feet away from the door. She stood with her arms at her sides, a blush of shame starting to creep across her face and down her chest.John leisurely perused her taut body from all sides, boots tapping against the tiles with every stoic turn. “Yes, I knew you would do this justice. Better than I could have ever imagined...” he trailed off.The outfit was nothing short of exquisite, however it was leagues away from the skirt, blouse and sensible shoes she had expected. Instead she had been garbed in a low-cut bra made of dusky blue satin, covered with black lace. The cut was so low it nearly exposed her nipples; it certainly grazed them enough.There were also matching panties, which exposed half of her small, perky rear, as well as a garter belt and black fishnet stockings. A slim leather choker encircled her neck. It had a strange metal piece dangling off of it, but Juliana paid no attention to that as she concentrated on not falling and twisting an ankle.Now positioned directly in front of her, John moved incrementally closer and caressed her arms, up and down, up and down, lightly scratching the surface of her slick skin. His eager fingertips stroked over her exposed navel in a figure 8 pattern and started to trail lower.Juliana bit her lip at the inevitable intrusion. He licked his lips and grinned when his roving hand stopped right above her mound. His other hand rose to her neck, deftly slipping two fingers inside the choker and tugging her head forward, almost causing her to lose her balance entirely.Tiger-like eyes locked into hers, absorbing the fear and confusion swirling inside them. It energized him.Juliana couldn't help but squeeze her other lips together, tightly. She opened her mouth in wonder - at her body's admission of defeat.She was so mesmerized that she barely noticed him attaching a long chain to her choker. Or, rather, her collar. Juliana instinctively began to struggle as a surge of adrenaline pulsed through her, which only made
John tighten his hold on the chain. He lifted a finger to her
forehead and stroked across the cut. She hissed.“Ooh, that must hurt,”
he
teased. "But I can't pretend to care how - or what- you feel, Miss Crain."She wanted to turn her face away, but she wouldn't put it past him to slap her to keep her in line. Instead she met his eyes whenever possible.His body mere inches away, Juliana noted that the two top buttons had been released on his shirt; wisps of dark hair peeked through. He wore no undershirt. His particular odor, which was far from unpleasant, almost overwhelmed her – there was a cohesiveness between the blatantly masculine vetiver, smoke, cedar (she had no idea what the hell it was – she only guessed) and the sultry mixture of vanilla and amber slathered all over her own skin.It felt primal and unwanted.John Smith read her thoughts entirely. He lowered his head to her ear, placing a light kiss next to the onyx stud adorning her earlobe, perhaps the most perplexing of the lot.“You’re right. We do smell good together. I did that on purpose, you know,” he added in a tantalizing whisper. With that he wrapped his hands around the chain once, twice, turned around on his heel, and marched Juliana down the hallway.She tottered behind obediently. And planned.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John came to an abrupt halt at the end of the hallway and turned.“I really appreciate your willingness to participate, Miss Crain. Still, you being who you are, someone who has an awful tendency to poke her nose where it shouldn’t belong, must have some questions as to why I brought you here.”He looked at her directly, betraying nothing except for a slight tic at the corner of his lip. “So, if there’s anything – anything at all you wish to know – now is the time to ask. Because you won’t have another opportunity to do so.”Juliana stood rubbing her arm nervously. ”What’s that supposed to mean, John? Or shall I say Oberst – ““Reichsmarschall," he corrected. "Supreme Commander of the North American Reich." The absurd title rolled across his tongue effortlessly.“Right. But you didn’t answer my question.”He tilted his head as if he didn’t hear her. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”She ground down on her teeth. “You didn’t answer my question, John.”“Ah, well.” He shoved one hand in his pocket and stared at the ground while the other tested the weight of the chain with the other. “You will learn soon enough.”His eyes darted towards a generic landscape situated on the wall behind her. Just one of many that adorned his new Manhattan abode. Something that would seem more appropriate in a doctor’s office waiting area. His eyes flicked back to her. “Next question.”She grew more determined. “Why was I removed from my cell?”“Because, Miss Crain, I’ve had a tedious, exhausting day. Which, granted, is saying something for a man in my position. But more on that later.”It was aggravating how evasive he was being. Typical Nazi; typical John Smith. All his answers required a follow-up question. She sensed she was running out of time. One subject in particular troubled her, a glaringly obvious one, having very little to do with her current predicament. Or so she thought.“Where are Helen and the children, John?”“Not here at the moment,” he replied tersely.She was tugged forward with a slight tension, the result of John’s grip tightening around the length of chain with enough pressure to turn his knuckles chalk white. He fixed her with a glare and she instinctively stepped back. She could have murdered his dog for all the untapped fury it contained. No more family pet. No family around.Alone with John Smith. She gulped at her stupidity.
In the next instant she found herself pinned between his body and the wall.The tic was more pronounced and his cheekbones seemed to jut out at her. Smooth, menacing marble. The entryway, the tiles, his face. He blended in with his cold surroundings perfectly. And yet there was flesh and bone anchoring the protrusions to his model-perfect, albeit aging features. Warmth, like any other human.She had an urge to lift her fingers to his skin to test the realness of it, but she wouldn’t dare. His eyes were, inconceivably, warm-hued, golden green leaves tinged with the first hints of autumn, the whites blindingly bright. The large, hooded orbs bore into hers as if seeking admission somewhere any ordinary Nazi would waltz in without a care.“You get one more question, Miss Crain. And you’d better make it count.”She couldn’t disappoint.“Where’s your soul, John?” she spat. He scoffed and shook his head.“I don’t know how you ever passed the Auxiliary Citizenship Test, Miss Crain. There’s no religion in the Reich! When you die, you’re dead.” He acted as if this were some sort of joke.“Thomas,” she uttered under her breath, though she never meant his name to be voiced aloud. Nonetheless, John had heard her as if she screamed his name. He pressed her cheek into the wall forcefully. Juliana winced as a sense of foreboding rattled her bones.It was the first time she truly feared for her life since being prodded through the elevator. She tried to focus on the bronze stallion in her line of vision as he lowered his mouth to her ear.“Never talk about my family,” he warned in that corpse-cold manner of his. “They are off-limits for discussion. You are never to mention them again. Never. Do you understand?” She nodded as much as she could.“Yes. Yes, John.” She wanted to cry and struggled to hold back tears.“Now,” he growled, placing disturbingly gentle kisses along her hairline, flicking his tongue at the skin beneath her earlobe.
She jumped, imaging he would sink his teeth in as before. John laughed as he recognized her trepidation, kissing down her neck, a hand sliding from her cheek downward. His heavy body molded against her slight frame and her nipples sprung to attention against their own accord. Too sexually attuned for her own good, she tried to push her breasts into his hand when he reached the center of the lacy bra.But instead of grabbing for the uplifted mounds, he splayed his hand across the center.He was feeling for her heartbeat. What was he about? She felt him sigh into the join of her neck and shoulder.“Get down on your knees.”John released his hold on her and she sank down onto the dark grey marble, more graceful than she had anticipated. She bowed her head in the manner she had grown accustomed to as a subservient white woman in the Japanese Pacific States.He titled her chin up and stared down at her striking, yet delicate countenance, reveling in the feel of the cleft in her chin. The oddest of features to be attracted to.“Miss Crain…Juliana. I am not the monster you imagine me to be. And contrary to what you’re likely thinking, I am not going to kill you.”A breath she hadn’t realized she had held for so many hours came out in a whoosh.“No, that is not what you’re here for.” He stroked the side of her face. “I believe a smart girl like you would be able to comprehend a suitable alternative punishment for all your misdeeds.” He crouched down to meet her at eye level.“There are…things, activities I chose not to engage in with my wife. Make no mistake, I am no novice. There were women long before Helen and I got together who would readily satisfy my particular cravings. You see, Miss Crain, I always had it in me to be rather...controlling.”Juliana felt her thighs quake at every rasping utterance from what she now noticed was a pleasingly soft mouth, which slowly curved into a smirk. But the way in which he had spoken that last word – controlling – had done her in. Her pert nipples stood out more prominently in anticipation of the inevitable. She slowly brought her legs together.John sensed her intentions and immediately jerked them apart.He smiled because he was right about her.
There was something sacred about his natural dominance. When the world was collapsing around him, especially at this moment when there was no longer anything, or anyone, to anchor himself to, this guiding force was his last resort. And she, Juliana Crain, was to be that temporary anchor. A savior while he was lost at sea, preventing him from drowning in his own despair.And he would hold onto her through control. Always control. He could not relinquish it. He wouldn’t know how to survive otherwise.The scenario wasn’t completely unplanned. It played in his mind during lost moments, that record hidden away until a particular mood struck him to sway to the music alone and free.He loved Helen and always would. But lately his dreams did not contain her laugh, her smile, or her body. When they didn’t include Helen, or world domination, or Thomas, or flashbacks of the barbarous acts he committed in Cincinnati, they featured a calmly defiant woman that made him weak with desire to conquer her so thoroughly it would make her head spin.Her sleek, slender curves made her somehow more dangerous to him. She moved about with a catlike elegance, stark blue feline eyes and dark waves cascading over her shoulders. She was a free spirit he could never quite catch, but in his mind he always did.He always, always found her and kept her locked away so she could never escape. But when he awoke, he knew she was still out there at large, running from something much bigger than herself. Seeking information about worlds he knew nothing about, until recently. Working in tandem with the Resistance to demolish his carefully constructed way of life.Beyond this burden of attraction, he was intensely compelled to obliterate the impotence he felt over his inability to protect his lifeblood - his family. In Juliana’s own words, another failure. A man who raised his children to reject physical defects. In John’s eyes, Thomas was perfect. In the Reich, he was a “useless eater,” a blight on society.In death, he would remain golden boy whose likeness was cemented in the minds and hearts of children who could never imagine a world where having an illness or disability did not always mean a death sentence. The tragedy of the past twenty years or so boiled his blood.And stirred it.
John's left hand held Juliana by the waist while his right wandered about her thigh, gliding upwards, taunting her with the possibility of further exploration, but he never lingered. Massaging the straining muscles of her thigh through the fishnets, he was taken back to nights spent idling the time away at a fancy cabaret nightclub he would often frequent with comrades in Berlin while on official business; the dancers wore them well.He deliberately chose that particular set of lingerie to make her squirm – and he, as well. His tastes ran darker than what most fine women’s department stores would be able to accommodate. But he had his connections. As for the shoes…well she couldn’t very well run away from him in those now, could she?He looked up at her and felt a thrill when he saw her lips quivering. It betrayed what was surely transpiring beneath the lacy blue underwear that matched her eyes almost exactly.Leaning a hairsbreadth away from her mouth, he whispered, “I think a girl like you would really take to becoming a submissive.” She blinked in wonder, horror. He couldn’t tell. The chain momentarily forgotten, he inched his face closer, an infinitesimal amount. “Mine in particular,” John uttered shamelessly. “Tell me you feel the same.”His eyes then bore into hers, intruding. She was still trying to process the fact that John Smith wanted her in that way. The ever exalted Reichsmarschall. There was something fizzling between them when they first met, but she refused to name the feeling, the frustrating sensation (whatever it was) because it just couldn't happen.
Her mind protested in vain as her mouth betrayed her. “Yes, John, I want it.”His throat bobbed and he started to trail his fingers up her forearms, the tiny hairs shooting to attention. “I’m pleased to hear it. " After a pause he added, "I do also have a penchant for pet names.”Her eyes widened. He was truly, truly a pervert of the first order.“Some I prefer more than others,” he continued, cock twitching at the very idea of his dreams unfolding into reality, at the worst possible moment in his broken life. “Seeing as tonight is a special occasion, I think it’s fitting that you choose.” His teeth grazed her bare shoulder lightly. “It’s the only choice you’ve got. You have ten seconds, or else…Mr. Abendsen…”His firm lips traversed the line of her neck, kissing and nipping. “Hurry, hurry, Miss Crain.” He suckled at her earlobe as if it were a ripe nipple.Juliana squeezed her eyes shut.
“Slut."
Oh God.

Then she felt him smile against her skin, a wide smile with teeth.
“Good choice,” he growled into her ear with blatant approval.She felt him fumble with the choker. Blissfully, he had released the chain. Perhaps this would not turn out to be such an ordeal after all. She began to rise. He deftly wrapped his large hand around her still wet strands and shoved her back down to the floor. She landed on her palms with a distinct smack.“Uh uh. Down on all fours,” he ordered gruffly and folded his arms across his chest. “Now crawl to me, you conniving little slut.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Her stomach fell just as surely as her palms hit the ground with a thud. The suddenness of the order astounded her. And no less, the words.He had removed her leash, yet it was clear she was still to act as a pet of sorts.Juliana’s eyes burned as she stared up at John, letting herself absorb the words of her tormentor, who gazed upon her with a completely inscrutable expression.As one of the only lights left on in the apartment was next to the elevator, John's form appeared half shrouded.
A figure split down the middle – bright, with harsh, yet distinct edges, or dark, with shards of sparkling moonlight breaking through the gloom.
She desperately wanted to defy him, to tell him no. But she wouldn’t be able to handle the combined weight of guilt and poisonous regret if anything befell her dear friend because of her
persistent vendetta against the man currently in front of her, mocking her with raised eyebrows.John
was a truly depraved individual. Were he an ordinary man, he would have been evaporated by now.But John Smith was not an ordinary man.
At least he promised not to kill her. But this wouldn’t be the first time he lied. For instance, he led Joe to believe Juliana was dead, when in reality she was biding her time as a housewife in training in the Reich.
She peered at the fresh wound on top of her hand, now shielded by two thin bandages. She was surprised John hadn’t poured lye all over it, as well as the rest of her battle marks.He might not snuff out her life, but what was preventing him from inflicting horrific levels of pain and potential disfigurement upon her? Psychologically tormenting her until she suffered a mental breakdown? She wondered what other devious implements he had stocked away in the home he shared with his family.She didn’t hesitate. One palm before the other, and so on.
John had his hands shoved in his pockets once again, fiddling with the lining. He backed up casually, knowing every inch of his new home already. Not that it was difficult to get around. So many right angles.He couldn’t believe the words that just tumbled out of his mouth. Demanding that Juliana Crain crawl to him was anything but premeditated. But when he felt her flesh under his fingers, soft skin beneath garments he knew she’d never be able to afford – or find – he wanted to claim her in the most animal way, as he did in his dreams.
And now she was here, his for the evening. Beyond that…well, John hadn’t planned that far ahead. He was not thinking clearly and hadn’t been since viewing that film featuring Thomas.Thomas, a happy, carefree teenager. Alive.
Himself, jovial and spontaneous.
The reel's existence scrambled his brain.
It just didn't make any sense.Cigarettes had not calmed the tremors in his heart. It was right that he ride out the nightmares in his study because Helen would never be able to sleep otherwise. And one of them had to be a fully functioning parent.Helen. Jennifer. Amy. Jahr fucking Null. The dismantling of New York, his family, his life, all at once. He was a prisoner to a manipulative regime; through and through, a slave to his blindly unwavering ambition that got him nowhere but a lonely penthouse with a sanctimonious convict for company.But... he
adored the look of Juliana on her knees,
slinking towards him like a pretty koi fish with her glowing, glistening skin. He caught a sigh in the back of his throat drinking in her lithe muscles, slightly golden skin, narrow hips swaying, that fine little ass barely covered.As Juliana moved, she felt the pull of the satin garters, the coolness of the tiles rising up to meet her exposed belly. Her braid
clung to
one side of her cheek.“Look at me, nothing else,” he said with quick shake of his head and he felt a jolt in his gut.Warm aftershocks trickled downward, teasing his athletic thighs and the space in between. John willed the tent in his trousers to recede by imagining anything dreadfully bland: the pile of paperwork stacked on his desk; cornflakes; celery. He idly clasped his hands in front of his growing fascination with her.“You know, being my...slut…has tremendous advantages, namely the opportunity to serve the highest ranking Nazi official in the entire continent. There’s some real bragging rights in there, I assure you.”That pencil-cracking smirk.Bile rose. She nearly paused to rake her short nails across the tiles in pure rage. It must have shown on her face because John stopped dead in his tracks,
staring down at her. Specifically, at how her braid faintly swayed against her left breast after she stilled.“Having second thoughts? They should have crossed your mind after you escaped from the Reich, then eluded the Kempeitai." He paused and fixed her with such a glower. “You murdered Joe Blake."
She sucked in a breath. She did indeed kill him. But it wasn’t like that.After
encountering a Reich-recycled version of Joe, she made the split second decision as soon as she learned she was in danger. The same could be said of the time she killed Trudy's father.John continued, “You killed at least half a dozen guards in both the GNR and JPS, and then you spied on a top-secret Reich experiment.”Her eyes couldn’t help but drift to the golden eagle, wings spread in warning welcome to what had to be one of hell’s entryways.
John's boots rapidly descended upon her.
Juliana swiveled her eyes down.“That’s right, eyes up front,” added an increasingly agitated John. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He tilted her chin up. “What do you have to say to me, slut?”“Forgive me, John,” she responded hopefully.“There is no religion -”“I apologize, John.”“For…?”“I apologize for attempting to decipher just what sort of hideous creature is hanging directly above me right now, John.”He felt his skin crawl a little. So, she had acknowledged it. A smug banner any interior decorator worth their salt would describe as tastefully boisterous. Juliana no doubt despised it – but she didn’t have to live with its watchful, beady eyes, day in and day out.He unquestionably hated the miniature monstrosity more than she did.Looking down at her hands delicately resting upon the floor, the poised arch of her back, her clawed up face, John allowed the most primal, depraved urges to overthrow rationality.Deep brown lashes whipped wing-like while penetrating eyes devoured her nubile body. “I did wonder what you might have thought of the décor. Not up to your standards, I take it? “Tisk tisk..sluts are not supposed to have standards. They fuck anyone and anything. They do,” he nodded slightly.The smooth intensity in those vulgar words startled her immensely.A few strands of hair chose that exact moment to flop down over her eye. She tried to blow them away discretely, but that only triggered more fickle pieces to fall out of formation like wispy dominoes.John leaned close to her face. “Sluts have such messy hair.” Her eyes reminded him of cut Pacific sea glass. Pondering their exact hue, he gathered each strand into a single lock that he glided through the tips of his thumb and forefinger, twirling it at the end and tucking it securely behind her ear.“See? No standards. You’re going to make a wonderful plaything,” he teased, stroking her plump red lips with two fingers from top to bottom. His thumb gently tugged on her lower lip.“But first, crawl.” Sweet cinnamon and cigarettes wafted against her mouth.
Never once did they break eye contact with each other - it was especially challenging to tear one's eyes away from John's sultrily saturated depths. An exercise in futility, as Juliana discovered.She urged herself to imagine him as a serpent, a demon, a goblin. But nothing could prevent the evidence of her lust from sliding onto the cotton gusset of her panties.After a short four meters, she entered the living room, sparse and utilitarian compared to the Smith’s Long Island home, with its well-tread staircase, inviting, plush furniture and harmonious hedges. John stopped and pointed to an area on the carpet with indentations where the small coffee table used to be.The towering GNR Headquarters played voyeur from a distance.Her ears perked up and tuned into the background noise. Sirens, shouting. Gunfire?
“Right here – do not go any further,” John broke in.Heaven was when her sore knees traded hard for soft, nestled in the yarn of an area rug. She propelled herself forwards eagerly until he yelled at her to stop.
The abandoned coffee table and some stiff-backed arm chairs had been hastily shoved to the side.John faced the windows and noted the side table with all the favorite family photos. He turned them over slowly, saving Thomas’ for last. He held it while staring at the fires burning under the watchful eyes of the swastika of the GNR headquarters, lit like a permanent warning beacon. He shuddered as he took one last look at his boy’s photo and turned the pewter frame face down.Placing his hands behind his back he allowed the unresolved rage and fear to meld inside until they pushed him even taller.
“Do you recall how I told you earlier that your usefulness was about to run out?”She didn’t respond.“Well, slut?”“Yes, John. I recall,” she replied with robotic haste.Though his footsteps were muffled by the carpet, the impeccably shined boots were the stuff of many a nightmare for Juliana. They stopped beside her. Her braid was yanked back forcefully but not enough to pull at her scalp unduly.“This here is quite useful.”John wound the twisted section around his palm three times, marveling at how it had gotten so very long since they last met, some six months ago. His lips lingered over the wet tip of the braid, the ebony satin ribbon. He inhaled; there was the faintest hint of coconut. He dropped her hair, letting his left hand drift over her spine."You may be of some great use to me yet.”His fingers traced her terrible raised scars. Suddenly, he pulled her up by the hips and tiled her tailbone such that her spine lay perfectly flat. All her seductive curvatures ironed out for a reeducation of sorts.“Bow your head. Keep your back perfectly straight. Look down at the carpet. Don’t let me see you taking your eyes off of it.” He barked out the orders with military precision.Juliana yelped at the feel of something round and rather cold being placed below her shoulder blades. John leaned over and a familiar gurgling drifted to her ears. He carefully poured the aromatic Dornfelder into the crystal wine glass, stopping a little higher than halfway.“Remain still.” She shivered.
“Don’t let it tip over now. I won’t tolerate any spills on this rug.” He came up to her ear. “You also run the risk of ruining that trampy outfit of yours.”He slipped a finger beneath one of the bra straps. Fearing he would snap it, Juliana squeezed her abdominal muscles tight, focusing on the task at hand.
Her only hope of making it through, though it went against her value system entirely, was to submit willingly and completely to the Reichsmarschall. Life in the Japanese Pacific States had taught her well. Thankfully, this man would never understand to what extent her strict Aikido lessons had prepared her for fights against unyielding opponents.John’s boots were very close to her face. She could tell by the overpowering aroma of leather even if she didn’t see them standing guard out of the corner of her eye. The scent was not unpleasant.There was something about this prolonged punishment, having to keep absolutely still while posing as a low table, eyes trained on the ostentatious black, red and tan floral rug, that caused a familiar pulsating sensation around her clit.The boots strode away; their indescribable ambient scent taunting her.He returned ten minutes later, after having made a call to check in on Himmler’s status. He was in a pensive mood."Move yourself a few inches to the right.”She did as instructed. John sunk to his knees behind her, reaching out to caress a frilled panty leg. Juliana went to turn her head to see what he intended.“What did I say about ‘eyes up front’?” He flicked at her earlobe. “This is for my eyes only,” he rasped. “If you can’t help peeking, I have a remedy for that.”He proceeded to run his hands down the back seam of the stockings as he had longed to do for so long.John licked and kissed the sweet-scented skin behind her thighs. Cupping her firm, round cheeks, barely larger than his hands; tightening his hold as he lowered his face to take in her essence. Grasping her legs, he nudged his nose along her slit, inhaling with pleasure.She bucked as only a statue could.John finally removed the glass, but Juliana’s self-satisfaction was once again replaced by degradation after he reached under and passed the pads of his fingers over a nipple before tweaking it. She let out a mild shriek as pain flashed through her.“Our poor little table slut is afraid to get her sexy legs wet, is that it?
How unfortunate.”He stood and draped his long frame over the elegant striped silk couch with the wine in his hand, not caring if any of it splattered anywhere (she was another matter altogether).“I’ll have her dripping in no time,’’ he muttered into the wine glass as he unceremoniously rested his feet on Juliana’s back, crossing one boot over the other. The sudden heftiness nearly buckled her spine, but she kept herself level.Breathing. Counting. Concentrating.
Having traded the alcohol for another vice, John took a long drag and exhaled thoughtfully.“Let me tell you about my day, Miss Crain.” He took another slow puff, regarding his cigarette."Yes, I think it's best I reserve your other name for truly special activities. Anyway, this morning I made quite the discovery ..."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"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 knick knacks 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. This was all his imagination's doing. He 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 accepted the glass with great reluctance and 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 from her vagabond way of life, 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. Don't 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 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 cracked open just wide enough to feed the chain through, more as a method of exerting control, rather than a means of preventing escape (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..." she protested half-hardheartedly. His hands familiarized themselves with her form, not used to petite.

He watched her flop around like a fish out of water, handcuffs damaging the wood with every frantic twist and turn. 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,” licking 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
fuck
was
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.
But now was not the time for that. She needed to learn her place in this situation.
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.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

He didn’t know he was seeking it. A smile was all it took. Juliana was being so obedient and he knew he had her in his thrall at last. A feeling of almost euphoria made him do the unthinkable.When John bit into her lower lip, she gave back immediately, rubbing her mouth against his and then withdrawing a bit, instigating. He growled and pried her lips open insistently, latching onto her tongue, sucking on the sensitive tip. She moaned as he tugged and prodded.John kissed her hungrily, practically laying on the ground on his right side, holding her head to his as if he were lost at sea.He no choice but to hold on – control was everything.After another minute of testing and exploring, he pulled back, panting, his snow white shirt disheveled beneath his suspenders, collar crumpled. His overheated skin intensified the warm smokiness in the cologne he wore. The color in his cheeks was heightened, setting off his extraordinary cheekbones.But his eyes were glittering darkly, unsettling.“Oh what a hot little slut you are, Miss Crain. With such a hot, tempting mouth,” he rasped, letting out a ragged sigh as he dusted his fingers over the cleft in her chin.It had always been her most despised feature, aside from her small breasts.His breath tingled the hairs of her ear. “Also, extremely useful.”She gulped. He noticed her every response and traced the line of her throat, admiring how the slight movement rippled against the supple leather of the collar. It was infuriating how rapidly his balls tightened at the sight of that simple action alone.He had to admit – a bound Juliana Crain was truly a work of art. He would gladly replace the portrait of Himmler in his office with one of her painted like this.However, she couldn’t stay tied in that position for too much longer – her servitude was not yet complete.Indeed, when would all this end?John wordlessly worked at releasing her from the ropes around her wrists and untwisted her panties from her ankles. He let her rotate her hands around to restore circulation while he massaged her delicate ankles.Afterwards, he locked eyes with hers and
commanded her to lower her hands to her sides and not to move them under any circumstances.Again, she automatically obeyed. He was privately thrilled.The panties were guided up her legs. Juliana lifted her hips so he could glide the sheer lacy undergarment into place above the garter belt that accentuated the tautness of her stomach.She had the body of a prey animal, adapted for running, climbing, and doing whatever else was necessary to escape at a moment’s notice. The core strength she must have exerted for her to be able to act as his own personal footstool astounded him.
He lifted one of her legs, hands stroking beautiful calves that begged to be touched. He nudged her stockings with his nose, pushing at the fabric.
She smelled like a goddess, a vixen from an ancient land that reemerged in 1930s Berlin and embodied the essence of von Sternberg’s blaue Engel.The hands capable enough to snap a neck or pull a trigger were gentle yet persistent as they roamed her silken inner thighs.And then...Her natural aroma admitted everything, negating the need for further investigation. But this was no ordinary situation. His captive needed to confess or suffer dire consequences.Juliana’s legs began to shake and he pressed a hand on her abdomen to hold her in place. With his stiff, wet tongue John licked her slit back to front, front to back, occasionally probing deeper.He abruptly closed his mouth over the entirety of her clit, much as he had done to her lips earlier – fully, completely. He sucked firmly, demonstratively, as if he owned every inch of her. As she was a prisoner of the Reich, he did in a way.“Ahhh...fuck!”“Do tell, Miss Crain.”He pulled the satin and lace taut over her clit and exhaled his heated, cinnamon-tinged breath over it, pushing his thumb against her center, reinforcing the obstacle. Soon he replaced his thumb with his tongue, which he thrust against the spot repeatedly.Juliana writhed under him, biting her lip, instinctively grabbing for the hands clinging to her hips in covert possession. John looked up at her and smirked.She joined in, even giggling a little; one had to in order to endure the surrealness of the situation: Reichsmarschall John Smith in all his glory, lewdly perched between her thighs, gazing at her with unrepentant lasciviousness.In the next few seconds, Juliana found herself with him straddling her body, wrists pinned on either side of her head.Instead of screaming, she allowed her lips to curve seductively. John was momentarily tempted to ask if she wished for a ball of yarn to play with.Just then, he was taken completely off-guard as Juliana knocked him from his perch with an explosive thrust of her hips. She simultaneously swung both arms to her sides as if making a half snow-angel, whipping her head to the left.John’s pleasant thoughts disintegrated as he was pitched forward in direct line with the coffee table. He lost his grip on her wrists as he hastened to stabilize himself.While this was happening, Juliana hugged her body to his rigid torso lightning-fast, clinging and climbing. She seized his left arm and tossed him onto his back. He fell with a grunt."Fucking bitch!" he spat under his breath, unable to comprehend the past ten seconds.She took off the stilettos and bolted down the hall, stopping halfway to pelt one at his head when his disorientated form began to rise from the carpet. The spiked heel narrowly skirted past his neck.Juliana cursed herself for forgetting about the wine bottle as she turned and fled down the dim hallway.Once cosseted inside the bathroom, she connected the simple latch lock. She quickly filled a tumbler with tap water, sloshed it around her mouth and spit, repeating the action until she could no longer taste the unpleasant concoction. She then guzzled down as much as she could to quench her thirst and steady her nerves.Her eyes flicked to the left of the vanity, where her stained jumpsuit rested atop a short stool, canvas slippers hidden beneath.Formulating a plan quickly, an unfortunate memory resurfaced.Quietly, mechanically, she smashed the heel of the stiletto not launched at John Smith’s head into the front of a long-handled silver mirror. It was hefty and featured a heart filigree pattern; more than likely an obscenely expensive purchase. A matching hairbrush lay next to a tin of dusting powder, its bristles interspersed with strawberry blonde hairs.Of course the set belonged to his wife. Overriding any guilt she felt over breaking such a valued object was the knowledge that, were Helen in her predicament, she wouldn’t hesitate to do the very same thing.Juliana hurriedly pushed out the glass, selected a small, jagged piece for herself and threw the rest in the wastebasket.
Boots stormed down the hall. Then, silence.She braced herself, eyes focused on the object in her hand, willing it not to shake.Unfortunately, the chair she had wedged beneath the handle for extra security was no match for the impatient, confused rage of John Smith.The sheer force of the kick caused the door to slam against the wall twice. A framed watercolor of a fair-haired maiden gathering edelweiss in a basket slid down the wall and earned a web of cracks when it crashed onto the tile.John materialized as a furious stallion on powerful legs, nostrils flaring, huge droplets of sweat trailing down his back and chest, with a throbbing pain in his shoulder from landing awkwardly on the carpet to prevent himself from colliding with the table leg.Juliana tamped down her fear and doe-like instinct to flee and launched the mirror upwards, but the handle slipped out of her grasp and cut through the air like a lasso wielding a saw.John swore as he ducked his head and pivoted away from the flying deathtrap. It skidded down the hallway.With his back turned, Juliana had ample opportunity for a lethal strike. But she hesitated a split second too long.It was almost as if she wanted to give in.She really was very tired. Exhausted, actually. How could she travel if she was feeling too bone-weary to concentrate?She should have been able to stab him in the very spot he had her support that glass filled with vile German wine – in the middle of the shoulder blades – but something held her back.The piece of mirror fogged up from the anxiety radiating like steam from the surface of her palm. As Juliana’s fine tapered fingertips hovered over the edge, she reminded herself of her unenviable duty: to stop the spread of fascism by whatever means necessary.Before her was a man whose regime got away with murdering undesirable children while his own attended private school and got the chance to make friends, play dress-up…He absolutely disgusted her. She wished he’d turn around already so she could rid the world of yet another Nazi.
He could grab her and bash her head against the sink repeatedly. Drown her. Suffocate her with a hand towel. Scald her. There were oh so many options – so many ways John could dispose of Juliana Crain with his bare hands.The near-fatal object was easily recognizable, as only two things in the entire room had long, ornate silver handles.The soul-crushing phone call resurfaced. All forty seconds of it (he’d estimated).When he lifted his head Juliana made the mistake of meeting a pair of tempestuous eyes, each accompanied by its own low-hanging black cloud.John felt such a surge of adrenaline when he sensed her intense vulnerability that he wondered if what he was experiencing resembled a cocaine high. He never had the pleasure of - or interest in - partaking.It felt so electrifying. Killing never energized him, but exerting dominance did. And sexually, his deep-set alpha masculinity held such potency it might as well be poison gas. His eyes, his hands, even his words – weapons more dangerous than any gun.Every true submissive knew this. Which is why he knew the jig was up with her. Or, it would be shortly.Besides, it was obvious what she attempted to hide from him. It was typed in all capital letters on the second to last line of Joe’s autopsy report. It was necessary to ensure her survival.But he could smell her fear.“Drop it.”One boot stepped forwards and Juliana, quite unexpectedly, lifted the cut glass to her neck, stretched out like a sacrificial swan against her messy braid. At some point the slender black ribbon had escaped.She was not so fortunate that she could magically disentangle herself from this nightmare.One knew not to blindly trust the words of John Smith. His ‘I am not going to kill you’ could be roughly translated to mean ‘I am not going to kill you until I’ve crossed off every single item from my extensive list of perversions.’
Poised to launch a counterattack, John stopped cold at the sight before him.His heart actually dropped. A heavy inertia settled throughout his body and tempered the molten lust surging through his groin.His itinerary for the evening fell off the rails completely.The suggestion of a shift in the atmosphere began with that wicked kiss, which occurred because he idiotically mistook her smile for gratitude, or at the very least some sign she was enjoying herself beyond autonomic responses.So why wasn’t she already lying in a bloody heap on his bathroom floor?Because Juliana Crain was different. No blood belonged on her neck, only that collar – only ever that collar. And maybe, just maybe, she could serve him in a way he never thought possible.She stood right in front of him, as always unfathomably elusive.She had to be bluffing.“You know as well as I do that isn’t a very nice way to go, Miss Crain.”The black clouds lifted above the lush green of John’s eyes, but live wires lay strewn about in the aftermath.Her own, in turn, brightened for a moment, belying her flagging stamina. “No. It isn’t, John.”She stepped forward and attempted to expend all her remaining energy into repeating the same action that proved lethal for Joe. Though for her part, she did lower her aim considerably.But Juliana forgot that John wasn’t Joe. And he was convinced she wasn’t going to kill anyone tonight. Certainly not with any part of the mirror and hairbrush set he gave Helen for their first wedding anniversary, paid for with American dollars, not German marks.John deflected the blow with ease and efficiency, exactly how he would have if anyone tried to maim or murder him. Immediately, both her wrists were seized and held captive in one massive hand.He carefully pried the glass from her fingers and discovered it was shaped vaguely like a tornado.Even though he had lived for a time in the Midwest after the stock market crash, John had never encountered a fully-formed twister before. There was that one time a skimpy funnel cloud had terrorized his family’s vegetable garden for about two minutes before it petered out, but it hardly counted.Holding that tiny piece of reflective glass impressed upon him a mock sensation of that self-destructive roar that he’d suppressed for months. The grief he felt for Thomas alone was beyond oppressive.And the ruminating – it very nearly incapacitated him, constantly having to grapple with the bitter truth that to be a man of such stature meant greater precautions must be taken to prevent (or conceal) whatever liabilities might taint his appointment.He had to accept that his very mortal wife had chosen their very mortal children over him, just to survive. An extremely sobering fact.'And what you can’t conquer, you’ll just destroy' was Juliana’s retort as she mocked the Nazis’ foolish notion they could achieve multi-dimensional supremacy by utilizing a man-made portal.John never intended to participate in the annihilation of unseen universes; or entire populations; or anyone – anything.In that moment, as he confined this spirited (though admittedly broken) woman in his arms, he implored whatever higher power existed – regardless of what he proclaimed about the GNR’s views on religion – to help him make the right decision for the both of them.
He tossed the shard into the trash and set the discarded chair to rights. Before she knew what was happening, Juliana was flipped onto her stomach, over his thighs.
Thwack!
Left cheek, right cheek. Four times each, without pause. Panties pushed over her cheeks, out of the way. Wrists pressed together at the small of her back, lips gasping with the release of pure relief.The
touch that singed but never quite scalded was unexpected.She squirmed fitfully at the loss of contact on her posterior.“Be still, Juliana.”He yanked the material over her crotch aside. One finger curled into the heart of her, so smooth and present. So very present. She clenched upon it like a warm vice.He always knew.A second finger joined the first and together they fed into her. She moaned and gasped with ragged breaths. He pumped his fingers in a few more times. She uttered a very unladylike expletive.
Bad girl.
John brought his saturated fingers to her mouth, rubbed them over her soft open lips, pushed them onto her tongue."Taste yourself."Now she lapped gratefully."Such a dirty slut," he growled as she squirmed over his cock. "You'd better fucking thank me."“Thank you, John,” she slurred around his fingers.He removed the slick digits only to casually graze them along the intricate lace of her panties, directly over the source her damp heat.“Oh please…” She tried to grind herself against him.
“Hmm?” She was too distracting.
“Please…John,” her sigh dissolving into a whimper because she knew his hand belonged there, petting her pussy with mind-numbing tenacity.John’s erection was crying out for its own pressure valve to be opened. It had been weeping on and off for weeks. Now with this demon-fairy laying on top of his thighs, aching for more pleasure, it was just about to start sobbing.He stroked her hair and tugged at it, gently at first, but grew rougher as she neared her peak.All of a sudden John removed his sodden fingers, lifted her up and guided her briskly out of the bathroom.“John, what? No…”He marched her past the dining and living rooms, turning into the sparsely but opulently furnished guest room.A full-sized bed with a beige tufted headboard and ivory silk bedspread was located in the center. Modern wallpaper with sea green, vibrant red, and white fan-shaped flowers outlined with pale gold, as well as matching decor, pulled the room together.John wasn’t particularly fond of it. He pushed Juliana onto the mattress.Immediately, she curled up like a cat. She squeezed her thighs together, although her arousal was clearly losing its battle with her genuine fatigue. He pulled the covers over her.“Rest, Juliana.”He calmly took a seat in the red armchair situated in the corner, crossing his legs, tall boots gleaming in the moonlight. “You’re going to be needing it.”
After she fell asleep, John returned to the hallway outside the bathroom door. He retrieved the broken mirror and nonchalantly dumped it in the kitchen trash bin to marinate in the sea of decomposing potato peels, vanilla cupcake wrappers, and used coffee grounds.He went to get the rope.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The rope was exactly where he’d left it, tangled up on the rug.John could still hear the faint chants of “blood and soil” like an eerie broken record. It was just past 1:30 am.The Hitler Youth were relentless. They had been schooled too well by a system that did not tolerate dissention of any kind.That could have been Thomas out there.Witnessing his only son’s earnest participation in the communal destruction of historic landmarks would break his heart; naturally, Thomas would assume he was making his father proud.John would never forgive himself for helping to instill this monstrous ideology into his children’s trusting minds. For making them believe he wouldn’t think well of them if they failed to uphold the values of the Reich.Now Thomas was a part of the past, just as America was.
If he went near that window again he would punch through it with such force all the glass would shatter into millions of tiny pieces, which would rain down upon the revelers: his tears of rage. The pain would serve as a convenient substitute distraction.Substitute because the real thing was at that moment slumbering in his guest bedroom.All thanks to Juliana, the last twenty minutes or so were a blur: That wondrous kiss. The double-crossing. The satisfying kick in the door. The deadly shard of glass. His newly estranged wife’s equally deadly hand mirror. The struggle to make sense of it all. Finally, the mixed emotions that burst forth, culminating in his turning her over her knee and spanking her bare ass while she moaned and writhed. Feeding her with fingers slick from restless anticipation.And when would he attend to his own needs? Had he made a mistake in bringing her here? Where was the incentive if she planned to outsmart him at every turn?John had never considered that she might be physically capable of that deft maneuver, slamming him onto the carpet like a sack of potatoes – all 185 pounds of him. He would just have to be more vigilant around the unpredictable little tigress from now on and ensure he kept her in line.
John retrieved the black rope and coiled it around his hand, contemplating its reinforced network of interlocking fibers; taut, like solid muscle.It also brought to mind the futility of his situation, which had at times generated truly morbid thoughts. The excruciating nightmares detailing the abhorrent deeds he carried out in Cincinnati – no, not deeds, crimes, he reluctantly admitted – warped his mind and threatened to unravel his carefully erected persona of a cold-blooded Nazi prince.Even if his life became so bleak that he would want to end it all, there were practical considerations. This was the only rope he owned and it just wasn’t strong enough to bear his weight without snapping prematurely. And knowing Juliana, she would probably hear the sounds of the noose slowly breaking and move hell and high water to save him.But as long as she was tied up, he reasoned, this final act would never come to pass. That rope was destined to be an instrument of pleasure, not a harbinger of suicide.It was one of the items he kept from his old life, locked away in a trunk in his study, a place everyone always knew was off limits. John was a sentimentalist. No one who encountered his icy demeanor and bone-chilling gaze would peg him as such, but there it was.He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t been drunkenly wallowing in his own misery, all red-faced and blotchy with tears from staring at photos of his family for hours, fingering Helen’s bathrobe with one hand, clinging to Amy’s stuffed bear, Herbert, with the other. That just wasn’t him.It had not sunken in yet, the idea of Helen fleeing with their daughters because of his sworn allegiance to Reichsführer Himmler. Just as he had to
shut his eyes when that mirror
descended into the trash, as if swallowed by quicksand, he didn’t want to dwell on where she had gone or what she might encounter along the way. Or how his girls would be fraught with fear and confusion – Amy more so than Jennifer.His oldest daughter was well aware of the stakes by now. She didn’t want to become another Thomas, nor could she be. Not a martyr for the cause, but merely evidence of the plague running through his family line.He never should have had children. But he was a slave to his pride. He needed that picture-perfect family that he loved more than life itself back or...or, he didn't know what he'd do.The emptiness was all-consuming.
And what of his object of distraction?John stroked the rope absentmindedly, savoring the more pleasurable aspects of the evening.Her legs. Her scent. Her face. Her neck. Her lips. Her stomach. The feel of the very heart of her. Her inborn submission. Her fire.He couldn’t let Juliana go just yet, that much he knew.He rubbed at his face, scratchy with new stubble. In that kiss he had felt something. A subtle, yet tangible pull towards some untapped source of well-being he knew he wasn’t worthy of enjoying.A spasm of guilt struck him in the gut over her earlier mistreatment in the prison. It was either electroshock or a savage beating under his watch. Both were standard punishments. She was stubborn, as expected. He had no choice really. There was no going back after that sucker punch she delivered regarding Thomas’ shame.He winced again when he realized he essentially raped her with the wine bottle.
He knew he was a despicable excuse for a human being, but this was a new low. Decades of smoothly asserting his official authority as a means of instilling complete subservience had crushed his moral compass under the heels of his regulation boots.Going into this, he felt he had a right to make her anxious and uncomfortable after all she had put him through. But she was a friend to Thomas when he needed her, for which he was thankful. She really did deserve better.But that didn’t negate the fact that Juliana Crain was a known fugitive, wanted by both the Nazis and the Pons.Nothing made sense anymore. And he still couldn’t find any sexual relief. What the hell was stopping him?John got up and threw the bottle smeared with her essence into the trash, making sure it was well hidden. He never wanted to lay eyes on it again.After he returned to the couch, his head began to throb. He considered taking some paracetamol but his drooping eyelids won out. He shut his eyes and allowed his mind to drift.________________________________________________________Dim lighting. Music. Cigar smoke. Bawdy laughter. Men.A small corner band played Henry Mancini’s “Hub Caps and Tail Lights” while a Marilyn Monroe-type burlesque dancer showcased her ample wares onstage.Erich, Klemm, and a few other guys from work were all gathered around a large round table in the back of a high-end lounge. One of them held a redhead in a glittering green dress on his lap. John was dressed similarly to the rest of the men in a dark grey suit, white shirt, dark tie. Black leather wristwatch.No wedding band.Erich, fifteen years his junior, was finally getting married and settling down. People had known to stop pestering him about his own status. They knew John Smith to be a confirmed bachelor. He was fine with that. He had his work- it kept him busy. He had good benefits. And he was a consummate professional.That wasn’t to say he didn’t get lonely. He did, often. He tried not to get envious when yet another of his colleagues’ families expanded.All the men were eyeing the woman on the stage with obvious appreciation. John tried to as well, but something kept distracting him. A scent, neither cloyingly floral, nor fruity and saccharine, but full of vibrancy and warmth.
It persisted. Highball glasses clinked.To his right a cocktail waitress was clearing the table, placing each glass carefully on her tray. Her brown hair was up in a chignon. Her uniform was slightly less revealing that that of a Playboy bunny: a blue satin bustier dress with a ruffled skirt, trimmed in black, a matching black satin choker around her neck. When she moved around to the front of the table he caught a glimpse of her glorious legs, toned and slender, encased in sinful black fishnets.He stared, willing the waitress to lift her face to meet his olive-hued eyes. When her dusky gaze finally found his, the connection lasted mere seconds, yet it was long enough for John to deduce that she was extraordinarily beautiful. Almost exotic.She was young. Not high school young, but young for him. She smiled at him coyly with her full red-stained lips but pivoted away just as quickly, gliding through the crowded scene with poise and fluidity.John found he preferred her fine-boned elegance to the other women’s overt sexuality. He wanted to call her over to the table, but she was too far away and another waitress soon took her place.Ah well, he thought. The good ones always got away…
“No, he wasn’t Black. He was wearing black.”A young brunette with mussed up hair beneath a prim hat, hugging her arms tightly about herself, sat in a room with a particularly clueless detective and a sleep-deprived sketch artist who nodded off every few minutes.John had decided to forgo the rest of the festivities by utilizing his trusty excuse – old age. But the truth was just as pathetic – a stack of paperwork that came with his rank. The station was fairly desolate at this hour, which is why he was able to pick up on the conversation. Ordinarily, it was buzzing. He placed his coffee back on his desk and pushed himself up to peer through the blinds of his office.It was the cocktail waitress. And she had what appeared to be a bruised cheek.“What happened here?” John asked one of the night shift officers, Brady, as he entered the hallway.“Eh, da lady almost got ‘erself mugged near Port Authority, but Jones scared off da guy. Too bad he were too fast for dat tub o’ lard to chase down. Bit late for a dame like that to be walkin’ around all alone, 'specially dressed in ‘er getup. Musta’ thought she were a hooker. She says she ain’t, though. Pretty em-patic about it, too.”John paced into the next room with a natural authority that was enhanced by his sturdy six-foot frame and stern features. In his youth he was deemed to be too ‘pretty’ to ever be taken seriously, but no one would dare make such a comment today, lest they find themselves demoted. Or worse.“Miss?” His deep, raspy voice broke through and the woman looked up immediately. “I’d offer you some coffee, but I don’t think it would help matters. You already seem fairly shaken up and, if you ask me, it tastes an awful lot like horse dung.”She let out a small laugh but self-consciously clutched her thin coat even closer. “No, you’re probably right…”“I am right. Inspector John Smith.” He assessed her and suppressed a sigh. “That’s some shiner you’ve got forming. You should ice that as soon as you get home.”“Yes, of course.” She glanced around at everything and nothing, doing her best not to meet his piercing orbs. “Um, I should get going if that’s ok.”Not dressed like that, he thought.“Well, Miss…” He peered at her file. “…Crain. It’s nearly three in the morning. You shouldn’t go home alone in such a state. Is there someone to call who can come pick you up?”Predictably, she shook her head.“No. It’s just me living here by myself. In New York, I mean. All my family is back in San Francisco.” She suddenly seemed acutely shy under his direct scrutiny, which silently urged a further confession. “I just started my job about a month ago.”She looked like she wanted to say more but yawned before any more words could tumble out.“Can you give me a few minutes? I just have to close up shop and then I can give you a lift.”“No, really, I’m alright.”“It’s no trouble at all, miss.”He let her gather her belongings and guided her to a chair outside his office. “Wait here. That’s an order.” His eyes brightened at her mumbled “ok” and he nodded once, striding away with purpose.
The ride took a mere ten minutes. John had disengaged the siren as her neighborhood bordered a particularly sketchy area and he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.He turned his head towards her slightly. “You know, I have seen you before, Miss Crain.”“Oh?”Juliana tried to play dumb, but she couldn't lie to herself. She'd crossed paths with several attractive green-eyed men in her lifetime, but this policeman's eyes were utterly hypnotic. They broke through the harried, thankless tedium of her shift and positively glowed
at her, in blatant appreciation.
It was the first time she'd cracked a genuine smile all week.
He inclined his head. “Earlier tonight, actually. You’re rather difficult to forget.”Likewise,
she might have replied had she been more forward, had the throbbing pain in her cheekbone not jarred her out of her pseudo-amorous stupor. Reality began to needle at her. There would be bruising, but hopefully a combination of cosmetics and mood lighting could work their magic so that she wouldn't be unemployed before the week was out.Before she knew it he was out of his seat and opening the passenger door. "After you."She looked up at him and trembled at his nearness. But then he held out his hand for her, which she took instinctively. It was like stepping into bathwater that was
just the right temperature.
Though she refused, his insistence prevailed and he walked her up the steps to her building. He waited while she searched for her keys.“May I ask, on which days are you scheduled to work?”She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and on alternating Saturdays and Sundays.”“And what about tomorrow?”“Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow.” She stilled. “Inspector Smith, do you need me to come down to the station again?”“No, you’ve done well. We’ll catch the maggot that did this to you.” She smiled pitifully. “What time do you usually leave your job?”She regarded him warily. “At two usually, but sometimes 2:15 if –"“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night, Miss Crain.”Without waiting for a reply, he tipped his hat, walked back down the steps confidently, slid into his car and drove away.Juliana stood there, stunned.
And so it went for the following couple of weeks. During that time they grew to know each other little by little, as much as two people could ten minutes at a time. They were both rather slow to open up – Juliana out of inborn timidity; John because he was a rather private man.The Inspector and his passenger were discussing the possible merits of The Manchurian Candidate when something fell out of her open purse. She leaned forward to retrieve it from the floor.“Miss Crain, you can find whatever it is you dropped when we get to your place.”But she was undeterred. “Almost got it.”He couldn’t help but ogle her legs while she was bent over. Again, she wore those agonizing fishnets. His cock twitched painfully all of a sudden, as if all the months of self-enforced celibacy had started a minor revolt in his privates. Everyone (yes, everyone) trapped inside wanted out. Now.“Miss Crain –”And then came the pothole.“Shit!”“Ow!” Juliana was clutching her head, hissing in pain.John pulled over immediately, right next to a fire hydrant. He was NYPD, so he was allowed to do this sort of thing on occasion.He shut off the ignition and leaned over, titling her head back with both hands to examine her injury.“I’m ok, John. It’s fine.”“It’s not fine, Miss Crain.”He still insisted upon calling her that for some reason. He tutted as he felt a small lump forming on her forehead. “One of these days, they’re going to have to make it illegal not to install a strap in every car, to hold girls like you in place.”Ironically, this car had not come equipped with seat belts.She whipped her head around, shocked but amused. “Girls like me? Could you be a little more specific?”John stared right back. He liked this. He liked her. “Wayward girls who don’t do as they’re told.”She scoffed, holding her head awkwardly. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not my father.” She tried to giggle through the pain.He glanced at her legs again. His eyes lazily traversed the petite curves of her body and honed in on her eyes with barely disguised longing. “You’re right. I’m not.”He let that statement simmer in the chilly autumn air (he had cracked open the window on his side so he could smoke). She took the hint and dared to press further.“Are you going to arrest me, Inspector Smith?”Would he ever. He couldn’t act on his desires right at this moment, but neither would he forget her question. His fingertips emitted fine electric currents against her skin as he brushed them across her newly healed cheekbone.“Ooh!” she exclaimed, jerking away. “Sorry. It’s just that I feel a terrible headache coming on.”John pulled away and started the ignition. “Let’s get you home then.”
When they arrived he walked her up the front steps, as was his custom. She started to fumble inside her purse. “May I?” he offered.She handed it over, groaning. “Please.”But the way she breathed that word into the small space between them startled him in the nicest way possible.He fished around and easily located her keys. She only had two keys connected to a star-shaped keychain with “Macy’s” etched in gold lettering, a change purse bulging with dollar bills, a compact, a tube of lipstick, and a handkerchief embroidered with pink and blue roses.He quickly let her inside. Without asking permission, he followed behind.He had never been inside her building before, but he knew the type. This was a slightly rundown brick walk-up with a layout similar to his brother Edmund’s.Edmund had died fourteen years ago trying to resolve a domestic dispute in Little Italy. The husband’s gun went off accidentally. John had his doubts about that conclusion.Juliana’s six-floor complex was situated only two blocks from Hell’s Kitchen in Midtown West. He felt bad for her, having to come home to these narrow, creaky stairs after spending hours on her feet in high heels.But she wore them so well.She led him upstairs and he watched her slim body sway gently from side to side. Teal blue pea coat barely covering her tiny dress; those stems that could murder him in his sleep.Suddenly, he had an urge to take hold of one. With every step it seemed as if they were openly inviting his touch.
Blissfully, she only lived on the third floor.“Oh, it’s the worst, living literally surrounded by noise. But that’s New York, I guess.”It was something she’d recited before to the two other men she briefly allowed into her inner sanctum.
“It certainly is,” he agreed. There was no denying that.3H
the faded burgundy door announced. Here she took back her keys and unlocked the door, flicking on the light switch and tossing the keys on a nearby table.Her living space could be described as elegant shabby chic. It was a charming mid-sized studio done up in a color scheme of light neutrals and warm pastels, making it appear larger than it really was.“A total steal with what I make in a week.”It was obvious that a woman lived here. A young woman. Not a doily in sight. A newish record player, several albums neatly stacked on a shelf beside it. A few well-tended plants. A couple Degas prints adorning the walls.“Do you happen to have any ice?”“Of course I do! I don’t live in the dark ages,” she chuckled.He grabbed a pristine dish towel that was hanging from the oven door. With the exception of a plate, mug and cutlery in the sink, the kitchenette was spotless.John handed her the makeshift ice pack. Her coat already dangling from a hook on the door, Juliana knelt on a small chintz love
seat in her very skimpy uniform. He had to turn away, lest he betray his instant excitement.It was one thing if she was working in the club amidst dim lighting and decorative candles. Now, with her perched expectantly on that stark white couch, alone…He started sifting through the albums and found one with a peculiar title. “Alley Cat?” He held up the yellow cover. “I don’t think I’ve heard of this one.”She turned around. “Oh, my sister Trudy sent me that right after it came out as a kind of joke.”He cocked his eyebrow. “Go on…”She looked so bashful just then. “No…it’s just that…” She glanced sideways and rolled her vibrant eyes. “Trudy always said I reminded her of a cat. For the life of me, I’ll never know why.”John could think of a thousand reasons why but forbade himself from voicing them.“I’d let you listen to it,” she continued, “but it would be really inconsiderate at this hour. Plus, it’s sort of…goofy.” Her smile warmed his heart a little.
He came and sat next to her. “Let me see that bump of yours.” He removed the ice pack. His bright green gaze swept over her forehead. They softened upon their descent, encountering a sparkling set of almond-shaped jewels, lightly rimmed with black liner.“Actually, your eyes are very…catlike. Feline.”She blinked beguilingly, blood red lips parting of their own accord. “Really?”He smiled. “Yes, really.” John chanced a look down at her lips. “Very becoming.”She gasped. “Would you like something…something to drink?” Juliana felt a surge of heat creeping up her neck, settling high into her cheeks.“No,” he whispered huskily, not able to prevent his mouth from tasting hers, at last.The subtle caress soon enough turned insistent. She let his hand drift below her neck, over her collarbone, which he kissed and licked softly. The tops of her breasts were next.John was the most sensual man she had ever encountered. Ghosting his nose over the edge of her corset top, he had to inquire, “What on Earth are you wearing?”“A…well, it’s sort of like a bustier but-"He grinned against her ear. “No, sweetheart, your perfume.” The scent was alarmingly arousing.She ran her fingers through his short dark mane swirled with silver. “Fleur de Bohème. It’s very…" She paused to catch her breath.
"Difficult to find…nowadays. I believe it’s been…discontinued.”“Is that so? What a shame.”John wanted to bite into the tantalizing join of her neck and shoulders.
Wrench her bodice down and feast on her pert breasts. Instead, he stroked her supple legs still clad in the deliriously alluring fishnet stockings. He wanted to tear those off with his teeth.He abruptly released her when he felt her tense up. She was injured after all, and he felt like he might be taking advantage.“Do you want me to stop?”She licked her lips and seared him with hazy blue-green eyes. “It’s ok. I won’t break.”He smiled as he squeezed her pliant thigh and grazed her earlobe with his hot mouth. “I didn’t think so, Miss Crain.”She shivered in anticipation but jumped back when a loud siren blared down the street, very close by from the sound of it.
Juliana rushed to the window and peeled back the sheer pale peach curtains. She pressed her delicate hands against the windowpane as she twisted her head this way and that to get a better view.John thought she had an exquisite neck. So sleek. And a gorgeous dancer’s body, for that is what she was. Or rather, what she hoped to be.The bright lights of Manhattan beckoned to her, but unfortunately the only lights she was seeing lately were either turned down low or hideously glaring.Sirens. He became immune to them years ago. Now they were as harmful to his ears as the buzzing of bees.He slowly crept up behind her. Juliana caught his reflection in the glass just as he slid his hands along her ribcage, up her graceful arms, threading his fingers through her own. He lowered them to her sides.Just then he caught a whiff of her unusual fragrance again. As John enveloped her body in his arms he was suddenly infused with a feeling of such possessiveness it threatened to overwhelm him.“I’ve got you, Juliana…”He groaned as he palmed her breast over the silky material.She arched her spine wantonly. He couldn’t help but grind himself against her ruffled mini skirt. His right hand snaked past her flat stomach, down lower. And beneath.“I’ve got you right where I want you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory.” – Gustave Flaubert
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday--"She giggled behind her hand. “Please stop. You sound positively tone deaf.”John sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. “So sorry to offend you, Miss Crain.”
“And stop calling me that!”“Is that your birthday wish?” he joked.She cocked her head to the side. “I never made it yet. Let me think.”“Hurry up, Miss Crain. Those candles are really quite...tiny.” His warm, appreciative gaze skimmed the equally tiny waist of her new cream printed dress, which she had paired with a plain black cardigan.“You know, maybe I should wish for you to stop calling me that once and for all.”He shook his head. “That’s a waste of a perfectly good wish. You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can think of something.” He winked in that infuriatingly sexy way of his and took a sip of the pinot noir.

She tried to hide her blush by bending over the double chocolate frosted cake John purchased from an Italian bakery in Astoria, close to his own home in Long Island City.He also amazed her with a home-cooked dinner of coq au vin, roasted potatoes and fresh steamed asparagus. Juliana had told him, quite earnestly, that he’d missed his calling; he should have become a chef. He just shrugged.He owned a beautiful two bedroom apartment in a well-maintained building with gorgeous views of the East River and Manhattan skyline and an amiable English doorman named Fletcher. The look exchanged between him and John when he first brought her over was very telling – it was clear this was not a regular occurrence.Her boyfriend of just over three months regarded her. “Can’t come up with anything, huh?”She bit her lip and met his beaming eyes before leaning in and blowing out the rapidly melting rainbow striped candles.It was February 22, 1963; Juliana was now 28 years old.
John clapped enthusiastically and smiled broadly at her. He reached for a box wrapped in shiny gold paper tied with a black ribbon, situated in the center of the table, next to the bouquet of pink roses he’d given her earlier.“Here.” He handed the box to her and she grabbed for it excitedly. It was a tad weighty.“Oh my God, what’s in here?”He cocked his eyebrow, so smug. Juliana, in turn, raised hers in surprise.“That good, John?”He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Open it and you’ll find out.”She tore the paper carefully, not wanting to damage it too much."Miss Crain, what is with you and opening presents so damn slowly?”
It was true. Juliana had never had that much growing up, what with her father, also named John, dying in World War II. She figured the fewer gifts one received, the longer the anticipation should last.For Christmas John gave her a stunning pair of sapphire earrings set in white gold. Having secured a high-ranking position at the NYPD – a veteran of almost 24 years – he earned a more than adequate salary for a single man living alone outside of Manhattan. With the exception of the occasions he would hang out with some of the other cops or Fletcher, he could be considered a lone wolf.But now he had Juliana, who revealed one of her own talents by knitting him a beautiful black and tan scarf, which she handed him alongside a tin of spicy shaving soap. He knew she didn’t have enough funds to go around after paying for dance classes, as well as for the absurdly steep Manhattan rent and utilities, and he would have settled for her company alone.

He really wanted her to move into his place, but he knew it was too soon to mention it. That and, aside from her step-father, she had never lived with a man before.
John’s other gift was for the both of them: a pair of tickets to the premier screening of To Kill a Mockingbird. They sat and held hands throughout the entire film. Juliana got a little misty-eyed during the courtroom scene. John silently curled his arm around hers and her head lay nestled in his shoulder for the remainder of the movie.

When they left the theater she told him that she was so upset at that point because of the injustice of the whole situation. John readily agreed. He had no problem with Negroes. One of his childhood friends was Black. Life was never easy for him, but John saw past his color and asked him if he wanted to trade baseball cards.
He chuckled a few minutes later. “You come in here, boy, and bust up this chifforobe!” he imitated in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. Juliana doubled over laughing. John had his serious side. But he was also mildly sarcastic and more than a bit eccentric.
For one, he had a pet turtle named Walnut (she supposed because of his shell) that he inherited from Edmund. “This guy's going to outlive me!” he exclaimed. He also tended to go a little overboard when it came to holiday decorating.
“John, I don’t understand why you need two manger scenes.”One sat on a side table next to the television set and the other was situated underneath a massive Douglas fir he and Fletcher had lugged inside, which had a tad too many ornaments dangling from branches that stuck out every which way.Christmas had always been his favorite holiday. But now that his brother and both parents had passed, he had no relatives left in New York with which to celebrate.He was also obscenely generous with gifts. To say Juliana was overwhelmed was an understatement.“Well, I don’t think I’ll need to be purchasing anything for the rest of the year,” she quipped on that snowy morning. In addition to the earrings, there was a trendy purse, a burgundy silk blouse, a new teapot and a peppermint and white chocolate Santa; the Santa was shared later that night while listening to classic Christmas tunes on his own record player.
Juliana sighed. “Sorry.”
She hastily tore into the package and finally revealed something that caused her to gasp in amazement.“How…how did you manage to find this?”“I have my sources.” He topped their wine glasses.She stared down at her hands in awe. “Thank you, John. I absolutely love it.”She leapt out of her seat and he pulled her down onto his lap. He was wearing black dress pants and a hunter green V-neck sweater that she thought made his irises stand out. Underneath was a pristine white dress shirt, one lone button released teasingly.He hugged her to him and kissed the nape of her neck, indecent images swirling through his mind, unchecked.“Why don’t you go try it on?” His eyes took on a darker hue just then, and he licked his lips in anticipation.“If you want…”
“I do want.”
She went to rise and he tugged her back spontaneously.
“Hey.” He locked eyes with her and pulled her face down to his. “Happy birthday, Juliana,” he whispered against her mouth.
Her lips tingled from the brief kiss. The very second their mouths touched, a frisson of expectation crackled over Juliana's sensitive flesh, aftershocks reverberating throughout her body. A strange mixture of delight and…trepidation.She couldn’t quite explain the exact feeling, except that it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And that she craved it desperately, like a drug.She went into his bathroom and set the gift on the counter and smoothed down her loosely curled hair.
Her lipstick, a rich berry tint that brightened her slightly sallow complexion, also needed a modest adjustment.Finally she opened up the box and tried on her gift: a perfect fit, as ever.“Do you want to cut the cake?” she called to him.“No.” He hesitated. “Maybe after.”“After what?”He didn’t answer. He figured she had to know. She was in his home, after all.
John had remained at the dining room table, remembering their very first time together, after she conveniently bumped her head on his dashboard.She was facing the window. His hand was drawn like a moth to a sparkling light to her warm, damp center. Unfortunately, he also encountered an obstacle in the form of a modern twist on ladies’ undergarments known as pantyhose. He suppressed his mild annoyance at having to contend with the bewildering contraption.As for Juliana, she seemed lost in her own world, completely unaware of his predicament.“More,” she uttered lazily.“More?”“Mmm hmm…”Wanting to satiate her, yet unsure as to how to achieve that, John allowed his hand to wander farther up. He could just ask her flat out what the hell she was wearing so he could figure out a way in, but her thighs began to close in on his hand like a cushioned vice. He moved it just in time to discover that the individual stockings were connected by thick, stretchy material with a waistband and gusset, like an ordinary pair of panties.He was simultaneously aroused, intrigued and vexed. This had gone on long enough.John grabbed Juliana by the hips and spun her around so that she was forced to hold onto the windowsill. Her teeny uniform skirt was hiked up nearly to her waist. Bold fingers grasped each side of the sheer black material covering the apex of her thighs and split it clean down the middle.
He ripped and ripped, grunting with masculine fervor and satisfaction.Paradoxically, John was known to be most kind and considerate, despite his usually stern demeanor. Tearing his gaze away from her newly exposed sable curls and delectable moist lips, he apologized.“I promise to buy you a new pair.” Then he seemed to consider something. “Or maybe…twenty pairs?”
“Then you’d better be prepared to get some very strange looks from the salespeople.”Her breath had grown more labored by his effortless perusal.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he rasped enticingly. "Perhaps I should go ahead and ask for their entire stock.”John gave her his most salacious grin, his eyes turning molten green with unquenched lust. Juliana was outright panting, barely able to keep herself from sliding off the ledge.He wanted her now, needed her nude, pressed between himself and the glass, right here in her puny West 56th Street walk-up, just high enough to be perfectly visible should the light hit them.
If anyone paused in their listless strolling to watch them, he couldn't bring himself to care. If they wanted a show, they came to the right place.
John’s lips curved into a dreamy smile as he savored the sweetly erotic memory. Not long after he started to feel the bite of impatience. It would only be her birthday for a few more precious hours.“If you want to take my bathtub for a spin, you're more than welcome to.”“No, I’ll be right out!” she yelled in a voice suffused with unbridled elation.John took a final sip of the wine and set it down calmly.He hoped Juliana would be amenable to one more birthday surprise.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The scent hit him before she even came back into the room. It curled through the atmosphere, the epitome of free spirited sensuality – of his woman.When she returned, he hugged her closely. He silently murmured an expletive into her lush tresses due to his nearly instantaneous arousal from that fragrance.John had the lights dimmed down low. She knew what he was about already.“You know, that was the first thing I noticed about you. And now it has a name.” He cradled her head in his hands and nuzzled her neck. “I will be forever grateful to you, Fleur de Bohème.”“It was so thoughtful of you to find it.” She gave him a quick peck.In fact, she grew to love everything about Inspector John Smith. Mostly, she felt incredibly safe and secure whenever he was near. Protected when she was living alone in a bustling city with danger lurking about where one least expected it, especially in her neighborhood.
Of course, feeling well-cared for was not the only reason she was so smitten with him.John rubbed her arms and pulled back,
standing more erect, cautious even.
“What?” she asked.“I was wondering if you might be interested in trying something different tonight.”“Well, I’m usually down for anything,” she replied nonchalantly.“Oh, I know you are.” He waggled his eyebrows seductively.She wasn’t lying. In their short time together, John and Juliana had become quite the adventurous couple: quickies in her apartment; handjobs in a movie theater; she going down on him while he was driving; fucking against the shower wall. Those kinds of things.Her most memorable experience was the time he went down on her while they were watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. When Felix the Cat came on, Juliana experienced such a raw, earthshattering climax that she started clawing at the couch and purring. That put John over the edge and he unzipped his pants and shoved them down just in time to paint her breasts creamy white.Some of the remnant stuck to his belt. He didn’t seem to notice that Juliana, still quite aroused, had licked it clean. That’s when she smelled the leather. When John went to the bathroom to get a wet rag to clean them, she hastily, quietly brought herself to orgasm again. The memory was her little secret.He took both her hands in his. “You and I are incredibly compatible with each other, in every way that counts. When we’re together, it’s really quite…combustible." John kissed down her neck, across her throat, moving to the opposite ear, inhaling her scent deeply.“And you seem to be more open-minded than anyone I’ve ever been with.”Her hand flew to her chest as ideas flew through her head as to what he might be implying. She sucked in a breath and looked in every direction but his eyes. But when he tilted her chin up, his look eliminated any denial. She swallowed.“What are you suggesting?”“A little broadening of the horizons, that’s all.”She looked adorably confused. “Broadening how?”He cocked his head and regarded her with an inscrutable expression. “How do you feel about being dominated?”Juliana couldn’t deny her pull towards him, even before he introduced himself. The first time she met his eyes while waiting tables at The Blue Velvet Lounge, she wanted nothing more than to drown in them. The rest of her shift
that night was a blur. She wandered home in a daze, not entirely aware of her surroundings, which is why she failed to notice the would-be attacker.Later at the police station, John’s authoritative, imposing, breathtaking presence filled the entire space. She had not realized just how tall he was. She averted her eyes at first because his were just too magnetic, possessing an unknown magic swirling in their autumnal green depths.It was more than the eyes, though. With his classical facial features and incredible physique, John served as a living embodiment of Michelangelo’s David. His effortless masculinity
lit the match that struck her in all the right ways; in all the right places.And yet as sexually experienced as she was, Juliana couldn’t help but feel incredibly naïve.“I don’t know.” She had only a vague notion of what being dominated entailed but was intrigued nonetheless.John turned over one of her hands and brought it to his chest, planting the softest kisses along her inner forearm. Upon reaching her wrist, he stilled. That’s when he closed his elegant fingers around its entire circumference. Then he applied the tiniest bit of pressure.He spoke into her skin: “I think that you do.” The grit in his voice sent mild tremors ricocheting through her body.“Um, I’ve never…” She could barely get the words out.“That’s probably because you never met the right person to keep a wayward girl like you in line.”Oh, dear God. The car. He remembered.He continued as if he just pried he lid off her skull, “I had known you might take to this ever since that night.” His eyes bore into hers, the exact way they did when he told her he was most emphatically not her father. “And even though I have no plans to arrest you, Miss Crain, (he couldn’t help but smirk) you should still be reminded of who knows best, from time to time.”Then he released her and stepped back. “But perhaps such a thing might prove too intense for you.”Juliana blinked rapidly, trying to come to grips with the interesting turn of events.“Why?”He smiled faintly, but his tone was almost solemn. “Because you would be relinquishing all control to me. For instance, (he took her wrists in his hands) by binding you, I shall give you no opportunity to escape.”John allowed her time to absorb his proposition.“Go on.”“I am used to giving orders and having them obeyed, and I believe you’re an expert at following instructions. You haven’t had to with me until now, if you so choose.She gulped. He noticed. “Will it hurt?”“Only if you want it to,” he said plainly.

John had for a while now tried to gauge her interest in BDSM. He was aching to initiate some sort of power exchange that first night but did not want to scare her off, so he settled for ripping her fishnet pantyhose and fingering her in front of her apartment window. Hopefully that gave her some clue as to his predilictions.
Besides, it felt right
to allow their relationship to
progress organically. He truly wanted to get to know her better. Someone like her, with her beguiling shyness, humor, intelligence and striking beauty, notably her sparkling blue eyes, as well as what the French would call joie de vivre, was worth the wait.He squeezed her hands twice to bring her back into focus. He knew this was a lot for her to take in. “Now, this can only work if there is mutual trust. Do you think you can trust me, Juliana?”She rewound their conversation up to the point he mentioned broadening their horizons. She replayed every word. Honestly, how could she be so blind? Dominance would come naturally to a man like him, and so it made sense that it would extend to lovemaking. Or inflicting pain…Finally, he got his answer when her small hands squeezed his in return. “I trust you, John. Completely.”John grinned briefly but just as quickly schooled his face into a perfectly neutral expression. He closed his eyes to center himself. There would be no more smiling until the scene was played out.“Come here.” His voice dropped just enough to stir her. She bit her lip and obeyed. He placed fleeting yet soft kisses on her lips and cheekbone. “Let me undress you.”John slid the black cardigan down to her wrists. When she went to shrug off the sleeves, he halted her, shaking his head slowly.“Put your hands behind your back.” He walked behind her and placed one wrist atop the other, loosely tying her wrists together with the sleeves. This was meant to prepare her for what was to come.“Will there be handcuffs?”Of course she would assume that. “Sorry to disappoint, but unless you’re a criminal, I’d rather dispense with them. Unless, that is, you have committed a crime. Have you broken the law, Miss Crain?”The way her former address rolled off his tongue reminded her once again of that sly organ's usefulness.“Not that I know of.”“Good.”Button by button was pushed through each opening. John made sure she noticed his attention to detail. With all the buttons undone, he pushed the bodice of her dress wide open and tugged the short sleeves down to her elbows, further trapping her arms. Juliana started to struggle somewhat. He suppressed a grin.“Is this too uncomfortable for you?” She had to make a decision. He was giving her an out if she wanted. Curiosity won, every time.“No, it’s ok.”John stared appreciatively at her cream satin bra in a modern style that provided her with a more natural silhouette, as opposed to those with bullet-shaped cups of the past decade, which he found bizarre and unattractive. He bent down and closed his lips around her right nipple,
suckling on it and flicking it with his tongue. He gave the same treatment to her left, bringing both to stiff peaks.He wrapped his hands around her 24-inch wasp waist, trailing searing kisses down her stomach. She squirmed as only a ticklish person would; he stored that information away for future reference. Reaching around her back he undid the knotted sleeves of her cardigan.“Let it fall.” She followed his order without question.Her dress was forgiving enough to be tugged over her hips; it pooled at her feet. He looked up at her. “Step out of it.”Again, Juliana readily obliged.She assumed he would head straight for her matching French-cut panties next, but instead he sank to his knees and began to worship the smooth, slender columns encased in sheer nude stockings. They had lace tops and were held up by a garter belt in the same ivory hue. There was an unspoken rule between them that she wear those garments for ease of access so that he wouldn’t have to contribute to what she termed her ‘ruined pantyhose fund.’He’d joked that no matter how prestigious his rank in the NYPD, he would never be able to fully reimburse her on his paltry cop’s salary. Regardless, John greatly approved of her selection. And he planned to let her know it.Her entrancing signature fragrance snuck out from behind her knee and made his mouth water with need and a strong urge to possess every inch of her gorgeous body. She wore black pumps that rose no higher than three inches, but they made her legs look amazing and contrasted nicely with her light-colored lingerie.Greedy hands roamed the back of her thighs and gripped her ass, kneading it firmly. She closed her eyes in pleasure and dampened her berry-stained lips. Her breath hitched.Suddenly John stood up and yanked his sweater over his head, unceremoniously tossing it onto the floor. Juliana was taken aback: He wouldn’t normally handle his clothing, or hers, so carelessly. It was usually folded neatly and placed in his dresser or hung on a hanger.He turned to her and stroked her cheek with a single finger, as if she were made of glass. “You’re so very beautiful.”She blushed. “Thank you.”“Follow me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into the living room.After a few seconds he jerked to a halt. He shook his head at his forgetfulness - lust was beginning to take the reins. He started to think of what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning to silence that part of his brain that burned to taste and tear into her.“I neglected to mention the most important rule of all. You have to think of a word to say in case you want to stop whatever activity we’re engaging in. A safe word.”Juliana looked perplexed.
“Part of submission involves being able to derive pleasure out of something that might normally feel uncomfortable or painful. Sometimes it gets to be too much.”Her eyes widened. This was all new to her.
She felt a shiver of apprehension course through her, but it was the same spark that fizzled like soda pop whenever they kissed – it was their passion igniting.“It’s really so that I don’t overstep the bounds.”“But you would never…”John busied himself with his hands and tried to compose a proper response. “Even the best intentions can go awry. You can never be too careful.”“Oh.” But hadn’t he always been her strong protector?“On my honor, if you choose to say this word – a food, a name, even a color – I will drop whatever I’m doing and check in with you immediately. It’s rather like throwing cold water on a raging inferno.” His eyes went serpentine then, a golden green glow radiating from beneath that dark, prominent brow.Mesmerized, she looked down at her own hands, fiddling with a silver ring. An inconsequential action meant to calm her so she could make the right decision.Juliana felt she had to break the subtle tension that surfaced between them after he quite ardently revealed to her his innermost desires. It felt almost strange to engage in this type of discussion with him. While he was ever the perfect gentleman to her, she always sensed something simmered beneath. His
assertiveness was an asset to his career, but that didn’t necessarily mean it transferred to the bedroom.In this instance, however, it did. And she found herself drawn to him more than ever.His confidence was staggering and made her feel extremely feminine. And so, so aroused.There were times that, when she was waiting for him to pick her up for a date, such as visiting the Central Park Zoo or going ice skating at Rockefeller Center, she became so overwhelmed at the thought of getting yet another
opportunity to appreciate his well-muscled form in all its naked glory that she
was forced to change her panties, or else have to contend with an annoying wet patch for hours.Until he removed them, that is.Out of nowhere, Juliana replied, “Felix.”“Felix? Really? Like…” John sighed as he raked her form from top to bottom and back again. “The cat. I should have known.”She blushed prettily.He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You will truly be mine, Juliana?” his words laden with meaning.She noted the serious set of his jawline, the intricate bobbing of his Adam’s apple. “Who else would I belong to?”“"I see you’re getting the idea already.”
The fire crackled invitingly, casting shadows to set the mood. He guided her to sit on the soft black leather ottoman. He caressed her face. “Remember your word, Juliana. Anytime you need me to stop, just say it.”“I really can't just tell you to stop?”“Where’s the fun in that?”“I don’t understand.” Her mind might have struggled with this, but her body was quite up to date on the facts.“There are instances where you might want to tell me no, but in reality you would want me to keep going.”“Are we playing a game then?”“Just do what I say and I promise we’ll have plenty of fun.”How cryptic.“What, like Simon Says?” she giggled.“No.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. His mind worked lightning fast. This was not what he’d planned, but what the hell…“It’s called Inspector Says.”“Um, alright.” Sometimes John could be so strange.John walked behind her. “Inspector Says, close your eyes.”When she did so, he produced a black opaque silk scarf from beneath the couch pillow. He pulled it over her eyes and she gasped. It was tied quickly but he took care not to make the blindfold too tight or to catch any
stray hairs in the material.She acknowledged his earlier statement. “Well that is different.”He leaned down near her ear. “Inspector Says,
be quiet. Unless you want to use your safe word, that is. If you say anything else, anything at all, there will be consequences.”His suddenly stern tone rippled over the sensitive shell of her ear. “Nod if you understand.”Juliana did as she was bid. Immersed in total darkness, every other sense was magnified. Her exotic perfume, melding with the cinders and smoke, as well as the leather, which she
was
developing a peculiar attraction to; the raging heat prickling her exposed skin; the subtle clack-clack of his footsteps on the wood floor; his unique aroma.She realized at that moment that she was delighted at the prospect of John locking up the respectful gentleman for the evening and letting the pure alpha male take control of her.“Inspector Says,
place your arms at the small of your back and cross your wrists.”There was that fear again, that good fear, resurfacing as he wrapped and tugged, binding her delicate wrists with efficiency and precision. It wasn’t fear so much as immense anticipation over the unknown. After three months of dating, Juliana felt certain she could trust John Smith, down to her bones.
She knew he used handcuffs on an almost daily basis, but she never imagined he would be so skilled with a rope. As if reading her thoughts, he muttered, “Eagle Scouts.”A few minutes later, he stopped to run his hands over his creation. “Too tight?”She shook her head, inhaling his scent; he must have used the shaving soap she bought him for Christmas. When it blended with the smoke and burning wood, oh…She teethed on her lip. John noticed immediately and clenched his hands into fists. They looked so pillowy and tempting. He had to keep himself together or he would ruin everything.He tugged her forward until her rear was half on, half off the ottoman. It was a precarious position to be in. “Inspector Says, spread your legs.”She did the best she could with her bound hands clinging to the back of the soft leather seat. John knew that as a dancer she was more flexible than she let on.“Wider.”She coaxed her thighs open a bit more. He tutted.“Did I say ‘Inspector Says’?”“N—” she stopped herself just short of saying no.“I really should punish you for that. I'll let it slide for now. But next time
things won't be so auspicious for you.”Her lips quivered but she knew she wasn’t allowed to verbalize her thoughts. And it was much too early for the safe word. She was a big girl. She could take whatever he dished out.“Inspector Says,
spread your legs as wide as you can.”He watched the muscles in her thighs straining through the silken nylons. How she leaned back and how her breasts jutted towards the sky. John didn’t know where to look. The satin of her panties glistened in the glow of the fire.How it must have warmed her...“Wider,” he barked.Juliana squeezed her thighs and concentrated.“Good girl.”He felt she deserved a reward for good behavior. So he knelt down and rimmed his tongue around the edge of her crotch; breathed over her puffy lips, knowing they were already engorged and pulsating with need.“What an absolute slut she is,” he thought evilly.He gripped her thighs hard, digging his nails underneath the lace tops of her stockings. He let the tip of his tongue tap at her entrance repeatedly, but never too deeply.“Ahh…” she cried softly.John moved so he could hold her legs captive with his knees. While it would probably be somewhat strenuous, he nonetheless stretched her open an infinitesimal degree.He continued to fulfill his designated role by fondling her breasts over the cups, which he lifted up to expose the pert mounds. John wet his fingertips and massaged her nipples, rolling them around, pinching them, nipping and sucking. He moaned when she pushed her breasts into his mouth.“Christ, I love your tits. They fit in my mouth so perfectly, as if they were designed especially for me.”And he demonstrated just that. His mouth didn’t want to let go. It was endearingly erotic.She always wondered why he praised her waif-like body and
small breasts so much. She wasn’t voluptuous like the majority of the women prancing around the club. She had felt the pangs of their jealousy jabbing into her back after one of them spotted her getting into John’s car.
He had been casually leaning against the passenger side door, legs crossed, one arm draped over the top, green eyes glittering beneath the street lamp.“Skinny tramp,” they would mutter under their breath. Or, they would just treat her poorly, bumping into her when her tray was full, barely concealing their hatred even though they were cordial when required to converse with her over work matters. The usual not-so-covert female operation. She was much too kind,
considerate and
sensitive for such a place. She had to get out of there.She needn’t worry about him dumping her for a curvier model. He had always preferred more petite women with nice legs and long, dark hair. As for the breasts…he couldn’t possibly make it any clearer.John abruptly pushed her knees together until her thighs were almost touching. He yanked her back and she yelped. Realizing her blunder, Juliana turned to him and he instantly read her anxiety.“Sounds are not exactly words. Sounds are allowed. You can moan, you can scream, you can utter whatever you like. Personally, I prefer purring.”
The parade. He remembered that, too.How embarrassing.

He positioned her in the center of the ottoman, tilting her back slightly, but not enough to cause her to lose her balance. John crawled like a predator behind her. Juliana swore she heard him emit a faint growl (and she would not be wrong). He traced her arms with the back of his fingertips. She shivered as she felt a tension building between her thighs and she couldn’t stand it.It was happening too soon.Then again, he never said anything about having to keep them like that. Surely she could –“Inspector Says,
don’t even think about moving them. If I place you a certain way, you’re to remain like that.”He kissed over her neck. Her abdomen tensed so she wouldn’t fall. However, she wasn’t that worried; years of training and demanding instructors had instilled in her a strong sense of discipline, as well as perseverance, focus and drive. And she was most driven to please her teachers, as a show of gratitude.John reached underneath her hair and tugged gently.“Oh!”“Is this ok?” he whispered in a more informal voice.“Uh-huh.”He kissed the area behind her earlobe. “Will you be mine to play with tonight?”Back to the shadowy, enigmatic intonation that she couldn’t get enough of. She nodded unhesitatingly.“You will follow my every command. Do you understand?”She nodded again, more slowly this time. He dragged his nails up her inner arm. “Will you let me fulfill my darkest fantasies with you?”She could only ever nod. She was already in his thrall. She actually had been for weeks.
“Anything?”
John reached around and pinched an exposed nipple, toying with its firm pliancy. His other hand slid down her firm stomach, as smooth and determined as honey. He settled on her inner thighs, stroking the area between them, up over her mound with his middle finger, massaging teasingly.Because of the way she was sitting her clit was still hidden. Nevertheless, her eyelashes fluttered at the suggestive sensations.“Inspector Says,
stand up.”She was lifted from the ottoman and guided in a straight line by her bound wrists. She had only been to his apartment on a handful of occasions, so she was not wholly familiar with the layout and had no clue where she was being led. That made things more interesting. Would it not be the bedroom?The front of her thighs hit a hard ledge. John pushed her forwards, laying her over the dining room table on the opposite end from where her birthday cake sat, turning her head so she was facing left. He messaged the tension from her shoulders and back and kissed along her spine, baby fine hairs springing to attention.He then went over to her bouquet and selected a single long-stemmed pink rose, carefully drying the stem with a cloth napkin. The aroma was subtle but unmistakable. He trailed the blossom over the nape of her neck, her shoulders, the small of her back, her ass, the top of each thigh.John twisted the bud over her sides and she giggled uncontrollably. In the midst of that, he had flipped the rose over, replacing the silky petals with the stem and its scratchy thorns. Juliana stilled and sucked in her breath.He traced over the same places as before, creating a pattern of tiny scratches, careful to merely graze, never to rip into her tender flesh. Just when she was getting used to that, he went back to using the blossom, brushing it against her small ears.“Yesss,” she sighed, as she felt it caress her knee. John stopped what he was doing at once, wrenched her panties down and stepped back.“Inspector Says,

brace yourself for your first punishment, disobedient girl,” he uttered in the lowest, most primal register she had ever heard him use.Her eyes opened wide; seeing nothing,
her other senses heightened. She could only make out her own heartbeat, his heated growl, and then –Swoosh–Whap! over her left cheek. Luckily, there was no blood.John lifted her hair and bent low
over her ear. “Miss Crain,” he crooned, “if I’m not mistaken, you were told not to speak. Now, you don’t want that to happen again, do you?” He tapped the stem over her right cheek then decided to amuse himself a little more.He grabbed her hips and ground his groin into her cleft, just enough to cause her to clench her cheeks whenever he pulled away.“Yes...” Then, realizing her mistake, she panicked. “Fuck!”He released her and laughed. “Already, Miss Crain?”That name again, from those lips.“Mmm, yeah…”“Let’s see, that’s two, three, four (he had counted on his fingers) additional punishments for you.”“No!”“Five.”“Five?!”“Six!” John leaned down and gently tugged on her full lower lip. “Please stop talking,” he implored, back to his normal voice.Between his handling of her, the proximity and the contrast between his everyday voice and his darkly seductive, slightly menacing tone, not to mention the feelings he produced in her by manipulating a single rose, her pussy had started to drip. And drip. In her fog of burgeoning lust, she nodded. He lifted her face to kiss her quickly, soundly.Swoosh–Whap!
Her right cheek sizzled.“Two.”He spread her open and dragged the bloom across her pussy lips, like one flower stroking against the other. Her juices saturated the petals. Smirking, he laid them beside her head resting on the table. John wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off the table then plunged two
digits into her tight, wet slit, twisting, pumping. Juliana bit her lip and moaned uncontrollably.“Inspector Says, don’t you dare come.”The scent of the bloom invaded her nostrils and relaxed her, yet she could still smell herself. It was driving her mad. John, attuned to her body by now, pulled out his fingers and –Thwap! Thwap!
He smacked each cheek hard with his bare hand, causing her to gasp. “That’s three, four…”She nearly screamed when he shoved his fingers back where they belonged, ramming her deeply for an interminable length of time.Time meant nothing anymore - only pure, animal carnality.

John smeared more of her essence on the rose petals – morning dew in the moonlight. He moved the flower closer to her face, lining it up with her nostrils.
Thwap! Thwap!
“Five,” he rasped raggedly, kissing over her temple, “and six. Is that too much?”Juliana
shook her head, delirious with desire. In attempting to catch her breath, she inhaled deeply and took in everything at once – the vanilla, amber, orange blossom and patchouli of her perfume mingled with rose petals tinged with her musky essence.John cleared his throat. “Inspector Says, you may speak, but only if it’s to say one of
three words.The first two he dragged out: please and fuck. The third wasn’t a word, but a name, on which he gave no particular emphasis: Felix. As if she’d ever want to say that.

John tucked the flower into the bouquet inconspicuously, deciding not to divulge which one he used on her. He marveled at his creativity when it came to impromptu sex toys.He bent to guide her legs out of the panties, which he tossed onto the table. She was still wearing the black pumps, which looked sexy as hell on her, especially with her bent over the table, giving him a private show. He stepped back for a moment as he fumbled with his own clothing; trousers, shirt, and the rest tumbled to the ground.Without warning, he yanked her back by her hips onto his waiting cock, which was sizable enough that it could only be introduced incrementally, no matter how prepared she was. Her face scrunched in near agony as he stretched her.But that agony would soon turn into bliss.Grunting,
John buried his hand in her hair and tugged it far back enough to allow him
to reach under and pinch a nipple soundly. Securing his grip around her bindings,
he steadily drove himself home, slamming
her against the table like a beast.Only minutes later, to Juliana’s cry of dismay,
John
pulled out completely. Dripping with sweat, he dragged a chair a few feet away from the table.
Before she knew what he was about, John spun her around and pulled her astride his lap, face to face, skin on skin.He held her by the hips and positioned her directly above his dripping erection. She was lowered onto his hardness, inch by inch, wishing she could grab onto his shoulders for purchase but feeling a kind of perverse thrill in her inability to move her arms.John ensnared her wrists in an iron grip. "Grind yourself against me," he ordered gruffly.Driven by the demanding tone of his voice alone, rather than the order itself, she rolled her hips against his pelvis, pussy suctioned to the base of his rigid cock, which only seemed to expand the more she moved. John's member was massive; she could almost feel its veins throbbing against her walls.He loved that he was able to plug her sweet, tight hole so completely. She kept licking her lips and he wished to God she would stop or he would never be able to last. He started to swipe his thumb across her clit with
systematic precision.“Fuck!”She was getting closer.He pried her mouth open and plunged his tongue inside, searching, meeting and teaching. At the end of their deep kiss, he finally lifted the blindfold. The only lights came from the blazing fire in the distance and the low-lit chandelier. Yet his eyes were bright and otherworldly as ever, an entrancing kaleidoscope of green and amber.John pulled her in for a series of teasing kisses. “You like this, don’t you?” He bit her lip and tugged, smiling against her mouth. “You like this a lot.”Her lipstick had become smudged after being shoved into the table so forcefully. Not only that, her hair was a riotous mass of thick, heavy waves, and John
longed to feel those luscious strands again.With one hand on the back of her neck, holding up her tresses, he ramped up his assault on her clit. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay on task as slippery as she was.Their sweat mingled together.
Juliana clenched on his member again and again, moaning and panting. He groaned and reached up to pinch her tight dusky brown nipples, one by one.Just as he caught her eyes rolling back into her head, he forced his lips onto hers and sealed their mouths in a frantic, breathless kiss. As they exchanged oxygen, she came, her scream echoing down his throat. Giving her no quarter, John bounced her on his hardness, kissing along her neckline, her cheeks, wherever he could get her.“Inspector Says,
come for me again.” He struggled to speak, so he would revert to action.“N--”Smack!
His palm landed square across her left cheek, once. Smack!
He wasn’t playing fair, but he didn’t think she would mind very much.“Fuck,” she mouthed, petulantly.He
scratched her already tender ass and
grunted in satisfaction. She
seethed with
pain because it was more brutal than she was used to. But she took it nonetheless. It actually made her wetter.John reached between them once again and plucked out some of her fresh cum. He lifted two slick fingers-full to her mouth.“Inspector Says,
taste yourself.”He repeated the action until it trickled down her berry-stained lips. He could hardly wait until it was his turn.“Look at this filthy, hungry slut dripping her come everywhere. So filthy...”She
whimpered at his lewd vernacular. It made her want to throw her arms around him and rake her nails down his back. But she couldn’t. She was trapped, quite willingly. She still found it difficult to comprehend that this utterly virile man had thought about making her his submissive.She felt very, very thankful all of a sudden.His hands held her in a firm grip as she demonstrated her natural rhythm, gyrating her hips like a belly dancer.John envisioned watching her on the stage, dressed as a gypsy, a gold chain of medallions jangling with every corkscrew move. He laid his hand against her abdomen, amazed at her almost hypnotic sensuality.In a way, he was ceding control to her. And yet…“Please.”“Please what?”“Please...fuck.”He forced her to ride him harder. He could see where this was headed, but he decided to have a little more fun with her. It was such a lovely sight to behold when she came apart.“Yes?”“Please…fuck. Please. Fuck. Please...”“Harder?” He
yanked
her hair back rather savagely and bit her earlobe. “Rougher?”Juliana nodded, “Ugh, please!”He obliged her by tugging her forward by her thighs. She instinctively wrapped her legs around the back of the chair. He held her down by the wrists and plowed into her pussy, his hot breath over her lips urging her on.
Juliana's legs started to shake;
her mouth broke away from his. She
impulsively dug her teeth into his shoulder, gushing all over his cock, moaning like an utter whore. She clenched upon him forcefully.And purred like a dirty alley cat in heat - right into his ear.“Oh, oh Juliana…oh, fuck!”John bucked erratically and threw his head back, coming in spurts that dribbled down her thighs lewdly. His eyes burst open, seeing nothing but stars, smelling nothing but her – Juliana, his love.
As confident as he was, he had never spoken to her of his feelings, just too nervous and afraid to get hurt. But now everything changed. In the midst of their afterglow, even though he had yet to free her wrists, he whispered it into
her ear. She just laughed.“How did you guess my birthday wish so fast?”He pulled her into him and ghosted his lips across her sweat-sweet forehead.“A simple deduction.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In your room

Where time stands still

Or moves at your will

Will you let the morning come soon

Or will you leave me lying here

In your favourite darkness

Your favourite half-light

Your favourite consciousness

Your favourite slave

In your room

Where souls disappear

Only you exist here

Will you lead me to your armchair

Or leave me lying here

Your favourite innocence

Your favourite prize

Your favourite smile

Your favourite slave

I’m hanging on your words

Living on your breath

Feeling with your skin

Will I always be here

“In Your Room” by Depeche Mode (lyrics by Martin L. Gore)

A distant sound akin to breaking glass woke her.Juliana didn’t recognize the room, though it was extremely well furnished and everything seemed brand new. She could almost smell the fresh paint on the trim. The mattress was certainly new.And then…was that chanting? Sirens? She swore she heard something like that before. The door was partially ajar, so she had to act quickly if she wanted to find out for herself what was going on.She was transported to the Smiths’ apartment in an unmarked van with blacked out windows, so she wouldn’t be able to observe anything. She tried to whip her head around to see where she was but the guards practically dragged her in and, before she knew it, she was in an elevator.Besides the troops guarding the high-rise tower, she could see no one else milling about. That should have been most telling, but she was at that moment fearing for her life and wishing she’d had the opportunity to meditate while in her cell. She hadn’t yet had the luxury to travel. The electroshock wasn’t exactly beneficial to that end.But perhaps she could try again if she hurried.Juliana reluctantly crawled out from beneath the cloudlike coverlet, as it was the softest, most comfortable piece of any material she had felt in months. She was thankful for small mercies in that the bed squeaked only minimally and crept across the room to the window. She went to tug the curtains back to unlock the latch and made the awful mistake of looking down.
The goal was not to admit desire, but to prevent him from going off the rails.Yet again Juliana Crain invaded his dreams.The ethereal beauty told him things with her moves she wouldn’t have dared to in public, her unbound locks a pile of tousled waves on his pillow, untamed due to the constant friction, sweat-born ringlets forming around her hairline. John’s own curls had become a riotous mess. Her nails clawed at the sheets, quite literally snagging them. Both were guilty of annoying his neighbors below with their frenetic lovemaking at such an early hour.One of the positions was aggravating his shoulder but he kept the heels of her ankles propped around them so that he could plow into her long and deep, and so he could occasionally glance at her pretty shoes. Then he’d push her legs towards her chest and have her hold herself open as he disappeared inside her.The bed creaked harshly. Her eyes, sometimes more green than blue, sparkled in the sun filtering through the tops of the curtains, partially hiding the glare of a bright winter’s day. All too soon, John felt a chill surge through him that threatened to interrupt their intense coupling.John kept moving inside her but only haltingly; surely it would only take a moment. “Sorry honey, could you hold still?
Let me just…I’m freezing, aren’t you?”He just wanted to cuddle her close, but instinct told him to keep her filled and full. The sex won out. She pleaded for him to massage her clit, but his free hand was trying in vain to locate the missing blanket. Even a sheet would have done the trick, temporarily. But if his body was cold, he wouldn’t stay hard, no matter how much she turned him on.Just like throwing water on a raging inferno, something he had explained to her earlier.John urged her to hold him tighter, to meld their burning skin together so he could absorb her warmth, but she started to fade from his grasp. Seconds later she was gone. In her place was a rope, which he started to rub against his skin to generate more heat.He woke up with the rope coiled around his hands. He had somehow bound himself together in his sleep. Thankfully it fell away quite easily as there were no knots to contend with.Bound and cold. No control. No love.He fingered the sturdy restraint as the anger resurfaced, energizing him almost immediately.He should be grateful that Juliana Crain unintentionally led him to the equally elusive Man in the High Castle – if one could even call a farmhouse in the middle of the Neutral Zone a royal residence. He thought that the title was a more apt description of himself, the newly appointed successor to George Lincoln Rockwell, trapped in a cheerless grey tower in Midtown Manhattan.Man, not King, for the true King was Himmler, and he could march into the Smiths’ residence (fully subsidized by the Reich) without a moment’s notice, which is why John’s adoptive home never truly felt like one. His castle in the sky was a glass fortress that provided no real protection. He served at His Majesty’s pleasure, a marionette made to dance at Himmler’s whim. If any actual justice remained in this godforsaken world, his assassin would have been able to sever those strings permanently. John Smith wished he could have pulled the trigger himself.What a hateful man. John's family meant nothing to him, except to set an example for the American Reich.He sorely missed his home on Long Island. The sprawling suburban streets and friendly neighbors; Max, the family dog, who had to be put up for adoption because pets were not allowed in this apartment (the girls were rightfully heartbroken – an extra sting on top of Thomas’ death); sitting down to Helen’s home cooking at the kitchen table, instead of a lifeless dining room. Birds that weren’t pigeons. Grass. The privacy afforded by strategically placed oak trees. An heirloom quilt draped over a comfortable couch.At some point John had lain down with a stiff pillow curled under his head. It was never a good idea to fall asleep on this couch. It was not designed for occasional naps. The crick in his neck was proof of that. He ran a hand through his slightly dampened hair. He probably needed to shower. He checked his watch and his eyes widened. 3:00 am! It hit him with a sudden wave of nausea that Helen was gone. The girls, too. And he was doing nothing about it. Not like he had any idea where to start searching.He couldn’t exactly alert the authorities, nor could he leave his home base because he was supreme commander of the GNR for the entire continent. How would it look if the Reichsmarschall ran away to hunt for his fugitive wife and daughters while the fate of Himmler was as of yet unknown?Helen had abandoned him when he needed her the most. Right before his swearing-in ceremony she told him she wasn’t going anywhere. After he found out about the truth behind Erich’s death, and then about Joe’s murder, he practically ordered her to keep supporting him, to continue to persevere through whatever ordeal came next, to have good days – their lives depended on it.In the barely lit living room, as he sat grappling with the loss of these two men, John let his shoulders slump with the weight of newfound loneliness and not a little self-pity. Who else did he have left in his life who cared for him now? Only his family. And Helen, his sole confidante.He might have been selfish in saying so, but he never lied: he did
need her. For as lost and unable to cope as she was, Helen was his wife. Wives stuck by their husbands. And she knew him: Knew he would never stray from his wedding vows. Knew that he loved her most ardently. Knew that he adored their children. Knew she could trust him with her life.
Knew that falling out with his party, regardless of his own nagging misgivings, was never an option.
But how well did he know
Helen?
Clearly not well enough to believe she would defy him like this.So what was the point of fidelity now? He was essentially separated, even if it wasn’t by choice. Therefore, there was no shame in adultery, especially since there wasn’t even an inkling of a budding romance – more so because it involved deliberately objectifying and humiliating a prisoner who needed to be knocked off her high horse. Before he had felt his fantasies were shameful, but now it didn’t seem to matter one way or the other.His wife apparently never felt guilty for being 'physically demonstrative' with her psychotherapist; he knew in his heart he wasn’t being painted the full picture. How often had she fantasized about Dr. Ryan? When did it start? She told John she loved him over the phone tonight, though there was a chance she only did so to soften the blow.How could she truly love him if he frightened her; if, due to his unexpected promotion, she considered him a threat to their children’s safety? She couldn’t even be bothered to leave him a note of farewell (the cliche Dear John letter). Perhaps it was better that there would be nothing for him to analyze to death when the bleak reality finally set in.He had grown to think of himself and Helen sort of like Bonnie and Clyde, even though they had been the most upstanding of citizens. She might not have gone on missions with him, but as a wife of a high-ranking Nazi official, she was devoted to him and aided the cause when necessary. And he assisted her, too, even if it meant breaking the law.Although initially disapproving, she was complicit in his failed scheme to transport Thomas to South America. She intuited that he was the one who murdered their longtime, trusted family doctor, Jerry Adler, to help facilitate this plan. In turn, John created a mock robbery scene after Helen killed his wife and former friend Alice in self-defense after a futile attempt to bury the hatchet.But ultimately, Helen’s maternal protectiveness overruled any affection she held for her husband, which was really as it should be. He wondered if, had Clyde Barrow not been impotent, Bonnie would have done the same thing. In their case, it would be to prevent their kids from being thrown into an orphanage – he doubted it had anything to do with avoiding eugenics testing. Any decent mother would. Even John’s own mother had not held him so close to her bosom.Similarly, no father could possibly hold his son in higher esteem than John Smith. He regretted that he was so tough on Thomas, but at the time he was instilling in him what he believed to be positive values and traits. Thomas grew to be scholarly and athletic; a loving, dutiful son and big brother, with a pure heart and the naïve idealism that exemplified everything the Hitler Youth stood for. Ultimately, the perfect sacrificial lamb.John knew he needed to accept that his holing himself away in his study with his personal grief, lit only by the constantly whirring projector screen, had a detrimental effect on their nearly twenty years of marriage. Perhaps he was holding onto a lost cause in hoping to see Thomas again. Perhaps not.Those films had shaken him to his core. They were revelatory. And he was in them, too! If the Nazis could successfully transfer one random teenager across the portal, what was stopping him from attempting to himself?Of course, the notorious Juliana was ready and able to dash any hopes he might entertain to the ground.“Great success is built on failure,” he had replied to her so confidently, but she had looked at him like he was nothing more than a pitiful fool. The presumptuous bitch had sized him up and found him wanting, at a time when he was already feeling intensely vulnerable.A shrewd strategist, he deduced long ago that knowledge was the most powerful weapon of all. Though wearing shackles, this renegade possessed a type of wisdom entirely foreign to him. She was dangling something above his head, just out of reach, silently laughing at his folly through exhausted eyes. The audacity of her!John could not let this one die. It had nothing to do with the ridiculous kinder feelings he started to develop for her. It had nothing to do with that reckless kiss, nor the nascent feelings of rapprochement. He would get answers out of her one way or another. To do so would mean he had to break her.John wanted – no, needed – to degrade her in the worst way possible. She would be treated like dirt, used for his pleasure and tossed away like old newspaper.
Having left the rope behind, John surreptitiously crept down the hallway toward the guest bedroom. He felt foolish treading so carefully in his own home, slinking along the wall like a common thief, but he couldn’t entirely trust her motives. At least he had the element of surprise on his side.All was silent upon reaching the door. John rounded the corner, but paused instantly at the sight before him. He almost did a double-take: Juliana’s slender arms raised to the window, her palms pressed against translucent glass. In his dream, he saw himself silently striding up to her, taking charge of her body.Images suddenly flooded his already overloaded brain like a pornographic movie, and his cock instantly twitched back to life.
Only then, the room had been lamp-lit. Here, she was an apparition in blue set against the backdrop of a rain-dappled night, bathed in moonlight.He brushed it off as a mere coincidence that didn’t require further exploration.If only he could see the horror that twisted her features as soon as she beheld the commotion multiple stories below. For all she knew, it was the beginning of the end of the world, and she was ensnared in the devil’s chambers. She should logically be safer indoors, however as she was now under John Smith’s roof, the reverse would be true.“Stop.”As if on cue, John appeared, practically boxing in her narrow hips with his powerful thighs in a most intimidating stance, reaching for her arms, only to abruptly tuck them behind her back and transfer both wrists to one fist.His frame felt stifling and completely overwhelmed her. And it was clear the monster wasn’t about to handle her with care after the stunt she had just pulled. He wrapped his other sinfully elegant hand around her throat, stroking along the side with his thumb, right along her carotid artery.“I am in dire need of your services again, Miss Crain,” he rasped into her ear while she struggled mightily. This only made him strengthen his grip on her already sorely used wrists. She willed him to ease up on his grip, just this once.Miraculously, he did.A single finger traced over every bump and protrusion in her spine. He massaged the back of her hips, directly over a patch of faded, yet still unsightly scarring on her left side. It felt…nice. Almost like a soft caress.She had a sudden vision of herself being stroked with a rose all over her back, sides and legs.
"Inspector says, I love you, Juliana."That voice...She shook her head, bewildered. What a ludicrous thought!
John completely ignored her distractedness. He bent at the knees and yanked down her panties roughly, nearly tearing the fragile lace in his haste. They fell to her ankles.“Step out. Now.”Noting his impatience, she shook herself mentally and kicked off the panties. She would have to ponder this strange phenomenon later.“Turn around.”Juliana pivoted towards him, eyes down. She hadn’t forgotten about her beloved mentor Hawthorne, stuck in his own cell, worried about the fate of Caroline. She was frustrated at another missed opportunity to travel. Yet part of her aspired to break down John’s walls first. The cracks were there. They just needed coaxing.When he became a crumpled mess, disgusted with himself; when he became so dejected he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, remembering all the deplorable acts he committed, all for the sake of power; when he was at his weakest, then, and only then, would she make her move.Until that time, she would just have to swallow her pride and let him do his worst.John retrieved the panties and handed them to her. He took a seat in the red armchair, poised as a king on his throne, pointedly ignoring the persistent drum beats seeping through the walls of the apartment.His eyes were brewing up another electric storm.
“Turn them inside out.”

Oh, this was going to be immensely gratifying.

He wanted to palm his prick most desperately. But good things come to those who wait, or so he’d heard. Why not him? He had been most patient with her. But that, unlike her usefulness, had begun to wear thin.She looked at him as she did so, meeting that mocking hooded gaze.
Cruel, tormenting Nazi fuck.
She wondered just how much he had a hand in the chaos that erupted in the pristine, orderly streets of New York that evening. What had compelled those people to parade through the streets, beating drums and burning everything in sight, at this hour?Frank had once told her about Kristallnacht and how his grandparents, only one of them Jewish, narrowly escaped public execution by the Gestapo in Hamburg. Their home, like so many others that belonged to those families deemed unfit to reside in the Reich, was raided and torched.And where was the Reichsmarschall during all this? Getting serviced by a prisoner whilst the citizens of the capital city annihilated everything in sight.And she thought the Pons were bad. They at least abided by a code of honor. The Nazis thrived on a system fueled by hatred and ostracism.Juliana sensed that at his core, John despised himself. Her innate empathy always seemed to trounce over whatever anger or resentment she felt toward another human, even if they deserved it.
At times, it weakened her.
“On your knees.”
He uncrossed his long legs and stretched one towards her. She stared at his boots, the twin objects of terror.“Is there something wrong with your hearing?”“No, John.”She knelt on the rug holding the panties when it at last dawned on her exactly what he wanted her to do. Her stomach dropped.
Sick, twisted, demented Nazi fuck.
“I assume you know what comes next,” he said with an air of nonchalance but a feral glint in his eyes.She nodded.“Good.”He peered unabashedly at her exposed lips, peeking out from beneath a thatch of brown curls that he knew contained nerve endings she probably never knew existed.“Maybe if you’re very thorough I’ll reward you.”With further depravity, he told himself, immensely amused.Juliana unfolded the satin and lace panties, sticky with plenty of moisture. When she first entered the penthouse, this was not what she envisioned as a ‘suitable punishment.'She had imagined her jumpsuit being torn to shreds, a split lip, bruises, and a concussion, perhaps getting beaten to a pulp while she stood her ground. As terrible as all those consequences seemed, none of them would come close to tarnishing her dignity.But this was debasement at its finest.Most disturbing of all, she had not expected to want it; to feel her hairs stand on end when he swept her figure with his molten hot gaze. He did make good on his promise of using her, over and over again. And she actually looked forward to it.How long had he been planning this? He owned a leash and had rope at his disposal, but the collar was brand new. Did the Nazis supply their more senior officers with such implements?She was loath to admit it made her wet just thinking about what other devious plans he had in store for her.
Juliana looked up just as he traced his lips with his tongue.“I can think of punishments far more unpleasant than this one, Miss Crain. Don’t make me wait.”He drummed his fingers against the arms of the chair to further prove his point.And so she bent to her surreal task, grasping the ankle of one of his boots.Suddenly hesitant, she asked, “Is this ok, John?”His eyes positively glowed in the nebulous surroundings. They slammed into hers, a gleaming, and dangerously seductive jade. “What do you think?”She leaned forwards and bit her lip, concentrating. But as she inhaled, as her pussy clenched of its own accord, Juliana tried her best to be solicitous about the task at hand so as not to encourage further unwanted arousal.John sank further into the plush chair as his captive started to buff in a small
circular pattern, imagining what he knew to be real – her iridescent juices skimming the surface of his uniform boots, which he understood could be quite terrifying to some. He felt her fingers slide up the shaft. It was too reminiscent of…He closed his eyes. Watching her bend to his will was absolutely killing him, even though she only just began her duties. There was a dampness forming underneath the zipper of his trousers. He bit back a moan.
Control, John. Try to hold on just a little longer.
Juliana struggled to continue. Not because it was an arduous task; far from it. The mingling of the potent notes of leather, her arousal, and the sultry fragrance he ordered her to wear made her so fucking wet she almost couldn’t form thoughts.It was utterly unfathomable. She swallowed. Her mouth watered. She wanted to…“Now the other one,” he demanded, knuckles clutching the arms of the chair for dear life.She dragged herself away and immediately set to work on his left boot. She noted with satisfaction that it was much duller than the one she just finished polishing with what amounted to a panty rag. Strangely, she hoped her efforts pleased him.“I want you to really work it in good. Will you do that for me?”Would she ever. “Yes, John.” Her response came out slightly louder than a whisper, but he definitely heard her.Juliana couldn’t help but let her eyes wander upward to hungrily feast upon his thighs, entranced by how the muscles strained, hidden beneath all that solid wool. All because of her touch. She forced her eyes back down before she could commit his purely carnal reactions to memory.His nostrils twitched, eyebrows creased, immaculate squared-off nails tore into the cherry red upholstery.Her dew glistened on the thick obsidian leather, but to her chagrin it was beginning to subside. Juliana searched the gusset of her panties for more to work with. Finding it insufficient, she did the unthinkable, without asking for permission.She dipped her fingers into her pussy and they were quickly saturated with fresh, natural polish.It was worth it to catch the astonished expression that flashed across the Reichsmarschall’s face as he watched her apply it to the crotch. The way his lips trembled. How his eyes glazed over.“You little…” he panted, unable to produce the words.Wet, wrinkled blue satin slithered around haphazardly, juices bubbling, so slick. Juliana caught a strong whiff of the leather once more. Heard his reluctant moan, low in his throat. Felt his hand gripping her hair, pushing her down, closer to the inevitable.Her lips hovered over his boot. She exhaled over the spot. He eagerly pressed her into it.She was trapped, imprisoned against the tough yet supple material. His boots had always been the villain of her nightmares. It wasn’t the Nazi himself she feared, but the symbolic instruments of death that kicked down doors and crushed bones beneath their tough soles.And yet, they stirred her.The entire scenario was inconceivable. She was losing all sense of rationality, of purpose. But at that moment she scarcely gave a damn.The panties fell to the floor as she impulsively seized the sides of the shaft with both hands. She lapped at the leather as if it were a decadent last meal. The taste was indescribable, more painfully arousing than she’d anticipated.She could not explain her attraction to these dark, masculine, dreadful things. It was as if she were confronting her nightmares head-on. No, it had to be about more than just overcoming a phobia. Why, why was she enjoying this?She let all reason melt away as she rubbed her face against his leg, so turned on she let out a kittenish growl that vibrated right through his bones.
John was on the verge of euphoria. His neck curved against the back of the chair."Juliana...” Her name caressed the air, but he barely noticed it fly past his lips because what she was doing to him was unbearably erotic.Too self-disciplined for its own good, John’s mind shifted. He needed to regain the upper hand.“I never sanctioned this,” he thought fleetingly, referring to her veering decidedly off-script.When he heard the faint murmur of a filthy word curling over the toes of his boot, he considered her assignment completed.But he could tell she fully intended to continue. Too bad he was the one in charge.He shrugged her off of him. “Get up. And grab those,” he pointed to her discarded, crumpled up knickers.Only now did the reality of what had just transpired set in – Juliana was absolutely mortified.John hauled her onto his lap, settling his unyielding hardness between her cheeks.“Oh…fuck.” She had never felt the Reichsmarschall in quite this way before.“Fuck indeed.”John’s forearm held her waist in an iron grip as he shoved his hand inside her delicate bra cups. Her tiny nipples stood proudly erect and he pinched them, squeezing them between his fingers; never too hard, just enough to drive her mad with lust.He then began to lightly slap the taut, perky breasts; they barely jiggled. This shocked her, and she tried to cross her arms a bit. He was having none of that. He brushed her curtain of hair back – the braid had long since vanished – and manhandled her small tits some more, knowing and truly not caring if he left any painful mementos on her skin. He smoothly returned to lightly tweaking her nipples.Between the brutal assault and his more tender ministrations, she could barely think straight.“I’ve decided that you do deserve a reward, for exemplary service.”John had never experienced such immense sexual gratification, and he hadn’t even come yet. He nuzzled his scratchy shadow against her smooth cheek.“I bet your panties smell fucking incredible right about now,” he growled. “Would you care to find out, Miss Crain?”She squirmed in agony. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so she gripped the arms of the chair, just as he had. They were pleasingly warm and slightly damp.“Answer me,” he rasped, clearly agitated. Whether through anger or arousal, she couldn't tell.She would say whatever she could to get John Smith to release her nipple, currently smashed between two bruising knuckles.“Ahh... yes, John.”She had inadvertently dropped the panties onto her lap. John tutted, picked them up and turned them inside-out again.One determined hand moved down to her center, well aware of what awaited him – the obvious evidence of her burgeoning pleasure.His forefinger drifted over the hood of her throbbing clit. Suddenly it slipped into her tight passage. He wiggled it around and scooped up some of her essence.John lifted it to his lips and sighed. “I so long taste you again. But we can’t let this go to waste.”He rubbed it along the crotch of the panties. Then he used that part to sop up her juices, as if it were merely a sponge or a rag.John was really starting to weird her out.His amber-green eyes bore into hers while he placed them her hand, his nails digging into her palm.“Lick them.” He frantically cupped her mound again.Juliana lifted the wrinkled panties to her nose and her eyes drifted shut, plump lips parting on a sigh.John started circling her pearl. It wouldn’t take much, for either of them.She held them closer to her face and moaned while breathing in the potent, decidedly unisex aroma that was him and her. Darkness and light. Stoicism and sensitivity. The limitless dichotomies they had precious little time to explore.His fingers moved faster. Her curious tongue darted along the fabric, testing.John took immediate notice and pinched her nipple so hard that she gasped and he took the opportunity to push the sodden crotch into her mouth before she dropped them.“Keep them in there.”He was well beyond simple perversion now. If he were a regular man, he would be condemned to death by his own party.He pushed them in further as he warned, “Don’t let go of them, slut, or I’ll never let you come. Never,” he shook his head in mock solemnity.He leaned into her ear. “I know how badly you want it.” As he said this, two fingers slipped deftly inside her slit and pumped furiously inside her spasming walls as his thumb worked her clit.She held the middle of the cloth between her teeth and sucked in her clear, musky juices. John wrapped his free hand around the base of her throat and held her there.“That’s it. Suck on that dirty cum rag you used to polish up my boots.”Her eyes rolled back as she moaned. She clutched her breasts, arching her neck beneath his hand.
His fingers plunged into her even more deeply, crooking them forward, ravaging her until she squealed, right at the precipice of orgasm.“Look at how depraved you've become, Miss Crain.”She could hardly dispute this.John removed his drenched fingers and pushed her off his lap, shoving her onto the bed face-down, positioning her on all fours.Right where - and how - she belonged.
He uncaringly smashed her head into the mattress and titled her hips up, bare ass pointing towards the ceiling. He placed her hand directly over her pussy.“Make yourself come,” he insisted, hurriedly slipping his suspenders down and popping two more buttons open on his shirt. His resplendent chest heaved with unsated desire. "Right the fuck now. Or else.”He smacked her right ass cheek. Of course she knew what the stakes were. Without further prompting she dove in.Her panties were right under her face. Juliana gorged on them, imagining John’s expert tongue trilling along her pussy.No, it wouldn’t take very long at all.John somehow managed to unzip his trousers so his overburdened cock could spring out. After yanking them down, he palmed the head and glided the oozing pre-cum up over the rigid shaft and back again with firm pressure, over the bulging veins, picturing her lips sucking him off with abandon.Juliana worked at her swollen clit furiously, fingers sliding, tapping. Not a minute later, a shot of pure white heat ripped through the heart of her. She rubbed harder and cried out into the mattress like an utter whore, drooling sloppily all over her panties, cum trickling down, soaking through the silk coverlet.John rushed over and pushed her further into the mattress and held her down by the back of her neck. “Shut up, you conniving little bitch.”He grunted as he pulled and tugged. It was almost painful after months of pent-up frustration with no outlet.She writhed and moaned like she never had in all her life – and being the free spirit she was, there were quite a number of memorable encounters she could pull out as fantasy material whenever she pleasured herself. It was disturbing that she knew right then and there that she would remember this one until her dying day, which hopefully wouldn’t occur until decades later. That, of course, was wishful thinking.You never could trust a Nazi.“You know, I don’t give a fuck who hears anymore.” He jerked her back by her hair and she let out a wail. He was the Reichsmarschall of the North American Reich, and no one could turn him in for disturbing the peace. As if anyone in the city
was getting any sleep tonight...No, they would share in this ecstasy and drown out the dissonance of the destruction emanating from the city streets. Jahr Null could go fuck itself six ways to Sunday for all he was concerned.With that in mind…“Fucking God!”John came with a roar, spurting all over her heart-shaped ass and thighs, sweat pouring through his shirt.At that moment, John Smith felt that he truly owned Juliana Crain – his nemesis and fantasy object. He had finally branded her with his seed. A wicked smirk emerged as he leisurely stared at his remnant dripping in thick rivulets down her thighs.After pausing to roll up his sleeves, he stepped forward and massaged it into her supple skin, working upwards towards her rear, molding it to her form.Juliana was caught in another dimension altogether, and not the parallel universe she needed to travel to in order to escape the mess she now found herself in. She was still so freakishly aroused she feared her clit just might burst.What was it about this man she hated so thoroughly that made her want to lick his boots again and again?John felt so animalistic. Not since he had engaged in the bloodiest battles in the Pacific or pummelled to death the most deserving enemies of the state with only his fists had he felt this savage. He dipped his fingers along a stray puddle of cum and grasped her jaw from behind.“Take your reward, slut.” So pleased with himself, he wiped the creamy cum all over her lips. It slid down her chin and she dutifully lapped it up. Whatever she failed to catch on her own he rubbed into her face.“You love it. Tell me you love it.”“I love it, John. Feed it to me, John. Please…”He was about to acquiesce to her wish when two scenarios, very vivid, briefly flashed through his mind. First, a woman with mussed up hair under a hat, wearing nothing but a short pea coat and a tiny sparkly dress, her beautiful face bruised, handing over her purse to him. Second, a woman gyrating on his cock, arms tied behind her back, with seductive feline eyes pleading for release.He mentally swore into soft sable hair that smelled of a wanton paradise.A very tangible feeling of having loved another jolted his consciousness into awareness. Scent beckoned to memories like nothing else. In this strange place, he smiled and clapped like an idiot as the woman he adored blew out birthday candles.Another world? No. She was not in the films. Helen was.Helen. He loved Helen. He had married Helen. They had three beautiful children together.He had never made love to a cocktail waitress in his life. Certainly not one who resembled the woman lying beneath him, still trembling with hyperarousal.Oh Christ, he needed to purge her from his system tonight.
And before he knew it, he was kissing down her neck. His hands wandered all over her body, teasing and toying. Considering.
Riiiiipppppp. Riiiiiiiipppppp.
“Oh dear, Miss Crain. I seem to have damaged something.”He was referring to her stockings, which now bore two large tears, one on each thigh – four and six inches, respectively.Juliana couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Woozy and breathless, she tasted his fresh cum in her mouth, on her face, the slight tang of her nectar; she smelled hints of leather and spiced vanilla and sweat and smoke and resin.
All assaulted her senses.John crawled over her spent body, batting the sweat-drenched locks away from her face. He leaned in and uttered, flush against the shell of her ear, in the rawest tone she had ever heard from any man: “But I don’t seem to have damaged you enough.”Her eyes widened in trepidation. And yet, she hadn’t the will, or the desire, to push her rough captor away.John rolled her over and hooked a finger into the ring of her collar, pulling her up, right in line with his growing erection. His grimly handsome face twitched in awe at the look of pure need spilling from her eyes.Large, round orbs flashed with the unexpected recognition of their synergy, as well as the promise of perpetual dominance.Lips trembling, she uttered three words he had only ever heard in his dreams:“Use me, John.” She lowered her head and looked up at him with that alluring, defiant stare, simultaneously telling and concealing.
The roguish, degenerate Reichsmarschall leered back at her.“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Crain. I have every intention of tearing you apart.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When fever breaks

What happened to my mind?

When fever breaks

The heart sinks in the mire

When fever breaks

The soul throws itself under

Cause desire is rage

N' rage is desire

Desire is rage

Oh rage is desire

"When the Fever Breaks" by Emilíana Torrini

A stray droplet of perspiration slid off John’s nose, but he wouldn’t dare break this moment. He willed his breath to slow, eyes emitting a feral glow more compelling than the distant moonlight streaming through the window. The sky was still dark enough that only traces of the pale gold borders on that atrocious wallpaper were visible.Barely propped up on her elbows, Juliana was struck dumb, utterly transfixed. When her front teeth scraped across her lower lip, she made a little sucking noise. Hair clung to her flushed cheeks, its length flowing behind her shoulders like brown silk sheets.Taking all of this in, John’s smirking eyes mocked her natural responsiveness to his body. His cock bobbed in delight over the prospect of future discovery. Much like his boots, she became besotted with his rather remarkable length and thickness, which was already more than halfway hard.He released his grip on her collar and her hands scurried to maintain her balance. She was pulled into a sitting position and their sticky chests collided when he reached around to unclasp her bra, damp neck coiling around hers.Cleopatra and her beloved asp.He pushed it off, one satin strap at a time. He was sad to see it go.For about ten seconds.They were by no means ample, but they suited him just fine. He cradled them under his palms, stroking his thumbs over the rosebud nipples that pebbled from the friction, increasing the speed until she whimpered. When they were taut enough, John pinched them, reveling in the awkward way her hips would jut forward in response.
He was so close she could read the exact pattern of his irises, the streaks of warm gold and copper enhancing the clear green just so. He, in turn, beheld a slight silver cast in hers. In the ten seconds John and Juliana’s orbs locked into a trance, the three metals fused, creating a durable metallic alloy. The ratio of his gold to the other elements tipped the scales in his favor, as it should be.This chemical bond would endure throughout time and space. They were not to know this; it was enough that they could recognize their inherent compatibility.
John prided himself on being an astute judge of character, and the assumptions he made about Miss Juliana Crain were proving to be true. He had sized her up not long after observing her through a glass partition. He first made his acquaintance with her when, dirty and disheveled, she sought refuge in the GNR.He recalled his distinct welcome and primary assertion of authority: “I am Obergruppenführer John Smith. Welcome to the Reich.” Her shy appreciation, however, was tainted with treachery. They always said to watch out for the quiet ones.“There are two things I want from you, Miss Crain: gratitude and answers. Never doubt I have the means to extract both.”She nodded, panting through raw arousal mixed with equal doses of adrenaline and lust, neither of which she was willing to relinquish. He stared her down and waited.“Thank you, John.” He nodded once, satisfied.Juliana was conflicted. She had not lost all sense of reason. But it was buried under an unexpected, intense, gut-wrenching need to please the highest-ranking Nazi in the land.Suddenly he pulled her forwards by the back of her head and brought her close to his throbbing heat. Juliana’s mouth dropped open, already salivating with need. His free hand tilted her chin up, scooping up a speck of splattered cum and rubbing it on the center of her lower lip. It was immediately consumed.“Your mouth is going to be quite sore when I’m finished with you. You wouldn’t want to make this experience more strenuous than it needs to be. So, shut it.” He placed his finger beneath the cleft of her chin and did just that.Keeping his menacing deep-set eyes trained on hers, he took his time stuffing himself back into his trousers. He pulled up the zipper with equally agonizing slowness. She paid attention to every clack-clack of the metal teeth.Part of her hoped the zipper would snag on his fragile skin; the other part burned with lust and frowned in dismay when it disappeared from sight.The next thing she knew, she had been flipped over her onto her stomach again – his tattered rag doll.John’s hand ran up the backs of her thighs, fingertips threatening to snag the already compromised nylons. He tisked.His teeth scraped at the skin exposed by the rips with feather-light pressure, just enough to cause her to squirm with anxious desire.He gripped the back of her neck and trailed a finger down her spine. She shivered, fine hairs tensing up over each hill and valley of her vertebra he touched.“Close your eyes. Don’t move.”Juliana wouldn’t dare.She heard him leave the room, her heightened awareness noticing every little creak and turn of a door handle. He wandered all over the apartment, clearly rummaging for something.John returned and leaned against the doorway, regarding her breathtaking nude form.What was it about this woman and her ethereal, catlike beauty that initiated these dreams of such startling intimacy and precise detail, down to the way she walked, spoke, breathed? And now bits and pieces randomly showed up every half hour or so, interrupting his evening of debauchery.Worst of all, he was unable to control their appearance.Perhaps due to his persistent sadness, marital issues, and paralyzing sense of defeat, his mind dipped into his fantasy reserve to save him from falling apart. He had never gone to therapy for obvious reasons, so these feelings had been left to fester under the surface.He relied on the very system that ruined his life to keep him sane.And yet…His only son was dead. His loyal assistant and friend got murdered by Joe, another casualty of the Reich. His wife deserted him. His daughters, too vulnerable to be around their own father, were lost to him.He needed to cry, but the tears would never come.
There was, however impulsive and absurd, an alternative solution to all this; escapism at his finest. He would topple both his misery and his visions featuring a counterfeit Juliana Crain by acting out his sinister desires in the dead of night.What came before was just a warm-up. She was in for a rude awakening.
Rounding the bed upon which she lay crosswise, he tossed four separate items onto the mattress before sinking down himself. He brushed her brunette tresses to the side, exposing the nape of her swanlike neck. A hot frission of excitement settled in his core at the prospect of infiltrating her mind with filth and making her cede all control to him.She’d be knocked off her good girl pedestal once and for all, a slave to the effects of his purely intentional immorality.“I haven’t yet punished you for trying to run away. For trying to maim me with these.” He dangled the stilettos in front of her face before tossing them aside.John couldn’t wait to see the way she looked with them on, coupled with the newly torn stockings. He would be fully hard again in no time. He longed to fuck her like that, as if she were a ragged prostitute loitering in an alleyway. On the other hand, he would benefit from the height difference when she wore just the fishnet stockings. It would allow him to physically overpower her with ease and eliminate the threat of puncture wounds.Quite the conundrum.He decided to leave them off for now. It was just as well; soon he would be too distracted to care.John was not normally one for props, but this particular situation required the installation of absolute obedience. As such, he knew exactly what she needed; only it hadn’t been stashed away in the padlocked chest in his study.He didn’t have all that much rope at his disposal. He never actually planned on using it for anything; sentimentality and all. There was just enough to bind only one part of her body. He had to carefully consider his options.Juliana heard nothing save her own breathing. His shadow obliterated in the darkness, the Reichsmarschall loomed over her.Warm hands reached for her arms, joining them together and repositioning them at a ninety-degree angle against her back. Her palms were flattened over each forearm, fingertips almost touching her elbows. Her wrists were linked together and swiftly tied with the black rope. They lie well above and parallel to the graceful curve of her spine.“Miss Crain, I hope you realize just what sort of predicament you’ve gotten yourself into. Be assured there will be no escaping this time.”He grunted as he tightened the restraint around her wrists. It was an uncomfortable placement, but he wasn’t about to risk his captive maneuvering herself out of a simple wrist tie.And her hands would only get in the way.She twisted from side to side, testing the bonds. She wanted to vocalize her disapproval, but she couldn’t lift her head if she tried. Once she was free, Juliana vowed to claw his gorgeous eyes out.Task completed, he raised her hips as before, uttering not a single syllable. Silence always seemed to extract compliance.The crack as his palm hit her skin stung, but not unduly. She squirmed and stuck out her backside for more delicious punishment.John sighed to himself – such sweet, malleable putty. All his to manipulate.
Juliana breathed deeply and kept her eyes shut to enhance her other senses while waiting for his hand to fall again. He swatted her three more times and stepped away.She inhaled, sex scents spinning through her nostrils; dug her nails into her foreams, clinging to the pain. Inviting more.
“You’ve taken that well, Miss Crain.”Too well.
A rattle and a faint clink disturbed the stillness. Something perhaps three inches wide and smooth traced over her arms, her back, over the tears in her stockings.
This is no long-stemmed rose!
was her last thought before the unknown implement sailed through the air and connected with the right side of her posterior. It delivered the same impact as diving into a frigid ocean. She cried out into the mattress and bucked off the bed, but a strong hand held her down.A belt. A fucking belt.John hit her twice more, once on each cheek, then moved back as if to evaluate. A couple minutes later, he would begin again, raining several blows upon her tender ass and exposed upper thighs.He found whipping her with a well-loved belt more erotic than spanking her with his bare hand. He wished he could commission another portrait of her, featuring the sizzling red welts painted across her pert derriere.Juliana forced herself to remain calm and focus on her breathing each time the stiff leather made contact with her rear, so painful and frightening in its novelty. She fought to hold back tears. Yet as the beating wore on, the searing, throbbing ice-and-fire burn caused her mind to drift.That once strange, awful feeling morphed into something resembling carnal gratification.Without warning, two fingers fell into her pussy. A deep chuckle erupted from the live statue of sinewy muscle gripping the worn brown leather belt, folded twice over.She clenched her cheeks together as he let it float across her shoulder blades.“Yes…” she hissed.Another flash assaulted John: Dream Juliana bent over a dining room table, not his own, her back arching as flesh and blood Juliana's did now. In his hand, a long-stemmed rose. On her hair and skin, Fleur de Bohème.Gypsy Flower. A bewitching fragrance for a wandering spirit. The black and gold gift wrap. It was her birthday. His other self was dying to tell her he loved her.His jaw twitched, fingers flexed, teeth clenched.
CRACK!
She screamed and he immediately jerked her back by her hair, confused as ever, but seething with annoyance as yet another one of those relentless images invaded his waking hours.He brought the belt to her lips. “Say thank you for your gift.”Tears cascaded down her face, running onto the belt. “Th-thank you, John.”He wrapped both hands around her tiny waist and moaned into her ass, kissing, biting over the pulsating scarlet stripes. He bent down and squeezed her cheeks. Unbidden, she ground herself onto his face.Or attempted to…
WHAP!
“That's
not allowed.”John rolled her over and grabbed her by the collar once more. He shoved his hand in his pocket and the jangling chain resurfaced like a slinky silver cobra. Reattaching it, he seized her bodily, forcing her to kneel before him.He quietly untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off broad, well-defined shoulders. Juliana had never seen such a viciously gorgeous man in her life.He smirked at her appraisal. “Get over here and worship me.”
She bent forward and kissed all over his light mat of darkest brown chest hair, made more enticing with sprinklings of silver. When she neared his right nipple, he forced her mouth onto it. Without prompting, she zeroed-in on the eraser-like nub, sealed her lips around it, and sucked with diligent precision.He luxuriated in the highly concentrated suctioning action, surely a prelude of things to come. When it got to be too sensitive, he reluctantly urged her onto the left nipple. She was too attentive. And yet, he craved more.“Use your teeth.”She grazed and bit down, tugged, poked her tongue around.John gripped the chain with one hand and pushed her shoulders down, watching as she trailed hot, moist kisses along his firm stomach, lapping at the milky skin surrounding his naval.Finally, she came face to face with his groin again, masked by heavy fabric but still very much present. The position strained her back, but her pussy wasn’t bothered; its juices dribbled down her inner thighs with not a care in the world. John shoved her face right over the zipper, smashing her into his shaft."Make believe it's those boots you hate so much."She didn't need to be told twice.He ran his fingers through her silken waves as she rubbed her face over his crotch, back and forth, up and down, in endless circles. It felt fucking incredible. She growled when she reached the base of his shaft and he yanked her hair back in one fist and held her away, giving her a quick once-over. He fixed her with a searing glower.“You’re a greedy little bitch, aren’t you?” She could only gape at him.“Answer me.”“Yes, John. I-I love it,” she panted. “I want it.”“Oh really?”He picked her up and threw her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. His hair curled wildly, but his face remained impassive and cold. Aroused and in shock, she was unprepared for yet another “gift” – John straddled her and ground his hidden cock onto her face, thrusting the massive bulge into her waiting mouth, clutching the chain around his fist.He reached behind him and smacked her clit. Her screech was muffled by his weight and steady movement.“And don’t pretend like you don’t know what these are.”Juliana’s watery eyes grew large but still she obediently opened her jaw as wide as possible in order to accommodate his ball sac, one half at a time. The wool held his privates hostage in a sweltering environment, which only emphasized the overwhelming aroma of John Smith’s sex.John groaned aloud, the simulation almost as arousing as the real thing. He reached down and pinched her nose shut for a few frightening seconds and she bucked against him. He reached back and rubbed her clit as if trying to remove a tough wine stain from silk.She shook her head as his captivating green eyes took in the beauty of her surrender, her frantic grunts vibrating over his throbbing scrotum. He dimly thought about how this might make a rather effective interrogation technique.He abruptly lifted himself off of her and she coughed and gasped for breath, simultaneously terror-stricken and writhing in despair over how poised she was to orgasm.He lay down on his right side next to her, propping himself up on his elbow. “I told you I wasn’t going to kill you, Miss Crain.”He began to stroke her reddened cheek. “But I never said I wouldn’t torment you.”
He took his hand away and smacked the hood of her taut bundle of nerves, grinding his fingers against it with stunning brutality.
"Fuck...John. Oohhhhh..."This was one tough stain.Her eyelids heavy with unsated lust, they drifted shut.She arched her back, taking some of the pressure off her bound and burning wrists. The pain triggered by the rough cotton rope chafing against the abrasions added a layer of depth to the cruelty he had already inflicted upon her person.
But it was worth it just to feel what he could do with his hands. His mouth...That beautiful cock should be in
her mouth. She rimmed the seam of her lips and moaned.
"I can't wait to shove my cock in your pretty slut mouth and slide it down that tight little throat."Her eyes slammed open. His face was mere inches away; she could smell sweet cinnamon on his breath. She could make out the faintest black stubble dotting his alabaster skin all the way down his neck.
Her thighs trembled. Juliana wanted to fuck him.
No, she wanted to ruin him. First, however..."Are you going to moan on my cock when I fuck your mouth?"The dam broke and she lost it. John drowned out her piercing cries with a brutal kiss, relentless in dragging out her climax. She would never again question his superiority.He gripped her entire mound and shook it, snarling over her lips: “Who’s going to save you now?”He shoved two fingers inside her, then three, stretching, possessing. The wet slopping sounds put Mozart’s “Moonlight Sonata” to shame.“Oh god oh god oh god…” a litany mumbled in rapture.John slowed his movements, awestruck at the picture she made.“Look at me.”She obeyed, disoriented.If he believed in souls, his smolder would have corroded hers.
“Ask me.”
What?

You know what.
She did.“May I come again, John?His fingers sped up. “Surely you can do better than that.”“Ahhhhhh…May I come all over your fingers again, John?”He brought his face close to her pussy, spreading it wide, slashing over her clit with his tongue while his middle finger closed in on her g-spot.“No.”“No?” she croaked, exhausted and desperate for release.“You will come all over the bed like the filthy, depraved…”He couldn’t finish. His tongue trilled over her plump, glistening button.“Mmm…” He pulled the skin over her hood tight and placed the gentlest kisses there, while her walls vibrated against his fingers.He returned to her swollen clit and teased it with a serpentine wickedness.Moaning and thrashing about, she saw stars. John moved away and marveled as she gushed like a fountain, flooding the expensive silk bedspread with an alarming amount of fluid.But he shouldn't be surprised.
John knew exactly what she was about.As she stared at the ceiling, unseeing, a motionless, corrupted mess, John leaned close and kissed her on the forehead.“That’s a good slut.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

This is not AmericaShala la la laA little piece of youThe little peace in meWill dieFor this is not AmericaBlossom fails to bloom this seasonPromise not to stareToo longFor this is not a miracleThere was a timeA storm that blew so pureFor this could be the biggest skyAnd I could have the faintest ideaFor this is not AmericaThis is not AmericaThis is notSnowman melting from the insideFalcon spiralsTo the groundSo bloody red tomorrows cloudsA little piece of youThe little piece in meWill dieFor this is not AmericaThere was a timeA wind that blew so youngFor this could be the biggest skyAnd I could have the faintest ideaFor this is not AmericaThis is not AmericaThis is not
"THIS IS NOT AMERICA"/David Bowie (RIP)

Juliana felt like her world was spinning. She wasn’t quite dizzy. More like delirious. Floating.Completely saturated.Her breaths became shallow. She wanted to sit up but her muscles were sapped of strength. Even her mind.John Smith, her great enemy, was besting her.And stroking her hair.The sky was layered in hues of deep periwinkle, mauve and something similar to ripening peaches. The clock chimed half past four; the cacophony on the streets had since died out.She chanced
a look down at him. He was hard as a cinder block. She flicked her eyes up reluctantly. They had already been gazing at her.“Oh Miss Crain…”His voice washed over like her calmest ocean tide and seemed to lull her.She was lying on the sand and needed to dry off.“That was very entertaining.”The wave surged upon her and she struggled to move away to escape drowning.Just then he left the room.
False alarm, Jules.
He returned with a small towel. Petrified, Juliana considered he might actually kill her. Might he try to suffocate her with it? She knew now he was capable of such depravity.Instead, he squat down in front of her and wiped down her privates, her legs. Wherever her juices gushed, he washed clean with lukewarm water, surprisingly gentle in his ministrations. He twirled his finger in the air and she rolled onto her stomach. He proceeded to cleanse her rear, the back of her thighs, over her fishnets, which luckily only had a few splatter marks.
The brunt of the mess she made was on the coverlet. That would leave a fairly large stain. But it was of no consequence. Just a piece of fabric that could be replaced.When John was satisfied, he threw the towel to the side and started to untie her. She hoped he would get it over with quickly because her wrists were killing her. At one point the pain served to enhance her experience, but no longer. Juliana winced when he gingerly straightened each arm. There were slight purplish-red welts marring her wrists and her elbows ached with fatigue.“I wonder if you’ve ever come like that in your life.”Juliana knew the answer.“Miss Crain, I asked you a question.”“No, John.
Never like...that.”“My Juliana is a squirter. How delightful.”She blushed into the mattress.He reached down and started to massage her entire back using small circular motions, from her neck to her tailbone. His thumbs pressed into her and began to work out knots wherever he encountered them. She began to drift off again…
Mouths joined, an outpouring of tangled emotions left unexplored. Not as frantic, slow as the night was long. Slow as the swirling powder blanketing the city streets.It was Monday, her second day off in a row.John lifted her from his lap and stood her up. He removed her bindings as deftly as he could, kissing up and down her toned arms. When he accidentally tugged too hard while releasing her wrists, she winced.“I know, honey.” He tried to distract her from the sting of the rope burns with a lilting cadence. "Almost... There we are! You're free, Miss Crain."He kissed her hands in reverence.She shook her head in disbelief and curled them around his neck.“Wow, that was so…”“Unexpected?”“Unusual.”“Well, actually this is a practice that has been going on since ancient times. In fact, I’m sure a caveman started it.”She giggled. Her laugh never ceased to infect him in the most glorious way.“Cavemen played ‘Inspector Says’?”John looked taken aback. “No. They played ‘Caveman Says,’ obviously.”“And how would that go?” She cocked her head and let her hair swing down one shoulder, eyes dark and inviting. “Come on, I want to hear some cave-speak.”“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather show you.” His hands dipped under her rear. She jumped into his arms, coiling her legs around his midsection.“Ok, show me…Fred.”“Fred?”

"Flintstone?”
That earned her a quick swat on her rump.“Oooohh.”John leant over and whispered, “I love when you wrap those sinful legs around me.” He edged his fingers up the back of a thigh.“They can do other things, too,” she blurted.
What did she mean by that?
“Oh, I bet they can. But first, get down.”“Why?” He raised his eyebrow as if to say, ‘humor me.’As soon as her feet touched the ground, he hauled her up over his shoulder and started to march toward the bedroom.“Me want to fuck you like caveman, Miss Crain,”
he stated
in his
trademark penetrating diction.He threw her onto his bed and climbed on top of her.“Can you stop being a caveman now?”“Anything for you, my lovely gypsy,” he smirked.They made love so long that the fire went out in the living room.

She was dreaming again. No, she heard his voice clear as a bell; more husky than musical. John’s voice.“Say that again?”Heated breath against her ear. A sharp stab of teeth; an unsteady growl.“Get off the bed.”He watched her rise to her hands and knees but it wasn’t fast enough. His hand flew to her sore ass with a sting that meant business. Juliana rushed to comply, and soon she was standing face to face with the Reichsmarschall.He indicated the floor next to the armchair. "Put those back on. I want to see you walk in them.”Juliana grimaced as she stepped into first one shoe, then the other, holding onto the arm for balance. She tried to hold herself vertical. The chain hung between her breasts, resting at her knees. Suddenly, it didn’t belong there anymore.John unhooked the chain and let it fall to the ground. “I want you free. Go in the hallway and wait for me.”She remembered stumbling to the bathroom the last time she walked in the heels. She pulled her shoulder blades – her broken wings – into each other, chest out, pacing herself as gracefully as she could manage.I've waited tables in heels. I should be able to do this with my eyes closed. Before she knew it she was at the threshold of the room. She turned back to find John following her with arms folded across his naked chest. Her lips parted. She bit back a sigh.“What are you looking at?”Oh, he knew, but he couldn’t help but tease it out of her.“The window.”“Liar.”John didn’t give her a chance to answer. He backed her into the wall of the still darkened corridor. Without warning, he picked her up by the waist and slammed her against it; a nearby mirror wobbled. She was forced to wrap her legs around his torso. He let out an appreciative grunt into the join of her neck and shoulder.“Tighter.”Juliana squeezed her knees together, ankles crossed at the base of his spine. When her arms clawed at his solid shoulders to maintain a grip she felt the the tension ripple
off of him.Without meaning to, she moved a hand to the back of his head and ran her fingers through his military-shorn curls. She couldn’t help touching them, wondering if growing out his hair a bit would soften his looks.His face came closer and closer to hers. He seemed to sense the possibilities all too acutely.“I’m not going to give you what you want,” he rasped, and she finally noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, how tired and careworn his face. But she would humor him.“How do you know what I want, John?”Taking her off-guard,
and without taking his eyes off hers, he pinned her to the wall with a surprisingly sizable erection.He pulsed into her lazily. "Feel that?"She could barely nod.John would be a fool not to notice the effect he continued to have on his captive; nor was Juliana so naive. His focus seemed to shift for the barest second. Did he feel her true intent shooting arrows from her fingertips into his Aryan-perfect skin?The resulting chill in his hooded glare froze the deceitful digits in place.“I don’t care what you want,” he said without an ounce of mirth.He ghosted his fingers over her cheekbone as he touched his forehead to her own. He steadied his breath, fighting the adrenaline surging through his veins. She was uncertain whether his heart thudded out of anger or excitement – or both.John’s lips hovered above her cupid’s bow, from which he kissed the salt away. “At this moment, I very much don’t care about what anyone wants…”Of me. That thought repeated on a loop and was poised to spin out of control. Just a slight nudge in the wrong direction and he would surrender. Walls be damned.She felt the desire flow out of his core. Not his heart, but the very center of him. Her Aikido teacher told her the name for it: HARA. The all-consuming fire emanating from him wasn't remotely sexual, despite all the usual signs. It stemmed from somewhere deeper.Buried. Bottled up. Inaccessible. Beyond the punishing need to exert control by punishing her, he craved. He ached for that which shall not be named.John ached for his family. For the chance to start over he would never get. For the chance to undo all the damage; to, at the very least, salvage the shattered remains of his dignity.“Kiss me, Juliana.”John’s plea startled her. And he used her name again. The facade was beginning to crumble. Why then didn’t she feel as triumphant as she should?
He stared unblinkingly, perhaps revealing a miniature dose of his soul.Did she believe in souls? Not necessarily. She believed in people. She wished she could believe in him.

Juliana did not mean for her lips to crash into his so fiercely; had not meant to gnash at his lower lip, to suck, to groan with pleasure when he returned in kind.John had no idea he would melt into her kiss without hesitation; had no idea he would cling to her in such an alarmingly physical way – well beyond possessiveness: bordering on absurdity.He had no idea his dreams could produce such tangible, delicate flesh; had no idea how those visions could emerge in his waking hours.
He had no idea where he was headed as he carried Juliana beyond the foyer, past the elevator where he welcomed her into his own personal hell, a single breath connecting mouths that refused to break apart, cradling the neck he dreamily admitted would look lovely beneath a chignon. He could feel the baby fine hairs tickling his fingers.As she pulled him into her, as his bulge screamed for mercy, the phone jolted them apart. He nearly dropped her then. John had a few ideas of who might be on the other end, one possibility rather remote. He broke away and willed his erection to cease.Baseball. Lawn Mowers.Jazz music.
THROB.
The phone rang three more times. It wouldn’t do to delay; John Smith was
well regarded
for his punctuality.He swallowed. “Yes?”“Reichsmarschall. Reich Minister Goebbels. I have an update for you on our beloved Führer.”John tried to reign in his bitterness. “Oh? How bad – "“He is most unwell. Very nearly at death’s door.”John blanched and turned away from Juliana.“It may be a day, maybe one or two hours,” Goebbels continued unhurried, picking at a frayed cuticle. “There has been considerable blood loss. Part of his liver had to be removed. He remains…comatose.”John didn’t know where to look. “I understand.”“I am sorry to interrupt your slumber, Reichsmarschall, but you, more than anyone else, should understand the direness of the situation.”He paused for effect, which niggled at John but he attempted to ignore this. Still, fear and repulsion threatened to upend him, so he leaned against the counter.“I expect you at headquarters within the next two hours.”His mouth twitched. “Yes, Reich Minister.”“Very good. Heil Himmler.”“Heil Himmler.”John replaced the receiver. The strangest sensation coursed through him, almost as if he were floating from his body and watching it stare at the ground, waiting for it to splinter between his feet.It would have been too early for Helen to call anyway. She’d need to be well-rested for all the traveling that lie ahead, their daughters in tow.
He stalked over to Juliana, who hadn’t moved a muscle since he let go of her. Taking her hand with a somewhat bruising strength, he led her into the living room, eyes darting around, suddenly unsure of the layout of his own home. The home he had felt no rightful claim to. The one earned solely by spilling blood and dodging reality.Still holding onto her, bringing her coiled form further into the room, his gaze waded over the lifeless pewter frames, some of them antiques, others all cold, smooth angles. He purposely avoided Thomas’ school photo.Instead, he peered through the endless expanse of glass, pondering the composition of the random speckles below: scattered refuse; smashed in storefronts; stolen vehicles; layers upon layers of ash; bodies yet to be transported to the morgue.
He considered shutting the drapes to block out the sunrise, fast approaching his south-facing apartment at East 32nd and Lexington. He gloomily noted the irony of his bedroom window facing Park Avenue in the west – he had woken up each day for the past six months shrouded in darkness.Juliana, who by now thought herself immune to Nazi regalia, bristled at the gunmetal grey room divider. Suddenly she wished she made good on her plan to snap his neck in two when he had her pinned against the wall.As dawn broke, the behemoth GNR headquarter building was enveloped in a crimson haze. John swiveled toward her on his heels, still clad in his uniform trousers and regulation boots. A faint tangerine glow bled through his formidable frame. In a flash, he had her backed against the maze of metal swastikas.Juliana lifted her body away so as not to receive even the slightest imprint. She would surely lose her composure if she ever saw evidence of that.His finger slipped seamlessly from beneath the supple leather of her collar onto the thin sterling silver attachment. John kissed along her jawline, winding her cascading tresses around one fist, gruffly whispering his intent while another fingertip traced over her lips:
“My turn.”
Juliana sunk to her knees in one fluid motion, straining her torn stockings. She looked up at him and what he meant to be a nod evolved into a transparent shudder of exaltation as she undid his button, cupping him from below, unzipping the trousers and releasing his engorged cock.“Are you wet, little bird?”The odd endearment didn’t register, so intent was she on plunging her fingers into her folds, scooping out slick remnants of cum and slathering it on his hardness, from root to tip. He sucked in sharply.It had been so terribly, terribly long since a woman had touched him like she had. Juliana gripped and stroked, running a thumb along the seam beneath, testing the spongy-soft corona. Dipping her tongue over the slit to lap up his own essence, her upturned eyes gazed at him in hungry devotion, catching the sunlight.John moaned and reached down to coax her jaw loose. “Open.”He shoved his trouser legs to the tops of his boots and broadened his stance. Never had he appeared so intimidating, yet so very vulnerable. It finally occurred to her that he was unaccustomed to being in this position.In fact, he rarely asked Helen to do this. The notion of the Smith matriarch, mother of his children, being reduced to such a debasing act was anathema to him.But the woman below him, the one whose tongue swirled and unfurled, a pink satin ribbon teasing him into submission; who never had to be told to spit on her hands and eek out his torment, fist over tiny fist; the very same temptress who braced her hands at the backs of his thighs and engulfed his shaft whole; who nuzzled at his wiry dark hairs and didn’t balk when John gathered her hair atop her head and guided his member all the way to the back of her throat – she belonged there.He knew her. He knew she could withstand everything he could throw at her. So what was a little vulgarity?He began to pump his hips into her mouth.“Fuck you, oh fuck you...”Juliana moaned, eager to hear what other lewd expressions he could come up with.“Shitfaced little prick.”Then again, some lines just couldn’t be crossed. Yet John wouldn’t relinquish his hold.
“Arsenic is highly underrated. Basically undetectable…”Now she was outright panicking, trying to pull out of his grasp. This only prompted him to grip her hair tighter and plunge into her dripping mouth with frightening determination.It was at this point he began to prattle, quite uncharacteristically, as if talking himself to orgasm. And she wasn't prepared for the onslaught.“I had no fucking choice. All those lives...the bodies. The blood I spilt. For nothing. Look what you did to me...my family...my son.
You’ve taken everything. But you won’t...you won't take me alive. I will come for you…I will destroy you…all of you..."Juliana had by now started digging her nails into his thick, almost impenetrable thighs with such tenacity she knew she had broken one or two. Miraculously he slowed, gulping and panting, chest heaving with supreme exertion.“Beautiful, broken bird…sucking me off so well," he meandered. “Which tree did you fall from?”He abruptly pulled himself from her mouth. Drool streamed past her lips onto her chest. He took some of the bubbling saliva and swirled it around a nipple, twisting clockwise, and back.“You’re going to tell me everything. You’re going to tell me everything you know, you little slut…worming your way into my mind. Invading my dreams. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep anymore…”John was becoming completely unhinged. Of course this had been the plan all along, but it sat heavy and dull in the pit of her stomach.He sheathed himself within her mouth entirely, propelled by the lust of a man out for blood, numb to all else. "You will show me. I have no one left, nothing…”An echo of those same words, lanced with the burden of helplessness. Juliana said as much to Hawthorne.
With every utterance, John Smith's armor fell away. She took pity on the man, begging to be blinded to the bleakness of life, returning again and again to the very place he vowed to silence through obedience. She took pity on what was left of him.“Should have torched it myself, fucking monstrosity. Took it all away. I will break every bone in his fucking body…”Himmler. Of course.John looked down at her, rage and anguish and insomnia written into his bloodshot gaze, now an unnatural green.She opened up her throat to let him sink further into her depths, her nails no longer clinging, now massaging the tension out of his muscles. Her lashes fluttered, at peace with her fate; whatever it was had to be better than what he faced.He took hold of the back of her head and pressed her deep into his groin. His scent, so overwhelming; his dominance resurging – a reassuring constant.He pushed her back and let his cock bounce over her face. Juliana smiled at his playfulness. John raised an eyebrow. He held his cock just out of reach, pressed up against his abdomen, its length skirting the base of his navel. She tugged on his sac, tongue leisurely lapping its way across the surface of the ripe stone fruits.The sun’s rays were setting the facade of the GNR building alight. At this sight, he cringed and emitted a primordial growl. Juliana actually did protest when he began to shove first one ball into her mouth, then the other, cheeks sore and bulging.“I know you can take it. Take it, pretty girl…”Her moan felt like a melody. His eyes closed as he threw his head back, urging her on, desperate to rid himself of this ecstasy with every unforgiving stroke. Juliana’s neck strained in the awkward position as she hummed and moaned and sucked him to completion.John knew she would help him, just as he had helped her. By pure reflex, he ran a forefinger over her right forehead where a bump once lay. She deserved so much better than this. What had happened to him?This was his final thought before he all but ripped her from his body, rushing to pry her mouth open, belying the gentleness he would have preferred to show her. Amidst the raw disgust he felt for the source of his livelihood, he fed her his seed: jagged, explosive.Catharsis.
He stumbled backward until his heavy legs banged into the television set. He turned and braced himself as he panted, sweat shimmering, the grandeur of the full sun magnifying his masculine glory. A half hour earlier and he would have allowed it to fortify him and puff out his chest, head held high. But that man had vanished.Now he wilted in the sun.Juliana had barely swallowed when she felt her weight give out and she sunk to the floor in a heap. John roused himself enough to tuck his softening member into his pants. He turned away from her and whisked something from the table.Barely acknowledging her presence, save for a muttered “thank you,” he shielded the object in his arms, turned down the hall and shuttered himself inside his study.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens…Everything looks permanent until its secret is known."

from the essay “Circles” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Juliana’s body lie crumpled in a heap, arms curled beneath her head on the carpet, legs sprawled over the marble tile. A sliver of light pierced the gloom where she had hastily forced shut the drapes before succumbing to an all too brief slumber. The sunlight had never felt so jarring, though its rays warmed her near naked form considerably. She winced as she crawled away from the window, or tried to. No matter which way she moved, it ached.It took a couple of tries to stand fully upright, and she, in her battered condition, stepped forward and nearly tripped – those obnoxious heels. Kicking out of them quickly she massaged her arches and headed for the bathroom.John had made sure to obliterate the simple chain lock; the door barely clung to the frame by its busted hinges.Her reflection was debauchery personified: hair more than a bit mussed, tangled in places; dried white patches resting in the cleft of her chin; dark under eye circles; yellow and violet bruises marring her left collar bone, reminding her of the pansies growing in her mother’s window box; tiny indentations wherever John bit into her; hickeys wherever his impatient mouth had sucked.She counted to three before turning around and her lips trembled at the slightly raised welts and blotchy redness branding her tender rear. His strikes were precise and not quite overlapping, as if he'd mapped it all out ahead of time.
Except that it didn't feel planned.As she rinsed her mouth and carefully washed her hands, flashbacks from the past few hours, skewed by the twisted physiology of sleep deprivation, gnawing hunger for just about any scrap of food and
burning
pain in every conceivable area of her body, spun through her mind like the wheel in a rigged game of roulette.Juliana recalled the precise moment of impact when the stiff leather snapped across her untried flesh. All because she followed her instinct to flee. She squeezed her tender thighs together, protective of the deeper soreness courtesy of a wine bottle, now nowhere to be seen. That was the worst out of everything, not only because it was hardly consensual and rather rough, but because the bastard used a popular German wine. Nazi wine, driven into her as if she were a product on an assembly line. As if that would ever induce compliance from her.She wiped away the first stirrings of traitorous tears. Emotion
should hold no place in her life anymore. It had gotten her nowhere fast.He himself held off from fucking her. He never crossed that line, and for that she was grateful. But had he not broken down emotionally, would he have made the attempt? John’s desire was so fierce and frightening. Would she have been able to fight him off? Or worse – would she have enjoyed every damned minute?Her temples throbbed and she quietly pulled open the medicine cabinet above the sink. There were the usual suspects: various adhesive bandages, peroxide, iodine, tweezers, and toothpaste. At this point, any painkiller would do.When she located both paracetamol and aspirin, she noticed three prescription bottles; each label bore Helen’s name.Librium.
Dexamyl. Imipramine.
That poor, broken woman. But it was none of her business.
Juliana popped two paracetamol, as well as one Dexamyl for enhanced focus and alertness; she needed her wits about her more than ever. There was some discomfort when swallowing the pills, no doubt aided by John’s impressive size.She wanted to smack herself for craving its presence still.With Helen’s eventual return in mind, Juliana practically tore off what remained of her risque outfit, more befitting an expensive prostitute than something any wife of a Nazi official would wear. The thin nylon of her stockings, now tattered beyond recognition, were basically glued to her thighs; she had to tug at her skin quite a bit to remove them. She balled them up with great relish and they sailed into the trash. The collar slipped off easily enough and landed atop the hosiery, lacy blue garter belt, and jagged pieces of broken mirror. She performed a quick sponge bath with a washcloth and donned her plain yet comfortable cotton bra and panties, prison jumpsuit and canvas slip-ons. Thankfully, everything was intact. Thus garbed, it was time to set her hair to rights.Her hand hovered over Helen’s fancy brush but she couldn’t bring herself to taint it with her husband’s remnant. She smiled sadly at the slight poetic justice she felt as she dragged John’s tortoise shell comb through her snarls; one stubborn knot broke a couple teeth. She eschewed her complicated braid and tied her hair back into a flimsy, frizzy ponytail.She was through pleasing the Reichsmarschall.
He wouldn’t be getting any sleep before he had to make his way to headquarters. There was nothing for it. But at least the tears came.A man of action does not make a habit of crying. He inhales his grief like an impassive mountain; lets the unshed drops drip down the caverns of his heart. All men do have hearts, no matter what so many would like you to believe. Stony or not, they all have the capacity to break.John Smith’s was practically pulverized.
Never one to wallow in self-pity and regret, John chastised himself every time he catered to his sensitive side. He was many things: Decisive. Unforgiving. Menacing. Quite literally bone-crushing where required.In retrospect, remaining an Obergruppenführer for life would not have been so dreadful. Life was rarely perfect but manageable, that is until he played the hero and exposed the attempted coup. After being exalted before the packed Volkshalle, he morphed into Himmler’s de facto errand boy. This pathetic shrimp of a politician, along with sickening Dr. Mengele and his
unsettling experiments,
were more diabolical than he could ever fathom becoming himself.And so, he reluctantly let the tears stream down, more a steady trickle than a torrent. He unconsciously swiped at his cheek with the sleeve of Thomas’ favorite shirt, a tan polo with black stripes. Over the past six months or so, he had developed a closer relationship with that piece of clothing than his own wife, along with the black and white version of his son he couldn’t reach.These days the film of Thomas watching the boats whizzing by was, given Erich’s murder and Helen’s erratic behavior, the closest thing he had to a friend. Loyal to its owner as Max had been, it almost never left its place in the projector. He was surprised the celluloid hadn’t gotten tangled after so much use.When Himmler last asked about his progress with the films, he weaved a lie about his being on top of things. As usual, he would be expected to compile a report detailing his findings. But instead of documenting every film he viewed and reorganizing his notes into concise observations and deductions, he created idle doodles – trees, stars, completely at random. He was no artist, but it reduced some of the tedium of doctored war footage spliced with fictitious news headings, smiling couples, a handsome young President on a yacht, and so forth. John tried to convince himself the people in these films were self-indulgent degenerates, with their unkempt hair and skirts that bared way too much thigh for his liking.Such willful decadence.
His hands groped at a tiny blue dress; tugged it high over slender hips.
John tore at the ever tightening collar at his throat.

To reassure herself her captor was plenty occupied, Juliana tiptoed down the hall and pressed her ear against the solid mahogany door. The aroma of tobacco hit her before anything else, and she momentarily recalled the last time she had a decent smoke, with Liam and her new friends and compatriots; men she would never betray. Every sound was muted, save for the switch of a cigarette lighter and the unmistakable whir of a film projector. A murky yellow light emerged from the crack beneath the door.What could he be watching in there? Maybe a home movie of his family. Again, it was not her business to pry. But in light of the recent
"festivities," perhaps it was.Never, ever trust a Nazi.Regardless of the content of that film, she had better things to do and owed John nothing but feelings of contempt. There was a very high probability that if she came face to face with him again he might continue his amorous assault. Juliana got about two feet away from the door when the projector abruptly shut off, but she kept walking and failed to hear John’s low moan of distress.A few minutes later, sitting on the living room couch with her legs crossed, back ramrod straight and hands resting palms-up on her knees, Juliana’s eyes drifted shut. She paced her breath and began to concentrate on the various blips of memory bathing the forefront of her mind:
I’m coming, Trudy. I can’t wait to see you. Let’s listen to that nutty record collection of yours. I’ll be there soon, Trudy. Trudy. Trudy…

His face was so numb he didn’t know how heavily he was crying until huge salty droplets collided with the glass – right over his smug-faced visage. Who was he sorrier for – Thomas or himself? John remembered how proud he was having that father-son portrait taken – two loyal servants of the Reich to the death. His stomach churned as he glared. He couldn’t help comparing the rigid devotion of the two figures in the portrait trapped in uniformed perpetuity, with the fluid joviality expressed in the film that ran before him now. He just could not reconcile the difference.He brought Thomas’ school photo close to his face. His son’s purity was edged with a sense of purpose stamped across his smooth visage, so Aryan like his own, the likes of which he never possessed growing up a child of the 1920s. The kind of ebullience and joy that John had experienced – such as when he finally acquired that pet turtle and hid him underneath his bed, sneaking him out to play with after bedtime – eluded his only son. It made his heart twist such that his entire chest area became tender. The heartache was that immense.He took another long drag of his third cigarette that hour and picked up the fishing photo – the first time Thomas caught a rainbow trout. This was, and always should have been, his Thomas. A boy enjoying quality time with his dad, soaking up the great outdoors to become a man the way John’s father taught him. And his father before him. And so on.
In war, as in life, sacrifices have to be made.
Ashes too weighty to be kept horizontal sprinkled over Thomas’ face like peppery snowfall as John was struck with a bout of nausea so powerful he almost bent to retch into the wastepaper basket. His constitution was that of a man at least ten years younger, even considering his many years as a smoker; he rarely got sick. Never once did he catch a whiff of disease while serving in the Solomon Islands, nor during his entire tenure as an SS officer.This queasiness was not unlike what he experienced upon awakening from watching those bloated bodies bobbing before him in the lake. It seemed the more idyllic the dream started out as, the more gruesome the ending. His skin oozed with sorrow and rage. Somehow, whether fully lucid or fast asleep, his dream fixtures of Thomas became tainted, leaving him hollow.
And admittedly, so very ashamed.With shaking hands he stubbed out the cigarette and strove to clean off the soot as best he could. But his constant rubbing made the darkness settle into place. He was obliterating Thomas’ face. His smile.

BOOM! CRASH!

PING! PING! PING!
Just as suddenly as it jerked into motion, the carousel of imagery in her head ground to a screeching halt. Juliana was livid. Why must something always happen to impede her progress?In seconds she found herself entering the dimly lit hallway. However as soon as she raised her hand to rap on the door, the sharp, confident words clenching on her tongue seemed to evaporate.
SMASH!

The moment the glass hit the ground a soul shattered. The sudden chill crawling up his spine could not be attributed to anything else.The knock startled him and he jumped back, boots pulverizing the already broken shards. He stood stock still, a rapid fluttering in his chest.
Helen?
No, this knock was softer, almost guarded. He tamped down his disappointment and stepped around the mayhem strewn across the floor. He rubbed the moisture out of his eyes and adjusted his shirt before opening the door a crack. Juliana, now fully dressed, stared up at him. He could have been a leper for all his reluctance to pry open the door any more than a few inches. She tried to look past the slim opening but as usual was drawn to his face.Indeed, he seemed to shrink back into the shadows, except the glow from the projector illuminated his truly haggard appearance. What a transformation insomnia could have on a face, even one as notoriously handsome as John’s. A scattering of black and grey hairs along his angular jaw; red-rimmed eyes, irises reminiscent of moss and dead leaves. Just as she was about to turn away John surprised her by stepping to the side and inviting her to cross the threshold into his inner sanctum.She dipped her head down and curled her hair behind her ear, catching a stray strand or two in the bandage she’d neglected to change. Her weary gaze lifted and she gasped – the place was a total wreck. Over a hundred film canisters, some with their contents spilling out like the guts of a dying soldier; the hideous swastika lamp yanked from the end table and propelled halfway across the room, accounting for the darkness that blanketed the already bleak surroundings.
Curtains of brown suede and sheer fawn were pulled taut, all the windows shut, lending the spacious office an oppressive, almost claustrophobic humidity.John, unseeing, crunched right through the glass backwards and sunk into the leather couch, watching her squat down to clean up the broken shards. “Just leave it.” He shoved his hand through his mussed up curls and tugged on a patch that spiked out above his ear. “It’s my mess. I should be the one to clean it up.”The intonation spoke of resignation and near apathy. Perhaps a stiff shot of whiskey or vodka would sooth him. But she didn’t want to presume, nor touch his property.Or further encourage him to pick up where they left off. While he had gone above and beyond in his sexual brutality, what frightened her more was the unpredictability of his actions – and that of her own emotions.She stood and self-consciously smoothed down the front of her jumpsuit. It was awkward to stand there and be looked not into, but through, as if she were a specter coming to guide him from earth to hell (though she doubted he believed in that sort of thing). She turned away to leave only to be halted by the haunted, almost disembodied rasp in his voice:“Come sit over here, Juliana.” He patted the spot next to him on the couch.Juliana hesitantly lowered herself onto the well-worn leather sofa a good foot away from John. She grimaced in pain but he paid that
no mind. She could tell he was struggling with how to address her, and it wasn’t due to what had just transpired between them.His peculiar silence and behavior unnerved her.
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
He laughed in the way one does when all is lost, a sheen of fresh perspiration
making his forehead gleam
from the light
of the stalled projector. “What is it with you people and spectral phenomena?”He appeared completely immune to her astonishment when she finally beheld the film, which he had paused on an otherworldly version of John, huddled next to his son, toasting with bottles of soda pop. Tagomi-san had mentioned the constant presence of unfamiliar foods and drinks such as Twinkies, Cracker Jacks and, especially, Coca-Cola in the world where the Allies won.A mischievous twinkle replaced his hardened gaze, tinted in grayscale, but just as dazzling. His perfectly positioned uniform cap had been
replaced by the jaunty tilt of a light-colored fedora. Thomas looked just the same, only more carefree and relaxed.She was utterly transfixed.The bricks locked into place. John
had seen. He did know. But he was far from elated. He clutched at the tight surface of the armrest, diaphragm rising and falling with the cadence of a sideways pendulum. Once artless in the throes of his ecstasy, his demeanor had completely altered to that of a neurotic. She couldn’t help but stare as the leg she had purred against earlier bounced around like a jackhammer.“I barely got through half of one box. So much for dedication.” He sighed, motioning to the haphazard destruction. If he had put in a bit more effort, it might have rivaled Hawthorne’s dusty old stockroom.“Had I kept going, I never would have stopped. I never would have left the room. I would want to know more and more. Anyone would....”
Wouldn’t you?
Juliana’s petrified reply to the then Obergruppenführer, so formidable in his interrogation style it made her tremble on a cellular level, had apparently fallen on deaf ears. In the end, as was his modus operandi, he became a hypocrite extraordinaire. Yet she had to acknowledge that many people she showed The Grasshopper Lies Heavy
to were not entirely convinced by its content and expressed misgivings over her purpose.That the imposing John Smith she once knew was rapidly disintegrating into a pile of wreckage gave her hope. Juliana allowed herself to settle into the semi-soft cushion and took in his profile. His large splendid orbs simultaneously projected from and sank into his deep sockets. Long, silky lashes, moist at the tips. He seemed almost human, but not quite there yet. She forced herself to pry.“Have you gotten any sleep since…?” She couldn’t continue with the enormous lifelike elephant seated at John’s desk shaking his head slowly, picking up and sorting through confidential Reich intelligence with his trunk.“No.” He lit another cigarette, this time offering her one. She gladly accepted. “I often find myself plagued by dreams. Mostly nightmares. At other times they've been…”He paused and roved over her form lightning-fast. “More pleasant."A plume of smoke danced from the corner of his lips. In the gloom, Juliana felt her face flush.“If I do manage to get any shut eye,” he continued, “it’s never very restful.”"I see.”“I know you do. You see too much.”Was that a threat?John cleared his throat and sought out an ashtray, which she readily provided. In the midst of tapping out excess ash, a spasm of pain exploded throughout his gut. The warm cigarette slipped from weak fingers and fell onto his lap while he hurriedly clutched a hand over his stomach. Juliana held her breath as she quickly removed the cigarette before it burned a hole in his pants.The pants he had rubbed against her face. It was obscene and filthy,
but so disturbingly erotic...Unfortunately for John, the awful sensation tearing through his abdomen started to spread upwards, outwards, everywhere.Juliana knew what this probably was, but erred on the side of caution anyway. Some not too remote part of her wanted him to beat her empathetic instincts to a pulp.She had no medical training whatsoever, but attempted to take his pulse.“Why are you being so nice to me?”She ignored him. “When was the last time you visited your family doctor?” Almost instantly his heart rate accelerated. He tried to wrestle his arm from her grasp.John was flabbergasted that her question would strike a nerve so accurately. His mind tried to will away the feel of plunging the needle into Dr. Adler’s leg, injecting the deadly serum. He imagined the fluid being forced into his own thigh, freezing his veins and stopping his heart. He could feel it piercing through his skin. Faced with the terror of imminent death, his chest began to heave in earnest.Juliana bit her lip. Bit the bullet. She allowed her thumb to stroke along the bulging veins branching over the pallid skin of his thick inner wrist. At her soothing touch he closed his eyes. When she was satisfied his pulse was no longer dangerously high, she let go of him and quit the room.“Where are you going?” His face scrunched up and he attempted to curl his body into a fetal position.
He fumbled for the cool tumbler Juliana held out to him, at last crushing it with both hands, long tense fingers wrapped around its circumference as if gripping a metal pole on a fast-moving downhill streetcar. Veins protruded from exposed forearms like raised rivers on a relief map. He was still quivering. After a moment’s deliberation, she gently curled her hand around his and silently willed him to relax his fierce grip. Neither looked at each other but the exchange of empathy and heartache was mutually recognized, albeit under protest on her part.Then she began to count. “One, two, three, four,” and inhaled deeply. “One, two, three,” exhaling on “four.” Soon John was following along with her method of reducing acute stress.Though he appreciated her efforts, he couldn’t glance in her direction. Absolutely couldn’t in his current state of mind. Why was she here?
Her plain prison garb hid most of the evidence of the damage he inflicted upon her person in a selfish flurry of possession and need. He had orders to return to work early, by Goebbels of all people. His sharp intuition told him not to return with her, no matter the cost.No, he still needed her here. In whatever form she took. A whole being to hold onto.Himmler had advised that,"sometimes a purge is essential.”Fuck
Himmler.He tried. He had tried so very hard to ignore it. The feel of her delicate thumb stroking against his rough and rippled veins was almost too much for him to endure.“Juliana,” he implored. “Please look at me.”She ignored his sincere entreaty by focusing on her own fingers.He tilted his head and searched out her beautiful sea glass eyes. “Juliana, please forgive me –”“I thought there was no religion in the Reich.”“No,” he shook his head, taking in the scattered metal canisters and unfurling ribbons of celluloid. “No god or deity would sanction the chaos I've seen unfold last night just to make a statement. Burning down the libraries, museums...""You mean, just before...?" She gestured towards the window."Yes, welcome to Jahr Null. Year Zero."Juliana gripped his wrist a little tighter. "Zero?""The clock has been reset. From now on, there is no America."Her eyes finally lifted. "You can't really believe that.”He shook his head. "I don't have a say. I've sworn my allegiance to the Reich, not America. Face it, Miss Crain, America is dead and gone. I've had to. So do you. So does everyone who sets foot on these shores.""Bullshit."“Maybe you can afford to see it that way. I did what I had to do to keep my family out of the fray.”His hand broke free of hers and slammed the tumbler on the closest end table. “I’m supposed to follow the guiding principles of the Reich, only there’s no damned order in my life anymore!”She had cracked his shell clean through.“Welcome to my world,” she muttered.“If only,” he scoffed, hammering his nails against the side table.“Huh?”John abruptly rose and pointed at the screen shakily. “My son. My supposedly dead son is right here. Right there. Look at him!”Juliana shook her head in disbelief at the scene playing out before her.
He had frantically shifted to a new topic altogether; so unlike his usual self-composed, methodical self.John started to pace in front of the screen. “Thomas could have become anything. Anything. Something far greater than me. A…a doctor.”He quirked up his eyebrows. “I had the means to pay for the best education money can buy. But thanks to my brilliant political maneuvering, his future…” He shrugged and glanced at the screen once more, helplessly.“But I never encouraged him to. Who would he have had as a role model? Dr. Mengele? I’d not have him conducting research on helpless cripples instead of saving lives.”He stared off into the distance, glassy-eyed. “And now my daughters have turned into little
Heidi Homemaker robots. And good on them for escaping with Helen.”She sat up. “They left you?"“Perhaps they’ll have a shot to be more than just wives and mothers. It’s not unheard of...elsewhere.”His visage clouded over. Juliana knew that look by now.“But Helen… Even before this fake glorification of Thomas, she began to lose all sense of propriety. The first strike was all the pill-popping and knocking back scotch at 10 am. I would call to check in and she would be piss-ass drunk already! The girls barely through the doors at the academy. She couldn’t control herself in public – in front of Hoover of all people! She was signing her own death warrant. And then came the good Dr. Ryan…”The ever private John Smith was nothing if not enlightening today. One hand was scratching the back of his neck while the other held vigil on the left side of his chest, clearly struggling for a proper breath but unwilling to give up on his outlandish rant.“I swear that psychoanalyst left something out of his report. He was hiding something from me. I told him I would have his family murdered if he didn’t comply with my instructions to the letter. Because I organize executions. I would have had his children shot. I’m not able to discriminate.”Juliana quite unintentionally walked straight up to him and took his hand, leading him back to the couch.“But it was her all along!” She handed him the water, which he chugged until he emptied the glass. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and continued, impassioned and irate. “She fucking kissed him! And it wasn’t just a ‘goodbye peck on the cheek’ as he claimed.“John, that’s awful.”But a simple kiss was not adultery. Though his onslaught of
deviant passion could not be considered an affair, he still cheated on Helen. If she ever found out what he had done she would be horrified. Her instinct to flee was completely on point.“And so it was me who had to hold everything together, all with Himmler breathing down my neck…living in this godforsaken tower. Tower of London. Tower of New York, really.”“John,” she broke in, “maybe you should rest for a bit.”He turned upon her wild-eyed but amused. “Rest? You know I can’t sleep. Besides, I have to leave for work soon.”“Let me at least get you some more water.”“I’ll probably never be able to fall asleep again unless…unless I’m fucking dead.”She opened the door and turned around just in time to see him burrow his head between his knees. It was obvious he had suffered from panic attacks before.He briefly lifted his sagging head. “Whiskey. Make it a double.”
Juliana returned with more ice water. And a Librium, which he in his state of exhausted distraction popped without a single glance.She kept another in her pocket, just in case.
Fifteen minutes later, and she’d heard enough. Now it was her turn.“What’s going to happen to me now?”A much calmer John shrugged as he unfurled his sleeves. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “What would you like to happen to you?”She couldn’t think of a solid response either, so she gave him the only reply she could think of off the top of her head – she yawned, long and…perfectly believable.“Alright then, Miss Crain.” John drew himself off the couch, stifling a yawn himself. “I’ve got to go get ready. You will remain here, in this apartment, under my authority, a prisoner of the Reich under house arrest.”“House arrest? You're joking.”"Am I known for my humor?"
She folded her arms and looked away, furious.“I’ll call Meghan so you won’t have to be alone today.”
To rifle through my things.
“No, please, I’ll be fine.”
He pulled her to her feet and looked her square in her crystalline eyes. “Would you rather I sign orders for your execution?”She thought they were past that stage in their odd relationship. “No, of course not.”No further words were exchanged on the matter.“Go back to sleep,” he said in gentler tone. He wanted to wipe the exhaustion from her eyes. “You can use the guest room.”The elephant in the room started to cackle before it faded away entirely.“I’d prefer the couch if that’s alright.”
John nodded decisively. “After you, Miss Crain.”She returned to the couch while he rummaged for a lightweight blanket and a softer pillow. As he was handing her the pillow his eyes bore into hers, that dangerous military green. “Sweet dreams. Don’t do anything foolish.”Juliana toed off her slippers and proceeded to stretch out on the sofa. Just like a cat, he’d noted. “Like what? Dream about things I wish for but can never have?”
What did she mean by that?
He chose not to reveal his churning thoughts except for a faint quirk of his eyebrow. “I'm normally home by 6 pm, but with things the way they are it might be a little later.""What happened?"John remembered telling her. Then again, at some point she'd drifted off. "Himmler
was shot. He's not doing well."She smiled and burrowed under the covers. "That's wonderful news."
"Miss Crain, that's a very treasonous thing to say." His gaze suddenly became dangerous.
John licked his lips as he thought about sliding under the covers with her, but roused himself before his interest became evident.He nodded and started to back away. "Until later."She adjusted the pillow and turned away from him. "G'night," she muttered into the silk backrest.
After he returned from placing a quick call to Meghan to request her services, which included providing breakfast, lunch, and a clean set of clothes for his captive, he stealthily crept up behind the couch.Staring down at her face, marred as it was by contusions, John was struck anew by her streamlined beauty. Not plain by any means, he had no doubt that were Juliana to become a wife in the GNR, some well-tailored dresses, salon visits, manicures and dare he say it, high heels, would turn her into an absolute knockout. And yet he could never envision her thus (for envision her he did, on numerous occasions this past day alone). Her inability to bear children aside, she would find such a life stifling. Reich wives weren’t designed to be adventurous; it got drilled into their finely coiffed heads that their place was in the home.Besides, gypsies weren’t meant to have permanent residences.Her long brunette lashes failed to flutter and she lay in perfect repose. John never imagined she would be so sexually responsive. In general, yes. But oh, the sounds she made when he stroked her clit…how her reluctance got turned on its head by her subconscious desire to cede control to him and submit to his every whim. Even her rebelliousness turned him on.He knew he had to curb his lust around her but was clueless as to how to cease. He was sick with it.“You really must stop making me dream about you, Juliana,” he whispered. "I beg of you. I
have
to be able to focus. I need to find a way out of this way of life, but not if I can’t forget about what you’ve been doing to me all this time.”She had served her purpose after all, even if it didn’t come about the way he had envisioned when he concocted this selfish scenario.Unbeknownst to him, a very much awake Juliana soaked up every word.
For a man who had been so aesthetically blessed, John looked like death warmed over. Splashing icy cold water on his face did nothing to minimize the bags or the dry, tight crow’s feet skating over the lavender-tinged hollows of his eyes. John swung open the medicine cabinet door, not really knowing what he was searching for.Librium. Dexamyl. Imipramine.He studied each name with mutinous discontent before pulling out the Librium. Hands faltered as he considered the tiny white poison apples through the brown-tinted walls. He fairly seethed. Holding one of Helen’s prescription bottles was akin to handling a poisonous plant. All these evil medications had herbal origins, after all, and the Nazis made sure to mass produce them to keep all their women in line.
Women like Juliana Crain, with those black net-covered legs exposed...how was he expected to drive like that and not cause an accident of some sort? He was a man!
The cabinet door was slammed shut. He was really growing weary of these strange thoughts and visions popping in and out. And like it or not, he had to return to his miserable excuse for a job.
John shed his pants with haste. He slid open the shower door, blearily groping for one of the faucets, suddenly forgetting which controlled which temperature setting. He stepped in quickly and aimed the shower head at his face.He hissed.Left was definitely hot.He backed against the tiles and swiftly adjusted the dials, letting lukewarmth seep into him. Normally he kept his showers between three and five minutes at the most, Ivory bar soap and Prell shampoo tackling the job with banal efficiency; always efficiency over comfort. It had been that way ever since he entered the army, just like learning how to tuck in your sheets to the drill sergeant’s exact specifications.There were times he was forced to go days without bathing. It never bothered him that he’d have blood caked on his body for three days straight, so long as it didn’t spew out of his own vessels. The foamy lather of Barbasol shaving cream, a few careful swipes from his Schick disposable razor and a splash or two of his cedar and vetiver-based aftershave was all he needed to complete his
masculine toilette. After all, he wasn’t some caveman with no pride in his appearance. His very life rested upon upholding a certain image.John’s body, however, craved more, so he turned the left dial in small increments until the red indicator line rested at approximately 100 degrees. He wasn't quite satisfied so turned faucet on the right so that there was much less cold water. Steam began to cram into the room. He yawned as he bent down and reached for the familiar green bottle, just conscious enough to squirt a quarter-sized glob on his shoulder, instead of on top of his head where he’d been aiming. Deft but lazy, his fingers swirled and swished, twirling the ends with his fingertips, bubbles caressing the whorls of his ears. It had been longer as a boy, unruly at times. But after he was awarded that scholarship to West Point, all his bouncy espresso locks tumbled to the concrete floor, a communal burial ground for once handsome heads of hair.
Upon hearing the shower turn on, Juliana was up like a shot, shoving off the blanket and returning to her seated position. She willed away the blare of automobile horns honking, the blissfully interminable rush of water…she imagined it cascading over her head, just as it had when Meghan washed her hair. She never wanted to see that woman again. Or this city, as it was. She wanted to return to her first genuine love: her sister.She shut her eyes in the gloom and breathed in harmony with her unspoken chants, eventually rendering the droning rattle of Manhattan inaudible:"Om Mani Padme Hum. Imbued with wisdom. Om Mani Padme Hum.
Free from ignorance…”Pulling wet stands through his fingers as he rinsed, he imagined for a moment Juliana’s fingers as they glided over the back of his head, tugging quite unnecessarily. She could have situated her hands on his shoulders, or even his neck. But, no, she was too curious. She enjoyed snooping around too much. A jailbird he had to tame. He turned the dial even further to the left. Water sluiced down his firm abdomen, tight from a regular regimen of calisthenics and weightlifting. It bubbled and pooled in his belly button, dribbling ever lower.Then John did something he had never done before in his life, this night of so many firsts. He pushed the indicator line past 110 degrees. John relished the way the steam penetrated his pores. 120 degrees. 130. 145. He curved his neck just so, allowing the jet stream to sting his nipples with fiery darts, almost electric in its intensity. 160..."Om Mani Padme Hum.
Imbued with compassion.
Om Mani Padme Hum.
Free from cruelty.”"Use your teeth.”
Oh, had she ever.Drowsy beyond comprehension, he aimed his chest directly beneath the rushing rapids, swiveling side to side, from one bitten bud to the other. Through the fog of delirious pleasure, the head of his cock responded in kind. He missed her lips already, and the delicious thrill that coursed through him each time he edged past her ripe strawberry mouth and fell onto the cushion of a warm, waiting tongue. He groaned aloud at the way she would stifle her gag reflex as he filled the hollow of her graceful throat. How she would moan involuntarily as he rode her by her still-damp locks."Om Mani Padme Hum. Instilled with generosity. Om Mani Padme Hum. Free from avarice.”John twisted his neck towards his corded bicep and the water continued to relentlessly drill into his flawless pale flesh. His back, his torso, strong, lean legs, all sunburnt from the blistering rain. Clear scalding rivulets traversing the length of his thighs and calves. He stretched his arm toward the ledge and reached for the bar of Ivory, but it defiantly clattered to the bottom of the tub. He retrieved it and lathered up his legs, his firm buttocks. His sack needed some tending to, as well…And hadn’t she been the eager one?
"Om Mani Padme Hum. Instilled with peace.”He returned the soap and cupped himself from below, applying light but firm pressure. Yet he couldn’t seem to keep his body upright anymore. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. Subtle vibrations stormed against his temple."Om Mani Padme Hum. Free from ire.”John was just drifting off when there was a great deal of clanging from the medicine cabinet. Before he could rouse himself enough to turn off the shower, the water turned frigid.“Fuck!” He cranked the dial all the way to the left but that somehow made it even colder. Then the bottle of Prell fell off the ledge and slammed onto his pinky toe.
“Son of a bitch!”"Om Mani Padme Hum. Instilled with hope.”The lights were flickering on the ceiling, over the vanity mirror.
“Om Mani Padme Hum. Free from fear.”In the madness that ensued, John almost broke yet another door. Instinct, an oft neglected trait, took over. He slid on the marble as he raced down the hall.
“Om Mani Padme Hum. Instilled with truth.”Juliana tilted her neck back as a beautiful breeze caressed her cheeks like a lover would, oblivious to the wild thumping quickly advancing upon her reverie.

“Om Mani Padme Hum. Free…”
“DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE, JULIANA CRAIN!"That roar, which only a soul in absolute anguish could produce, could never be manufactured. It was the loudest sound she’d ever heard, save for fireworks on the Fourth of July – more starkly frightening than the air raid siren that blared her out of a spelling test in third grade.Now John was no admirer of baseball, but he had plenty of practice with a grenade and his aim was perfection. As such, the screen of the Smith’s television set shattered upon impact with Helen’s silver hairbrush. Spasming wires sparked, fizzled and hissed a slow death.The joints in Juliana’s once relaxed hands locked up. She started to shiver in place. Counting from one to four was futile. The blue in her eyes froze to match the terror piercing her heart. It was happening – her nightmare come to life.“Care to tidy up your hair, Miss Crain?” She didn’t know what he meant by that. She didn’t know anything anymore. He quickly rounded the couch and picked up the impromptu weapon.“I’d show you how it looks with the matching mirror, but we don’t seem to have one of those anymore. You made damn sure of that.”Fear surged through her every membrane. Memories from the night and early morning began to pummel her brain from all directions. She wanted to unburden herself of this secret that had been throwing her life around helter-skelter ever since Trudy pushed the cursed film canister into her hands. But she knew he deserved to suffer more than a little for his actions towards her. Besides the fact that he was a Nazi snake.“I…I...”She made the mistake of dragging her eyes up from where bubbles of varying sizes drifted around his ankles. A vivid-eyed, very wet figure of marble stared down at her, with
sodden black curls and chest hair... Even his well-shaped toes were magnificent, even though one glowed an angry red. But in his haste to prevent the inevitable, he had neglected to grab a towel from the linen closet to cover his lower half.

Juliana's eyes were pinned to where they shouldn't be.John subdued her with his familiar glacial gaze. “Oh don’t look so surprised. That’s not what I want from you anyway. Remember, gratitude and…answers.”He was absolutely unperturbed by his nudity; he even seemed to revel in it."Shit!"
She couldn’t help vocalizing her frustration.The corner of his mouth lifted in self-congratulation. “I have truly underestimated your abilities, Miss Crain. But, and I’m sure you’ll concur, this won’t ever happen again.”With that John hauled her struggling body over his shoulder and strode down the hallway to where he left the rope but halfway there thought better of it. Her jumpsuit was quickly becoming soaked through the entire front. Returning to the bathroom he roughly deposited her on the vanity seat, ignoring her obvious discomfort.Like Fatima, she would always escape, even if physically bound. Such free spirits were able to roam anywhere they set their mind to.“You know, I would tie you again without hesitation. I wish I could bind you to a chair and force you to watch re-runs of American Reich
all day and night, but that won’t work, will it?”Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she shrunk back.He narrowed his eyes to near slits. “Will it?”Juliana shrugged in confusion. He bent, tilting his ear towards her.Her mouth grew parched. She tried to form words but her mind had iced over, trapping all rational thought.John knelt before her, cradling her head in his palms, fingers burning through her skin. “Why won’t it ever work, Juliana?”He bent to kiss her neck, right where the collar had encircled the base of her throat. The dripping wet ringlets on his forehead brushed against the still fresh wound on her cheek. He ghosted his mouth over the shell of her ear.“You had better tell me right now, or so help me –”“Felix.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I ask you a yes or no question, and you reply with a fucking man’s name?”Juliana had no real response for him. Even now, kneeling on the rug before her, soaking wet and nude, he could still intimidate her. And yet he was more familiar to her without his uniform than he had ever been before.“I need to be at headquarters early. I don’t have time for games.”Why did she have to say that?She knew exactly why.Juliana was still reeling from the electricity transmitted through her skin by his touch, that burning caress, and now the floodgates burst wide open: Gin and cigar smoke. The exchange of glances. The near-mugging. The bump in the road. The bump on her head. His hands roving over her thighs, ripping her pantyhose open, stripping her naked, and fingering her fully clothed in front of a window while her rear faced the street. The savory odor of succulent chicken with wine. A dimly lit chandelier. Dark green cashmere crumpled up on a hardwood floor. Curling dark hair; gold-green eyes that spoke of love, long before words were urgently whispered. Sensitive breasts tickled by chest hair as two bodies moved together in unison.The perverse thrill of being bound by an absurdly attractive man who smelled of cedar and smoke.There was the tiniest gasp, more in wonder than in fear, but not altogether pleased. John took in every candid response. He thrived on slip-ups like that.It seemed the impossible was, in fact, highly probable. She knew instantly what ‘Felix’ was, but how could she ever explain such a thing to the Reichsmarschall? Visions were not tangible; words spoken were scarcely more credible without proof.“No.” Juliana shook her head dismissively. “No, no, no…”John cocked his head. “What do you mean no?”
Juliana was herself panicking, hyper-aware of everything around her due to the Dexamyl she’d popped earlier. Her mind was suddenly drowning in every memory imaginable in vivid, vivid detail. There was the same crackling, burning, wonderful sensation. How he mastered her, willing body and untried heart.But the man before her could not be completely trusted. And yet, there was no denying the pull between them, propelled by something greater than mere physical compatibility.She looked down at her quivering knees. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain it.” She started to play with her disheveled ponytail.
John stepped forward. “Oh, but you will." Still heedless of his nakedness and the suds covering his lower body, he gripped her by the arms. His voice cracked with a sudden desperation. “Who is he? Who is Felix?”How does one explain what they don’t understand themselves? Did this John even understand what a safe word was? If so, was he refraining from using one with her because he truly wanted to hurt her?
“It’s nothing,” was all she could offer. But John could tell that whatever crossed her mind rocked her to the core. What made her hold onto this information so tightly? Whatever it was, instinct told him he had every right to know. And not as a servant of the Reich.John released her and reached for a towel, hurriedly scrubbing himself dry. Juliana snuck a glimpse (her very first) of his gleaming, well-muscled backside and was not unimpressed. Then he donned a navy terrycloth robe, obscuring her view. But when he turned back to face her, she saw that his belt was not doing a very good job of holding the fabric together.“What is it going to take for you to come clean, Juliana?” His heavy-lidded, earnest eyes locked with hers, as if to invite confession.She was so lost in thought that she failed to notice that her exceedingly damp jumpsuit was slowly being unbuttoned until the cool air caused goose bumps to arise. Ardent lips began a determined descent down the center of her chest, gently nudging the material off her shoulders with his teeth. John pulled back enough to reach up and caress her neck.“Get in the shower with me.”She could have responded with outrage – kneeing him in the groin just for the thrill of seeing him topple over once more – but she was past that now.“I already washed.”“This is not a request.” He palmed her breasts through the shoddy cloth made from a crude fabric not chosen for its longevity. Juliana tried to push him away, but that meant direct contact with his taut pectorals.No, it had never been the window she was looking at.John captured her wrists immediately. “Have it your way,” he growled, the words vibrating against her throat.Juliana’s memories of what occurred the last time he told her that were to say the least, unsettling. She shoved him with her forearms, but he wouldn’t budge. Though still not fully awake, he was easily able to overpower her and drag her towards him until he could feel her shaky breath against his face. There he pinned her with his bottomless gaze just as easily as he pinned her against the wall with his body weight earlier.While he wasn’t a particularly vain man, John was perfectly aware that he was born with certain enviable advantages and used them, but not overmuch.

His softly curling, newly washed hair provided the false lure of a novel form of intimacy. However, the shadow of charcoal stubble dotting the rigid landscape of his notably striking visage more than suggested malicious intent. Juliana knew not to be swayed by disingenuous promises.He tipped up her chin and played with the cleft he had grown so fond of. “I seem to have been negligent in my duties. I assure you, however, I am always most thorough.”“Duties?”“I’ve grown weary of the coy act.”Juliana kept her eyes trained on his wandering fingers. Maybe she could use this – manipulate John until he was putty in her hands, but only until he left for work. After his descent into self-pity, panic and despair, she had not expected him to bounce back so soon, if at all. Then again, she had discovered so much about this sinister enigma in just the span of a few hours, often unwittingly. He was right in that he underestimated her abilities. He should continue to do so.
If only John Smith could underestimate her borderline shameless desires. She had grown to crave his merciless attentions; the curve of his firm, hungry mouth slanted against her own; a cock the diameter of her wrist slinking down her throat like a serpent. She shook herself mentally. He would not do her in this time.“Then do something about it. I won’t break.”“We’ll see about that.”

He abruptly grabbed her jumpsuit by its open collar and shoved it past her shoulders, scratching her skin along the way. He fixed his eyes on hers, literally asking for permission to continue, while she stared him down. Somewhat intoxicated by the ferocity electrifying her pale eyes, he fed off the feeling and proceeded to yank her sleeves just past her elbows to trap her arms in place.
Juliana remembered he had done this before. She felt it embrace her, this extra push into the unknown: restriction.In the harsh lighting all evidence of his earlier aggressive ministrations lay bare before him. He was never particularly violent with his past lovers, but Juliana Crain wasn’t just some woman he had met casually at a bar whom he might consider wining and dining one day. He rationalized that it was unnecessary for a member of the Nazi elite to get better acquainted with a fugitive Resistance member before punishing her; he knew all he needed to already. As such, the dynamic between them should allow for some bending of the rules.Or so he thought.John was struck motionless as he took in the bruises. Then he bent and brushed his lips against her collarbone as if her flesh covered glass; a pathetic attempt at penance for pretending to play Dracula. He considered offering her some ice, but annoyance over her reluctance to provide answers offset any concern he might feel over her well-being. And to be honest, he felt humiliated. Used, even. As he scanned her facial lacerations, he had to remind himself they weren’t his doing. This made him feel somewhat vindicated.Just then he noticed a minuscule brown birthmark just inside her left bra strap. She inhaled sharply as he unexpectedly kissed the tiny spot. He caught the sound and leaned into her ear.“Do you enjoy toying with me and trying my patience?”Juliana was rendered mute as he ghosted his nose over the elastic tops of the bra cups. The plain white cotton clashed against her gilded ivory complexion. He wanted to remove the ill-fitting undergarment altogether but decided to let her preserve what little modesty remained. But with this woman, even the most demure exterior could be deceiving. He learned this first hand.The fragrance had been washed off her skin but he was pleased it yet lingered in her hair. His touch turned feather-light; his rasp enchantingly low. “Well, I don’t like being played for a fool.”John wrapped his large hands around her arms as he lowered his lips to her shoulder, planting several urgent, yet fleeting kisses. The telltale neutral scent of Ivory was barely discernible but he was too accustomed to the smell to ignore it completely.Soon his brain was emblazoned with the image of Juliana soaping up her bare breasts with the same bar he had used to lather up his cock. It sent a shock of pleasure through his groin and he was compelled to tease her in kind. Keeping his hands in place, he brought the pads of his thumbs to her nipples and flicked at them through the thin cotton. She bucked helplessly and let out a little moan.“You like this. You like it a lot, don’t you?” She squirmed, but he kept repeating the delicious assault on her sensitive buds.“Don’t you, Juliana?"“Mmm…”“You’re so obvious sometimes.” He tried to hide his smirk when she watched him continue to loosen her jumpsuit until reaching the last very last button, directly above her navel. He splayed his hand over her lower tummy, the tips of his fingers just skimming over her mound. “I wonder if I can just…”He swept her with luminous tiger eyes as he rubbed her through the jumpsuit, squeezing and releasing in enraging, unpredictable patterns and levels of pressure. She began to jerk against his hand. “Yes, so very predictable.”Juliana intrinsically understood why she had invited him in so freely, and unfortunately, he was still very much a player adept at coming out on top. Well, let him think –He removed his hand abruptly and stood up. She groaned in frustration.
John leaned his six-foot frame against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, blinking at the floor. “Now that we’ve established just how boring I find your reactions to be, you can tell me all about this Felix fellow you’re so desperate to protect.”Fellow? She bit her lip and concentrated.“Does Mr. Abendsen happen to know about him?”“No.”He lifted his head and cocked it to the side. “But you two seemed like such good friends.” He prowled up to her and stood very close, so close she could detect fine water droplets sluicing down his thigh. “I was under the impression friends shared everything together.”His proximity so unnerved her she fought not to avert her eyes. Severe sleep deprivation did nothing to stem the dominance radiating off him in waves. But she had to use it, not submit to it.“Well, you were mistaken, Reichsmarschall.” She began to struggle. Made it look genuine. He got off on watching her struggle, she knew. Other than a brief twitch of his jaw, he betrayed nothing. But it was enough to keep her motivated to stay in character.“Did you ever mention him to Joe Blake?”She stopped thrashing about. Perhaps he wasn’t playing.“Joe is dead. Leave him out of this,” she practically growled.John bent down and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. The cruel, mocking eyes again.“Would you prefer to be as well?”He could have been asking a child if they would like to adopt a puppy. His fingers fell past her jaw and settled on her jugular. She shuddered, having momentarily forgotten he was a Nazi, not an NYPD officer. Seconds later, she had to dig her nails into her palms just to stave back a biting retort. It didn’t end well the last time she tried sarcasm on him. And his hold over her now was rather…inconvenient. Yet she owed it to herself to push further.“Would I prefer to be what? Left out, or dead?”He blotted away water from his still sopping wet hair with the robe’s shawl collar. “Well, your involvement in something you yourself admitted to me quite out of the blue rather negates the first option, don’t you think?”He had painted her into the proverbial corner.She shook her head and turned away, unwilling to let John Smith see her cry anymore. She would probably never get over what she did to Joe. Her voice softened with regret: “No, he had no idea who Felix was.”Then again, neither did she. Until today.John glided his fingers across her throat, mesmerized by the way her neck arched. “What about your sister? Your parents?”Juliana snapped her head forwards. “No! And leave them out of this, too!”He continued to stroke her throat, lazily, trying to ignore his burgeoning erection.“Frank Frink? What of him? You and he had gone steady for…how many years was it?”Poor scarred Frank. She hadn’t forgotten about him, or his unfortunate fate. His family, dealt a bad hand by a novice gambler. The silver lining was that these great personal tragedies had led to some serious soul-searching, and somewhere along the way he became the visionary artist he was always meant to be.“How many was that?”“Three,” she muttered, distracted.“One, two, three you say?”“Uh-huh.”He tugged on the ponytail in one short burst. “What’s that?“Ahhhh…” The son of a bitch. “Yes, three.”“Sorry, I just can’t seem to make out what you’re saying.” Modesty be damned. He tugged both bra cups down and sunk his teeth into her left nipple. She screeched and tried to twist away, but he held his bite in place.“Three, John, three!”Appeased for now, John closed his lips around her nipple and sucked. He let it pop out of his mouth. “And?”“N-no, n-nobody knows.”“Just you.” His lips were just barely resting upon the dusky brown flesh.“Uh huh.”“Are you sure?”“I…I don’t know anything for certain anymore.”He didn’t buy the existential anguish. “Come on, someone else has to know. Someone does know,” he proclaimed while he plucked at her other nipple with his thumb and forefinger.Juliana shook her head as much as she could while enduring his not altogether unpleasant attentions.“You’re absolutely positive you’ve never told anyone else about Felix?”“Yes!”“You would stake your life on it?”The endless barrage of leading questions was infuriating. “Sure.”“I believe you would…because he’s your secret lover.” She was dumbstruck at his stupidity.“You’ve been bluffing this entire time.”Yes, but no.“Felix is not a person, John! Dammit will you just…will you just…fuck…oh…” He was back to rubbing her crotch. Harder.“Oh, Juliana, you’re in love! With a thing called Felix. What an odd duck you are,” he laughed.“I’m not in love with anything!”She was determined not to come, as much as she longed for the sweet release she knew only John could provide. No one had ever read her body so effortlessly. Once she broke free of her flimsy bindings, she would follow through on her promise to claw his gorgeous eyes out.“Not even your country? Your life? You don’t love being alive on our great big beautiful landmass?”“You’re joking.”John pointedly ignored her. Well, not all of her…“Are you enjoying keeping your little secret from me?” He pulled her right nipple taut.“Uh huh.”“What?!” He pinched it lightly and he delighted in her squeal of protest. He adored that sound. The sound of surrender.“I very much appreciate your…candor, Miss Crain. Let’s continue.”She didn’t like where this was headed.“Spread your legs for me.”“Seriously?”“Spread your legs.”“John…”He grasped her by her jaw. “Spread your fucking legs, Juliana, or I’ll spread them for you.”
Just when he thought he would have to revert to force as expected, she complied. Happily. Though warning bells blared in her mind, she paid them no mind. She obeyed him unquestionably. But her face still expressed uncertainty, even while her pussy creamed itself over his coarse language.“Good girl.”He could almost taste her wetness through the damp patch over her crotch. “What an absolute slut she is!” he found himself thinking. John hesitated a moment as a strange memory resurfaced: A pair slender thighs encased in shimmering stockings, muscles straining beneath a band of lace; dry heat seeping through his dress shirt; flesh hidden by pearlescent satin, licked by the shadows of shape-shifting flames…the very idea was absurd. If he didn’t know any better he would say he was experiencing a bout of déjà vu. Her unique aroma beckoned to him, breaking the spell.
What was this woman doing to him?
Unable to rein in his lust, he gripped both sides of the open jumpsuit and rent it clear down the center. He tore until he could tear no more. Juliana sat exposed on the plush vanity seat…and so utterly turned on. At least he had the decency to leave her panties intact.“Don’t move.”Juliana swallowed and nodded, too staggered to speak. He rose and retrieved something from the medicine cabinet. She winced as she spotted what appeared to be a pair of hair-trimming shears. She held her breath as he carefully grasped the panties and snipped straight up each leg. The front fell away. He left them like that.He tugged her forwards so that she teetered on the edge of the seat cushion and abruptly hooked both legs over his shoulders.“Lie back.”She grudgingly appeased him. The position was as degrading as it was precarious.John was about to wet his fingers when he noticed she had already done the work for him. He smirked as he looked up at her and plunged his middle and forefingers right through her slit.“Oh! Oh no…” He encircled her right thigh and started to pump into her rhythmically.“No, indeed, I’ve merely scratched the surface. This investigation is yet in its early stages.”He knew her too, too well.
Her stomach made a tiny gurgling noise.“Her hunger can wait,” he thought. And so could his.Who, no what, the fuck was Felix?“Is he – I mean, it– the name of one of the films you’ve been trafficking illegally?”Juliana wondered how much further he was going to take this line of questioning. It would only ever lead to a dead end.“No.” He brought his lips to her plumped up clit. She clenched on his fingers. He shoved in another.“You did say three, yes?”“What?”“Take them out?” She clenched again, sucking him back into her warm canal.“No no, keep them in! Keep them in!”“If you insist…” He started to crook his fingers up. “Though I can’t imagine how sore you must be feeling already.”He could do his fucking worst. Still, she moaned for him.
John’s erection was straining against his thigh; he was itching to set aside his vow to himself not to fuck her senseless. He scoured his brain for banal distractions.Baseball.Pigeons.Fireplaces.THROB.
This isn’t happening!
“Is it some sort of code? An acronym known only to members of the Resistance?”She shook her head, delirious. “Fuck you, I said no!”“Such foul language, Miss Crain. One would think you were raised by gypsies!”He removed his fingers and wiped them on his robe. His lips were poised over her clit, ready to give her quite the tongue-lashing when he found himself kneeling before another woman; this one reclined on a second-hand chintz sofa while the sounds of a marching band and buoyant cheers filled the surroundings. Slender thighs quaked as he lapped up the tangy nectar. The TV announcers chimed in with their lame commentary:
“And here he comes, boys and girls! Classy as ever in black and white, straight from the lunch box and into your living room, all decked out for the holidays with a big red bow.”

“Mom and dad might remember him from his humble beginnings as a comic strip character. Folks love him for bringing just a little bit of magic into our lives, whether it be with his twisty tail, or –”
“Oh, oh God…oh John, I can’t…I can’t…”“Are you close, honey?”
“Yes, he certainly looks ready to pounce and claw his way right into the heart of the Big Apple.”

“Just keep him away from the turkey! Hahahaha!”
“I…oh….please...”
John leapt up and shoved down his trousers to frantically stroke himself while the woman panted, fluttering long silky lashes. He watched awestruck as her almond-shaped eyes rolled back into her head, raking her nails into the cheap sofa, moaning low in her throat. No, it was more of growl. No, that wasn’t quite it, either…

John came to with a canvas shoe digging into his ear. Juliana Crain. The girl with the dancer’s legs. The convict whose sister insisted she looked like an alley cat.He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. This is what insomnia had reduced him to – delusions. The Reich frowned upon mental defects of any kind. His life now seemed to depend on him regaining his sanity. He had invited Juliana Crain, witch, temptress, and spy, into his home – and he had no one to blame but himself.
Enraged, he
released her legs and spread them wide open, swearing
under his breath.“How many lives does it have?”She found his method quite disorientating.“L - lives?” She could barely get out the words. The bastard held his mouth poised just above her clit, drawing her rush towards orgasm to a standstill.“A cat? Nine lives, yes?”“Uh huh. Nine.”Hold on. Cat?!“Hmm…” John slid his fingers around her slick opening. He grabbed her by the back of the head and locked eyes with hers as he rubbed her juices over her lips. She lapped it up like milk...just like a...John held her up and let her suck on his fingers. "That's it, take it," he rasped, so very close to her mouth. "Take it all."When it seemed like she had indeed taken it all, he trailed his hand down her throat. Squeezed just enough to instill fear. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to enhance her pleasure. He knew what she wanted. He didn't know why. He just knew.

Felix is part of a game, yes?”“Mmm…yessss,” she replied."Do you like games, Miss Crain?"
Of fucking course she did now. "Yesss."“But I told you I’m not fond of games.” He pulled his fingers from her
throat
and pushed them back into her cunt. All three simultaneously.“So sorry to disappoint you…ahhhh!!!”
Juliana suddenly screamed against John's mouth. He rubbed his lips along the corner of her open mouth.

“Doesn’t a good stretch feel nice after all that running around?”“Ohhhh….I…yes, Reichsmarschall.” He crooked his fingers up again. She squealed. He bit her bottom lip. It was so ripe. He couldn't help it...“How could you have forgotten already – it’s John now. And you’re not sorry.”
“Maybe…not.” She was outright panting against his lips. He
pressed his hard body into her thighs and groaned as his cock brushed her mound.“Too bad, because I’ve enjoyed playing games with you. So far…”
Juliana threw her head back. Or tried to. He grabbed her by the hair.
"You love this. Admit it."“Uh uh..."
“I beg to differ,” he
impulsively grabbed his cock and
tapped it
against her throbbing button."Oh my God, don't do that!"
She let her eyes drift shut, moaning out her plea to end her suffering. It was impossible to escape his grip.He laughed knowingly. “Too bad you can’t just tell me to stop.”Juliana’s hackles raised way up. “Why not?”She was enjoying the resistance play, allowing herself to get off on the thrill of self-denial. But then –“Where’s the fun in that?”Her eyes burst open. She knew exactly what came next. He was hitting too close to the mark.“Stop it.”John grinned evilly. “Not a chance.”“Stop!” He shook his head no and proceeded to massage her aching g-spot. She began to writhe around beneath him.“No. I want to hear you come, you evasive little slut.”She was so close, right on the verge of giving into ecstasy, on the verge of following the orders of the same man who ordered executions…“Come…come for me…"
Oh fuck…
She threw her head back and let the feeling roil through from her quivering thighs; let him saturate her clit; felt the effects ascending her torso, curving her spine backwards, rumbling against the rings holding open her throat…The scream was much lower than he’d anticipated. It was more of a grunt or a growl, or a –DING!Meghan had arrived.
John hissed, "Dammit, she's early."Juliana, knowing John was too preoccupied with his latest predicament, licked her lips and beamed up at the ceiling.
Game over, Reichsmarschall.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

That purr. It rattled through his bones; aftershocks that untapped a strange, warm energy shooting down to his fingertips like static electricity.

Cat. Alley Cat. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. The Cat in the Hat.
John had to blink several times in order to regain his bearings. He couldn’t go into work with a screwed up head on his shoulders, continually sprouting fantastical subject matter. Not only that, he was practically panting with lust from the heady taste of her, so close to following his dirty inclinations and diving in again. Somehow he roused himself and pulled back to look at her.He balked at how content and serene she appeared. She radiated a deranged form of bliss he knew wasn’t entirely post-orgasmic.
The cat that ate the cream.
He shoved her thighs even further apart than before and she yelped. “Wipe that smile off your face, Miss Crain. I’m not through with you.”Quite involuntarily Juliana did exactly that. His actions thus far severed the fine line between erotic and erratic.In truth, he did want to slam his cock into her, in full retaliation. She went to sit up, but he halted her with a reproving glare. “Did I say you could move? Don't.”He turned away and tied the sash around his robe quickly. He left to greet Meghan and tell her where she could locate a mop. Juliana sighed and tried to stretch her legs. “I thought you said you clean up your own messes,” she muttered to herself.“Only if they’re my fault.” She startled at his all too sudden reappearance. “In any event, she’s the maid,” he shrugged, moving to tower over her cowering body. “Well well…”He reached down and yanked the remnant that was her cotton panties from beneath her tender rear in one smooth movement, causing it to lightly thump against the seat. He tossed it into a trash can curiously overflowing with assorted scandalous undergarments and accessories.He wore an indecipherable expression as he released her from the hasty bindings. Juliana’s heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint. She slowly sat up and drew the ruined jumpsuit around her quivering body. He tossed her a towel, which she wrapped around herself carefully. John almost rolled his eyes at her show of modesty.She made her way to the unlocked door but was halted with her hand on the door knob. He tilted her chin up. “Don’t worry. You’ll find something to replace this in the guest room. I know you’ll be sorry not to be able to wear it again. It suited you so well, after all.”She nudged herself away from his grasp and deadly serious set of his penetrating eyes and hurriedly left the room, else she continue to enjoy the dizzying juxtaposition of threats and carnal advances that made being trapped with John Smith so enticing. It didn’t take much provocation on her part – she had grown to be quite the thrill-seeker.But of this there was no question: her ordeal was far from over.John listened to her greet Meghan with a profuse apology for all the puddles. He cringed as he turned around. It was at least partially his fault. He was just tired of admitting it. He stepped back into the shower and let the bland intensity of lukewarm water and Ivory soap lull him into a brief illusion of normalcy – or as close as he could get to it.But things would never return to normal for him. This wasn’t America.When Juliana was changing clothes in the guest bedroom, resolutely faced away from the red armchair and newly made bed, Meghan had been busy whipping up breakfast. Shaking, too wired to think, not only from a wicked combination of the meds and the after-effects of another mind-blowing orgasm, but with trepidation over her possible fate, she struggled with the reality that he had actually caught her attempting to travel. It was the latest snag in what was shaping up to be one interminable saga of futility.One step closer, ten steps back.

A fully clothed Juliana emerged, making her way down the corridor to the dining room. Dissatisfied with the table setting, she deliberately dragged her own three spots down from the head seat, where Meghan was told to put it. She made it a point not to sit where John forced her to guzzle the Dornfelder. The idea of him sitting down to a meal with her, after what she could only describe as an intensive, exhaustive bonding experience with a well-placed Nazi, had never crossed her mind. But she had to remain on his good side...she was skating on thin ice.Truth be told, Juliana wanted to forgo breakfast altogether. She didn’t trust Meghan and wouldn’t put it past her captor to have his discreet maid spike her food with a sedative, or something more sinister. But she didn’t think it would prove too effective against the Dexamyl, which was one-half amphetamine, and she was certainly feeling its effects. Were she to add caffeine to the mix, she wasn’t sure her heart wouldn’t stop beating. It would bring her closer to the state John had been in before she slipped him his Librium. She chided herself for not handing him both pills. Since there were no pockets in her new dress, she had to tuck the extra Librium inside one of her bra cups. If only she had stolen another.“Coffee?” Meghan inquired after she returned with a steaming pot.“Orange juice is fine.” Juliana stared as Meghan poured her a glass from the carafe.“Something else then?” She stood poised with her hands in front as per usual. Yet Juliana was a pro at feigning innocence. She'd had far too much practice over the last couple years to not be on her guard about it around others.“Um, cereal? I’m sorry, but I'm not all that hungry.”Meghan wrinkled her nose a little. Juliana couldn’t help it if
this mysterious woman
went through the trouble of cooking a full traditional breakfast without asking what she actually wanted. But cereal was the safest bet.
Juliana insisted on pouring her own
cereal so that Meghan wouldn't have the opportunity to, for instance,
crush a tablet and mix it in with the milk. And she needed to feel some semblance of control, even if it were over something so trivial.After Meghan went back into the kitchen, Juliana absentmindedly scratched one of her earlobes and realized she had never removed the onyx studs. The most perplexing purchase of all. She thought about removing them. What kind of lunatic orders a pair of genuine gemstone earrings for a criminal he’d ordered to be given electroshock treatment not twenty-four hours ago?In the end she decided to leave them in. Such a fine gift from such a foul person. Generosity indeed.The thought passed idly that he might be grooming Juliana to become some sort of mistress. Was this his plan all along, or had it been bubbling up in his perverted imagination the entire night?Though he was supposed to be firmly opposed to any show of decadence in the Reich, the leader of the North American GNR was flat-out deviant. But he hid his predilections well. The perfect husband/father trope. The tired, clueless wife. Clueless about her, at least; he seemed the type to spill his secrets to Helen. But Juliana doubted she was aware of
everything.
They seemed like a happy couple regardless and from what she'd witnessed he loved her wholeheartedly. But she knew life as a Nazi wife was anything but sunshine and rainbows. Having to smile despite the underlying pain and fear must have taken a great deal of fortitude.
Was it Thomas’ death alone that drove Helen to resort to multiple medications just to make it through the day? She doubted it. What must it have been like transitioning from being a proud American to a loyal Nazi wife, and later having to contend with the enormity of being married to the Reichsmarschall of North America?Why was she empathizing with people who willingly turned a blind eye to the many fucked up of facets of fascism? Just how willing were the Smiths? Did they actually agree with any of it?
John had just expressed to her (albeit unknowingly) his desire to “find his way out of this life.” Shocked didn’t begin to describe how she felt when those words tumbled from his mouth. She had to admit, though – she could relate.
While in the spare room changing, she considered what led her to lose her confidence. Though she was still very much a child when the Pons took over San Francisco, Juliana remembered having to rapidly assimilate into the Japanese culture. Young enough to blindly accept her role as a second class citizen, she went along with it, learning to appreciate the small things in life, such as her Aikido classes, tea houses, fresh food in abundance, especially sushi which she grew to love. Eventually a taste for milky unfiltered sake, preferably cold. However, appearances were one thing. Never once did she question where her loyalties lie in her heart.It started out as a stomachache that gradually annoyed her enough for her to visit the family acupuncturist. Though she practically drowned herself in chrysanthemum tea, it never improved. She was distantly aware that something was eating at her formerly strong spirit but never thought too much about it. She had a boyfriend or two, sweet yet, frankly, boring boys, sons of Arnold's work collegues that she dated mainly out of obligation. Looking back upon each relationship, Juliana realized she had never truly loved them, the weight on her heart too immense for her to be capable of returning the sentiment.She almost dropped out of college. Studying ikebana of all things. Her professor shook his head at the pathetic jumble of iris, amaryllis and bellflower, imploring her to plump up and rearrange the red and purple blooms because they appeared to be weeping. What was the point of going to university if so many areas of study were prohibited to non-Japanese students? There were no courses, for instance, teaching history from an American’s perspective. No doubt much the same was true in the GNR, though at the time she had no inkling of just how twisted things were on other side of the Neutral Zone.What she was truly curious about she would only ever learn from what her mother and step-father chose to impart upon her as real history books were few and far between, not to mention exorbitantly expensive. In most respects they were forthcoming, but they couldn’t answer every question she had. Times had changed since the war ended. Arnold encouraged her to immerse herself in Japanese culture, which wasn’t too much of a hardship for her; they at least had the benefit of not being Nazis. Her mother, however, preferred she participate as little as possible, bemoaning how her father would be rolling in his grave if he knew he’d died for nothing. Anne did enough worrying about Trudy for her older daughter to want to further contribute to her anxieties. For her mother’s sake alone, she
refused to
wear her misery on her sleeve.Far from content with her limited life, Juliana sucked it up and strove to be a good daughter, seeking out the positive wherever she could. She kept telling herself not to wallow, to count her blessings – the Kempetai could strike at any given moment, so she was lucky to be allowed to live another day. To be given the chance that others would never have. And so she went about with head bowed in empty deference to a people that never cared much for her own.May 3, 1959. Juliana sat in the library, just another student cramming for her Japanese horticulture final. Nothing revelatory precipitated her actions: Outwardly tranquil, she closed her book and left her nook in the stacks. Dropped it onto the nearest shelf listlessly. Walked out the door, passed by the commons. Read the time tables at the bus stop and realized she had no idea where she wanted to go. A full hour went by, then another and another, until it was nearly sundown. By then the gnawing pain in her gut was replaced by cold, bitter desolation.She walked and walked, her willowy form wandering through this food stall and that, with no intention of actually purchasing anything to stave off hunger. She craved that which she had never really tasted but couldn’t be bought: freedom. But it wasn’t hers to have. She considered walking all the way to the ocean, letting its vastness swallow her whole. In this world, the lure of liberty could pull one down so easily.For all those who had crossed oceans to get to American shores for better lives – for land, for bread, for opportunities – the bounty wasn’t to last. Many had ended up wishing they’d never left their home countries in the first place. In the end, it didn’t matter which continent they hailed from. There was more freedom to be had in third class quarters on a hulking vessel teeming with disease. There, at least one’s death might be seen as tragic, rather than a necessity. Instead of examinations to let people in, the Reich conducted them in order to expel diversity and disability. Progress and perfection, as always a core motto of their wretched belief system.Her mind had wandered too far out for her to hear anything, save a distant roar. She found herself veering towards the main highway – it would be quicker this way. Later, she would wonder what might have become of her in a different world, one in which she never had her pelvis fractured by the unsuspecting front end of a bus.Yes, she once knew how it felt to be so broken. So desperately alone.He is the Reichsmarschall of North America. He had you tortured with electroshock. Electroshock. Kindness doesn’t get you to the top. Do not give a shit about this man! Worse still, the more he infuriated her, the more she would begin to hate herself for anticipating his touch. His commands. She never knew where he would take her next. No man had ever done this to her, and all in one dirty, bedraggled evening.There was a quick rap at the door, breaking her reverie.“Breakfast is ready when you are, Miss.”Juliana’s empty stomach clenched. And now she was expected to eat with him?
Freshly shaved, partially attired, John pulled a newly dry-cleaned shirt from the closet and mechanically began to guide his arms through the sleeves. He had to face Goebbels today. He had only met the Reichsminister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda on two occasions, the second of which he was accompanied by an actress with bouncy black curls to match her entirely too girlish laughter. He recalled Juliana’s laughter from earlier. It was subtle, melodious, teasing. He was about to join in when she launched him onto his back.She giggled when he trailed a rose right above the curve of her waist.Had he done that, too?
He told himself it wasn’t possible. It had to be the insomnia talking.He rubbed both palms across his eyebrows as if he could just push her out of his thoughts, even though she was only just down the hall. But no matter what, one thing would remain etched in his psyche, even should he and Helen reconcile. It came via an underground Italian boutique called La Perla, that soft blue satin and black lace number that molded to her lithe, supple form and highlighted her stunning attributes. He should be paying Meghan double her wages for knowing exactly the sort of outfit that would whet his appetite – enough to ruin her in it (which he very nearly did).Had he ever been this savage with the others? He doubted it. There had been no agenda with them. No rippling anxiety or grief or frustration to contend with. Always on some level he had to keep his innermost feelings hidden in order to uphold that calm, cunning persona he could not afford to relinquish.No, he had never wanted to claim dominion over someone so fiercely. Prisoners, yes. It was his job, and they usually deserved what was coming to them anyway. Helen had come to him, and quite willingly. The women he pursued all did their little dances, some with more complicated moves; longer steps, shorter steps. Dips. Spins. Pirouettes. Leaps. Hip shakes.Juliana Crain was an illegal tribal dance. What a star performer she’d proven to be. She should really be on the stage.Why wasn’t she on the stage yet? He needed her to quit slinking around that sleazy nightclub so he could get a night’s peace for once with all those drunken louts drooling over his woman!Forget ever defecting from the Reich: these unrelenting thoughts about a woman he'd never met, a life he'd never led, would be the death of him. His goal to expunge her from his mind was backfiring. But had he ever really tried?Juliana Crain was a prisoner. An enemy of the state. A rebel. A runner. A risk-taker.A ravishing piece of ass that he’d never been able to fully appreciate.The buttons on his shirt weren’t lining up properly. One popped off completely. A single inconsequential button.Sometimes, one was all it took.If only he had been as thorough in cleaning up as he was in ransacking the Adlers’ home for valuables, they might have been in the clear. If only Helen hadn’t gone to visit Alice. If only he hadn’t killed her husband. If only Thomas never inherited a debilitating death sentence. If only John hadn’t gotten Helen pregnant before he was ready to tell her about Edmund. If only. If only…He had driven his wife to the point of therapy. Had she lost any buttons while fooling around with Dr. Ryan? Paid by his wages?John wanted to put out feelers to find his wife and daughters, but how would he go about that? With Erich gone, who could he trust with the lives of his family, if he himself could not be trusted?In a blind rage he ripped open his shirt, sending all remaining buttons flying across the room.Superman he wasn’t. That was one of the few characters the Reich hadn’t killed off. But it wasn’t the comic book character once beloved by fellow American soldiers. Conceptually, it was similar. Except now, The Daily Planet was The Reich Gazette. Clark Kent’s blue bodysuit had darkened to black, the S replaced with a swastika. His hair bleached from black to blonde. Even his moniker had to be rechristened to the more Germanic-sounding Kurt Klein. If John didn’t know what Übermensch meant then, he certainly did now.
Juliana picked at a crystallized raisin with her spoon, head resting in hand. If she flung one at John, where would it hit him? His eye? His striped armband? Would it land in his coffee? What would he do about it?What was keeping him? Not that she wanted him to rush, but the longer he spent away from the breakfast table, the more apprehensive she grew. Did he usually take this long to get ready in the morning?She was further contemplating the trajectory of the raisin when her ears caught a few choice swear words, muted but distinct, drifting down from the master bedroom. Juliana’s hands flew to her face. Oh God, what if he had a gun? Would he kill Meghan first? Would she be forced to watch the life drain out of an innocent stranger? Was she next?A homicidal John Smith. Why not? How much worse could it get? Her overburdened mind pelted her with paranoia. But it was much preferable to being riddled with bullets.
When Meghan returned with a hot platter, Juliana placed her hand on the maid’s arm and raised a finger to her own lips. Before she could respond, Juliana abandoned her seat and made for the far hallway. Once there she fairly plastered herself against the wall. One leg stealthily crossed over the other until she came to an open door. She took an immense breath, spun around and –A tall, pearl-grey jewelry box. A long-sleeved peignoir of muted purple silk draped over a chair. A king-sized bed. Buttons scattered all over the ground. Her eyes swerved left.Her lips parted, entranced. I can’t be in here. She was treated to the sight of the Reichsmarschall’s naked back. Utterly hairless, chiseled movable marble, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Her eyes raked his form from top to bottom with very little shame.In that instant Juliana became excruciatingly envious of Helen. Surely not every part of him had been soaking in the splendor of Mein Kampf
at bedtime all these years? How much sex had John and Helen had, other than for purposes of expanding the master race? She wished the thought had never crossed her mind, but once planted, the seed germinated and gave rise to more and more unwelcome thoughts, springing up like weeds.Such as the upsetting realization that she wanted John Smith to fuck her until she forgot her own name.John had been staring vacantly at a row of perfectly pressed white dress shirts when he heard a decidedly feminine groan.“Meghan, is that you?”But the clang of cookware in the distance confirmed the petite maid’s whereabouts.John pivoted around a millisecond too late. All he could make out was a light-colored blur sailing past the doorway and out of his line of vision. He blinked, momentarily startled, but forced himself to finish getting dressed. The sooner he got himself some coffee, the less arduous it would be to face the day.He would not succumb to Juliana’s plentiful wiles. She was deceptive to the core and had to be interrogated as soon as possible, lest he forget about the remarkable stunt she tried to pull. If Himmler didn’t have his head for losing a prize prisoner, someone else certainly would.Still, his mind shifted to where it oughtn’t. He hadn’t been too specific with his requests this time. He found himself wondering what Juliana would wear on a more casual day, or rather, what a young woman in the Reich could get away with wearing. He imagined it should be something comfortable and not terribly revealing. For this, too, he relied on Meghan’s better judgment.He thought back to those films showing the dresses and skirts that rose well above the knee. Would Juliana ever choose to wear something like that? He knew the answer of course. It really should be a crime to hide legs like hers. John knew he would be strict, never permitting his daughters to flash so much skin. Helen would never let them embrace this pathetic excuse for fashion that seemed commonplace in the world of certain films. Or would she? Well, their clothing choices, along with any potential consequences, were out of his hands at the moment.
Juliana sped back to the table as fast as her aching feet could carry her, the threat of doom licking at her heels.
She had so nearly avoided detection. Her meditative state had taken too long to set in. He was running on empty – zero sleep and a Librium. How the hell could he possibly stop her passage to another world? How did he know exactly at which point to do so? And then there was his using Helen’s brush as a weapon. That he disrespected her property so showed that her leaving him was finally sinking in. Was there anything in the Nazi rule book about domestic noncompliance? For Helen’s sake, she hoped not.John strode into the room with a purposeful though somewhat delayed gait due to his nearly busted toe. He would have to curb the urge to limp as he walked into headquarters so as not to give the impression he was mocking the Reichsminister's club foot. The once terrifying boots skidded to a halt as his eyes lit upon Juliana seated farther down the table, leaving vacant the seats normally occupied by his family. His heart lurched at the memory, but he propelled himself forward nonetheless. That was all he could do from this point on.He, too, noticed the small wine stain marring the tablecloth but said nothing as he pulled out his chair and laid his napkin across his lap. “I haven’t wished you a proper good morning, Miss Crain.”Her eyes flicked up from the half soggy contents of her cereal bowl. “Oh, how so?”“Good morning, Miss Crain,” he nodded to her. He thanked Meghan for the coffee and added a splash of cream to the strong brew.What an absurd situation! They both knew it was, but pantomimed politeness as if to further distance themselves from reality. “And to you, Reichsmarschall.”His eyes showed mild surprise that she deigned to return his greeting at all but instinct told him it was just part of her manipulative subterfuge. They flicked to hers and noticed they were somewhat reddened, though this only made her blue irises brighter. He had never been able to figure out exactly what shade they were. Aquamarine? He chided himself for caring.“Is that all you’re going to eat?” John dug into his own plate loaded with fried potatoes, sausage and eggs.“I’m not that hungry.”“Even prisoners need to keep up their strength. Go ahead, take some more.”She acquiesced grudgingly, scooping some potatoes onto her dish. John hadn’t much of an appetite himself for the past few days, but he found himself famished today. How could she not be, as well? He hoped she didn’t think he would try something obvious such as poisoning her food. That was an amateur move of the lowest sort.When her head was down John snuck in a more thorough assessment of her appearance. Did a double-take. Words wobbled on his lips, unformed; out loud it would amount to babble. He couldn’t look away if he tried: Juliana, in that dress, etched in his brain. A flush of familiarity, no less intrusive than his thoughts about her, burned through his system, half in lust, half in longing.Yes, this dress. The other dress, cream printed voile with buttons running from collarbone to waist. He would know it anywhere. He’d felt it slip from his grasp. Watched her shimmy it down past her hips and long legs until it pooled at her feet…The screech of metal against fine china brought him back to earth. She stabbed into her potatoes, pushing them around distractedly. John wasn’t the only one whose thoughts had meandered.Something had been milling about the back of her mind the entire time: remembrance of the feel of the tip of his cock banging against her clit just wouldn’t abate. She was appalled at herself. Suddenly, all the moisture in her throat seemed to evaporate as if she were inhaling desert air. She guzzled down the juice fast, her gulping clearly audible. The sugar rushed to her brain, loosening her tongue enough for her to blurt out something incredibly moronic:“Would you mind if I tidied up your office while you’re away? Since I’m to remain a prisoner –”“Guest, Miss Crain, you are my guest,” he said before biting into dry toast. “Has your stay been less than satisfactory? If you would like to return to your cell today I would be more than happy to accommodate your request.”Prisoner. Had John gotten his lines crossed? But who was she to point out his confusion?“And no, you may not clean up my mess in my office,” he continued with a pointed look. “Just because I allowed you to view one film does not automatically give you free reign over Reich property.”She would have argued back but Meghan bustled back in with, to her and John’s astonishment, a rather large, resplendent floral arrangement, placing it in the center of the table.“Well aren’t these lovely!” she exclaimed, completely disregarding the stunned reaction of John and Juliana. “Such a shame to leave these roses in the hallway where they can’t be admired. And what a pretty color, too! They really liven up the room.”No one answered right away. Juliana was glad she’d stopped eating otherwise she would have choked on her raisin flakes. Raising her downcast eyes to his felt like the most natural (and, simultaneously, unnatural) thing in the world to do. The intensity transmitted through his feral gaze could set the tablecloth on fire. She bit down on her lower lip and looked away. Neither could form a coherent thought.The silence seemed to last an eternity, though it was closer to a few seconds. John was the first to recover, clearing his throat, fingers tearing at the napkin on his lap. “Well, it’s nothing unusual. We get fresh flowers delivered every day.”What he neglected to mention, however, was that they never once received pink flowers. The arrangements were always red, white or white combined with red, a statement of Reich pride (as if it were possible to forget one’s devotion to the Fatherland!). He desperately wanted to believe it was merely a mix-up at the florist’s.He wanted to believe his mind wasn’t failing him. For Juliana, it only confirmed what she inherently knew to be true.The intricate scent penetrated the atmosphere, lending an exquisite, sumptuous tension to an otherwise everyday domestic scene. But nothing about this situation was mundane in the slightest.Oblivious to their discomfort, Meghan continued, “Well, I think they’re just breathtaking. You would think it was somebody’s birthday or something.” She removed some of the dishes and headed back into the kitchen.
The two remained still as statues for a good two minutes. John was the first to relax his shoulders and resume eating. He picked up his knife to slice through his eggs but was compelled to stop just short of the yolk.
He had selected the rose with the tightest bud so that it wouldn’t unravel too fast. It just so happened to be the pinkest. While inspecting the blossom, he pricked his thumb on a thorn. As he wound a napkin around his finger, he told himself not to be too eager, lest he cause damage. If he punctured her skin and caused her to bleed he would never forgive himself…
Juliana’s breath hitched as she watched his long index finger glide up and down the stem of his fork, his brows furrowed in concentration. Her hand lifted to massage her neck.
She could feel something soft and light idly caressing her exposed shoulders. The sensation dissolved and she was left wanting. But then came the bite of something sharp and thin, scratching around her flesh like a determined pointy fingernail. Only she knew his were blunt and smooth…
Juliana threw down her spoon, causing some milk to splash onto the table.
It’s just a tantrum. Ignore her and it will all go away. She will
go away.“John…”He looked up at her expectantly but also afraid of what he knew she was about to ask. The all-too-curious cat. “Yes?”“I don’t know how to put this.” She wiped up the spillage with her napkin and placed her hands on her lap, left atop right. He knew the hammer was about to drop. “You mentioned having...strange dreams.”Annoyed, he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “Miss Crain,” he warned, “I believe we’ve discussed this just before.” Still, the cup shook ever so slightly against the saucer.She started to pick at her frayed bandage. “I’m just curious if they–”He tightened his grip on the saucer, tension crawling up his spine.“If they might pertain to…”
Please stop prying.
She was searching for a way to come out with it before she lost her nerve. What could it hurt in inquiring? She was already his captive. Something worse was surely to come. “Well, have you ever had visions of…”She curled her hair around her ear. Fuck, what a train wreck this was going to be!“I don’t have time for–”“Us,” she finished, jarringly, but relieved the words were finally out.John assumed an air of nonchalance though her words drummed against his chest like a torrential downpour. “In what way?”“In any way. I know I have. And so have you, John.”He had to halt her questioning. “Dreams, not visions. And not about you. Just who do you think you are?”“Correct.”1-2-3-4. He focused his breaths just like she taught him.John glanced at the cuckoo clock projecting from the wall. It ticked past 6:15. It was getting late, but he had just enough time to spare for what he had to do. As effortlessly as he could manage, John swallowed his toast and raised the coffee to his mouth once again. He blew at the curls of steam and raised his eyes to her.“Are you finished eating?”Juliana looked at her half empty plate. “I suppose so.”“Then I would like to see you in my office.”She glanced back at John, drawn to how his sensual fingers and thumb grasped the fragile handle. As he sipped his coffee, his eyes never left her face. If he was trying to rattle her it wouldn't work.She turned to face him head-on. “You’re not going to answer my question? It’s pretty basic: yes or no. I believe you’re familiar with that method of inquiry.”“And I believe you’re quite an expert at evasion yourself.”She huffed. "I learned from the best."“Need I remind you that it’s not your place to ask questions. Especially since you're under my roof.”And she was his property. His eyes flashed at the possibilities. He really should turn her over his knee for this display of impertinence...
Suddenly shy under his intense scrutiny, Juliana twisted her torso away and rubbed her upper arms over the soft cashmere. While she was busy picking at invisible fuzzballs, John was picturing her shrugging her cardigan down; how he bound her wrists behind her back; how she obeyed him without hesitation.This Juliana before him was much less compliant.
He guiltily wondered why none of these so-called "visions" featured Helen or his children. What did it all mean?A Freudian would say he was indulging his id, the most primal part of himself. The vast majority of psychiatrists in the Reich were Jungian. Sigmund Freud had himself been executed, his extensive writings burnt, including that monumental fluff piece
The Interpretation of Dreams.
The Reich deemed his focus on sexuality demeaning to the populace and uncivilized and, thus, incompatible with its goals of progress through defined roles. After all, grown men should not analyze potentially repressed sexual urges regarding their mothers.But what about grown men and gorgeous, unattached, unrelated women? What if these really were more than recurrent, highly realistic dreams? He didn’t know how to handle it, and there was no one to ask for advice. He was supposed to control her, not the other way around. Perhaps interdimensional travel was just another form of high witchcraft.Without warning, Juliana backed her chair away from the table, scooching out in a very unladylike manner, chair legs screeching against the tile. She seemed almost flustered. John’s watchful eyes shot to her slender calves peeking out through nude stockings. His forefinger stroked the steaming cup back and forth as he felt himself perk up.He removed his gaze before she could notice. “Why so eager to leave, Miss Crain?”
She tossed her half-tied back hair over her shoulder and walked away without a backwards glance.
“It's going to take a while to wade through all those films I have no business handling.”He smirked. “Close the door behind you, then wait for me,” he uttered, low and measured, with an undercurrent of expectation. "I'll be in...momentarily." He made sure to drag out that last part.
Despite her reluctance to follow his orders, the register of his voice still titillated her. She stifled a small moan as she recalled the way it washed over when as he groped her through her crotch. Her new panties were already more than a little damp. She rushed to the darkened room and practically slammed the door.
After she left, John stood and went right up to the bouquet. He plucked out a single rose, caressing the petals as if they were part of something else entirely. And then, the oddest sensation. Tingly, but not akin to pins and needles. A rush of headiness and warmth. An infusion of well-being such as he’d never experienced.Perfect rightness.He had the strongest urge to crush the flower between his fingers to let the unfamiliar feeling seep into his pores. He had to stop himself from separating the bloom from its stem and shoving it into his pocket. Right next to the collar he found lying atop the trash bin in the bathroom.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Juliana laid her head against the door and willed her heart to stop slamming into her chest in anticipation of she knew not what. She stepped over the jumbled chaos of broken glass, film reels and canisters. Was he truly planning to clean up his own mess? Or was this another one of Meghan’s many discreet duties?Curious, she bent and carefully turned over a picture frame surrounded by jagged slivers of glass. Through the fragile cracks she could make out John and Thomas on a fishing excursion.Almost immediately, she was bowled over by an immense weight of heartache and desolation. She studied the photo more closely, grudgingly acknowledging how breathtakingly handsome John was – beaming at the camera, pride bursting at the seams of his dark blue jacket. Thomas in similar attire; or, at least she assumed it was him. The lanky frame and sandy hair fit, but the soot-smudged face was something disturbing to behold.Did John try to blacken it in disgust? Who really knew anymore – the man had a warped mindset. Right after she gingerly flipped over the frame and returned it to the floor, the melancholy diminished. She picked up a few canisters and stacked them on the corner of his desk.There was another framed photo of them on one the chairs, with a single crack running diagonally down the middle. Otherwise, father and son were perfectly intact. Their pride was abundantly clear. Her eyes honed in on John, suitably pompous on this momentous occasion. Her face contorted into disgusted pity. No wonder the room resembled the aftermath of a tornado.She half expected him to be too far gone to continue interrogating her. Not two minutes later, the Reichsmarschall swooped in, raven black and blood red, purposeful and direct. The caffeine had plowed into his system, Juliana noted to her chagrin.Impatient to get started, he pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk and pulled out his own high-backed chair. “Take a seat.”She offered him the portrait, unable to meet his perpetually accusatory gaze. He nearly snatched it from her fingers when he saw what she was holding but changed his mind at the last second, accepting with feigned graciousness. Her head had been bowed in a subservient fashion as if addressing a Pon. Last he’d checked, he wasn’t Japanese. Perhaps she needed some reminding.Juliana folded her arms and waited while he repositioned the frame in its former place on the wall, adjacent to his gun cabinet. He glided his finger along the fissure, scowling into the glass. The likeness of them couldn’t have been more than two years old.John rubbed at the nagging sore spot at the crest of his shoulder and turned. He assessed her slender form, the vexing hesitation, regarding her with sight derision.“I said take a seat.”She huffed before plopping down, hissing as her raw rear collided with a much thinner cushion than the dining room seating provided; she shifted uncomfortably.John took his own seat and plucked a cigarette from his highly polished silver case. He took his time lighting it, savoring his first puff, watching in his covert way as Juliana crossed and uncrossed her legs, imagining her hips rocking to the beat of his throbbing cock. The tension between them sizzled still in the stifling air, brandishing heat across their skin like a delectable wildfire amidst an impossible situation.In the far recesses of his mind, he hoped there were films that showed the two of them together, if only to prove he had not stumbled into a minefield. John rarely placed unconditional faith in another. He had with Helen right from the start, however towards the end he could no longer rely on her judgment, or her ability to keep a secret. She couldn’t even be trusted to unburden her pain to a therapist without dredging up her misgivings about eugenics policies. The reverse seemed to be true of this fine-boned fugitive sitting before him right now.But he preferred not to rely on dreams, or rather ‘visions’ as Juliana called them, in order to sustain him – to stamp out the memories of the nightmare his life had become and replace them with her. As much as he wanted to covet her as a dragon guards his gold, Juliana could not serve as his own prisoner-plaything indefinitely. He had been uncharacteristically impetuous last night and must contend with the consequences of unadulterated erotic distraction.Only the most wretched of men would quite deliberately order an alluring convict to be delivered to him in an hour or less. Now she was in his office of all places, his den of privacy (and occasional substitute bedroom), surrounded by the films. This must be like Christmas for her.“Now…” Another drag. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?”He reached for the cigarette case and lifted the lid. They were displayed in much the same way Frank's drawing pencils had been when he brought them home from the art supply shop. But then he'd rummage through them until the H's and B's denatured into a jumbled up mess of half frittered lengths of lead, strewn all over his workstation.She slid one out, resting it between well-defined lips. Then came the matching Reich-issue lighter, and she became wary of his eyes tearing into her own as he bent towards her face, unearthing whatever lie dormant that she probably forgot about. Instead, she concentrated on his smell – cinders; clean wilderness: primal, all of it.He backed away from the spellbinding fragrance against her skin, a forbidden, potentially poisonous dessert. At his peril would he succumb again. “I need to gather as much information from you as I can before I leave. Do not resort to lying. Believe me, the offer from earlier regarding your feeble-minded friends still stands.”Though greatly offended, she sat up taller and nodded. “Alright.” She had to believe he would keep Hawthorne and Caroline protected. He hadn’t killed her after all. Some trust had begun to slip through the cracks. How she wished it hadn’t.Juliana’s nerves were especially frazzled since Meghan blindsided her with the roses. Right now she had to demonstrate just how strong, authentic and utterly fearless she was, or else what was the point? That meant ignoring any feelings that painted John in a more favorable light, even if it wasn’t really this version of him instigating such miracles. She raised her chin and tossed her hair to project an air of hauteur.John let the smoke hiss through his lips. “As I’ve just seen, as usual, you know more than you let on.” He tapped the cigarette over the ash tray prematurely and steeled himself for what he knew would put his resolve to the test.“Look, I can explain about Felix. You just have to keep an open mind.”“Oh, we’re past that now. No more games.” He shook his head solemnly and cleared his throat. “During our little tête-à-tête yesterday, you claimed Die Nebenwelt would not be able to transport armed vehicles, but it can transport humans. I’ve seen it, and so have you. The device works. The evidence is irrefutable.”
This again?
She relaxed her spent muscles into the chair. “Not if only one person made it through.”“One is all it takes,” he shot back.One person out of…She briefly flashed back to the time she was herself a ‘volunteer,’ herded together with other petrified future victims like cattle about to be butchered; she wasn’t too far off the mark. She sunk into the chair and rubbed at her arms, suddenly chilled to the bone.“True, some things need ironing out. Perfection cannot be rushed. That’s why it’s called an experiment. Don’t you remember science class, Miss Crain? Of course you did. You majored in horticulture.”As unsettling as it was that he knew this off the top of his head, it was public record. Not much digging around then. “I did, but I never took my final exams and practical.”“Yes, it was right before the bus accident, wasn’t it? That is certainly unfortunate. You could have taken over for this florist who can’t seem to get our orders straight.”Her ears perked up. “Why, what’s the matter with the flowers?”
“They don’t belong in my home, that’s what.”“Well, you weren’t sneezing, so you’re not exactly allergic to roses. And I distinctly recall helping assemble that atrocious swastika wreath for Dr. Adler’s funeral. Right on your own kitchen table.”Johns jaw ticked.She simpered. “You don’t approve of roses, John?”
John narrowed his eyes and darted them to the side. He set down his cigarette and picked up a nearby pencil, deftly twirling it like a baton.“What about the films? I was under the impression that was the entire reason you sought out The Man in the High Castle.” He watched her drum her fingers against the armrests, as if she had someplace better to be.“Indeed, what about them? How can you be so sure these movie reels aren’t all meaningless propaganda?”“I just am.”“That is the very definition of an irritating reply.”
At this point, what was the use in hiding? “Like you, I’ve seen myself in some films.”“How many?"“Several.” She didn’t elaborate.“Brought to you by the prophet who knows all, Hawthorne Abendsen, yes? It’s rather a shame – you’re much too intelligent to trust a deranged man.”“Likewise.” She looked down, then up at him again, those twin rings of pale blue fire challenging him.He burned to touch her again, to feel her frantic pulse knocking against his fingertips. He longed to run his fingers through her thick, silky mane and bury his face in its softness because she still smelled like that ceaseless, wonderful dream, which wasn’t actually a dream after all. He wanted to brush off the feeling but it endured. He took a drag to try to forget and to continue this fascinating, yet distressing interrogation.“I have some notions myself as to their purpose.” He flicked his wrist in a lazy circular movement, trails of smoke swirling, fading fast in the morning gloom. “You’ve been peddling false hope, Miss Crain. That alone is tantamount to treason.”Juliana scoffed. “Is it not also treasonous for a greatly elevated Nazi official to express views incompatible with his own party’s principles, Reichsmarschall? And with great passion, might I add.” She luxuriated in the smooth taste of tobacco just then and blew it out leisurely.John’s mouth dropped open just enough to cause her to smile a bit. His hand itched to strike her across the cheek for her willfulness. And her perceptiveness. And so, lest he follow through on his baser instincts, he began to doodle on a notepad. Unfurling circles and lines.Roses.He just as abruptly scribbled over them, pressing so hard the pencil tip almost broke.Juliana craned her neck and attempted to peer past the black-clad arm blocking her view of whatever he was drawing. Or rather, obliterating.Without raising his head, he got to the point. "Tell me what you saw in these films, Miss Crain. And be detailed about it.”When had he said this to her before?Oh. Oh. When she’d accidentally requested a punishment. When he violated her body with an empty wine bottle.Juliana hesitated briefly. Was she making a colossal mistake in divulging all of her own sensitive information to this lunatic?
"Do you think you can trust me, Juliana?”
She mentally shook off the tenderness, the urgency of another man’s voice. She clasped her hands together on her lap, head tilted beneath John’s eye line, attempting to control her breathing without prompting suspicion. Juliana had long accepted the legitimacy of what she told John were visions, but were actually memories; treasures beyond compare.“One film showed me outfitted in military gear, wandering through a forest with a fully loaded rifle. I came upon a sign that read ‘Verboten’.”Juliana kept another version of that scenario close to her vest. If the first film was the before, the second revealed a veritable wasteland; the sign hidden beneath layers of dirty, sooty ash. She was portrayed as injured: hobbling along, lacerations on her face similar to those she now bore. In the film, she was fortunate enough to have escaped the Nazis' clutches. She could have destroyed them. The thought warmed her considerably.John nodded. “Naturally you decided the best course of action would be to trespass.”“Naturally,” she shrugged. She wasn’t about to question why it felt so good to unburden herself to John Smith. Their game of predator and prey was close to being played out anyway. She took a long drag of her cigarette before tapping it into the ashtray. “I had a vision directly after that just so happened to reveal where Die Nebenwelt was hidden, deep in the Poconos in Lackawanna Coal Mine #9.”“So, you were able to ascertain the precise location of the device using only these visions of yours and a map? But how would you be able navigate the passageways undetected with all those loyal young guards milling about? You’d need help from a local to pull that off.” He sighed. “I will require his or her name and physical description.”Milling. Mills. Julia Mills. He wished she hadn’t cut her hair so soon after making their acquaintance but he understood the need to recreate her image. Still, beautiful was beautiful.He remembered driving her to her new dormitory, wearing a casual trench coat paired with a blue button-down and trousers that only saw the light of day on Saturdays and Sundays. That had been a rather eventful day for him. Well, harrowing would be putting it mildly. The old demons threatened to return. But it had to be done for his son’s sake.He would kill Dr. Adler all over again, no question.
He would drive her to her apartment, night after night just to hear her thank him with that sweetly sultry voice of hers. He wondered where on her body she dabbed that perfume…
"I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”John was jolted out of his reverie. “Well, I’m sure it will come to you. Let’s move on, shall we?” he inquired cryptically. He shuffled some papers and placed them in his brief case.He folded his hands before him and straightened his posture. “Two nights ago, I met with Trade Minister Tagomi, who informed me that there are ways to access parallel worlds without having to utilize a man-made portal. That’s a strange claim, don’t you think?”Juliana coughed profusely as the once calming smoke got stuck in her throat. Now Tagomi had to be brought into this hell? Wasn’t it bad enough that he was targeted by Himmler? How many times must she, albeit indirectly, ruin – or end – the lives of those she cared about most? At least Frank seemed to be faring well, despite his permanent limp and disfiguring scars.The night they made love for the last time had brought her closure, and he seemed to accept that their own story had run its course. He was alive, safe and loved by many. He seemed gratified to have found his calling. To have a purpose was all that really mattered in life.“And why would you need to meet with him?”“You know that’s classified.”“Well, so is my knowledge.”John leaned forwards a little. “I’m really tiring of your insubordination, Miss Crain,” he rasped. “As you’ll recall, I’m the one who asks the questions. You’re the one who politely replies and obeys my commands in order to avoid consequences. Why hasn’t this sunken in yet?”“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she replied, stubbing out the spark.“Before I start making unpleasant phone calls, you will tell me more about your relationship with the Trade Minister. You were his assistant for a brief period last year and then…”“We became close friends.”“How close?”“We found we both shared similar interests, views on life. I can’t really put it into words. There was an undeniable connection. Hawthorne said we shared a special bond, and he was right.”“That’s very touching. But I’m not here for that.” John kept his eyes trained on hers as if waiting for her to lose her balance on a tightrope. “Continue.”Juliana gathered her racing thoughts. She wished she could be evasive but it was becoming harder and harder to keep up the pretense of ignorance.John beat her to the punch. “I guess you don’t really care what happens to the Abendsens." Juliana watched, petrified, as he dialed the phone. “Major Metzger. How is our friend the troubadour doing today?” He stretched the spiral cord and began to rock in the seat. “And Mrs. Abendsen?”Her hands trembled; sensation draining from her fingertips with each passing second.
“I have a request and it will be carried out immediately and effectively.”She saw without seeing: his shiny jacket buttons. His lips. The desk. Her jittery hands. The phone cord wrapping around his finger, tightening.“John!” she mouthed.
“One moment.” He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Never interrupt –”“I knew him in another world.”His eyes widened.She sat by helpless as the ball rolled away from her side of the net onto his. Having to implicate Tagomi, her stoic but gentle refuge and fervent ally, would wound her heart. But he would understand. She hoped...He blinked several times in succession when he finally realized the full implications of her admission. But his face soon enough returned to neutral, and he returned to the call.“Feed them. Something fit for human consumption.” His eyes, a bright mossy green, greeted her like a recently reanimated cartoon villain’s. They locked into hers and refused to let go for the remainder of the call. “Prisoners need their strength.”
When he put down the receiver, he wasted no time getting back to the business at hand. “How is that even remotely possible?”“I didn’t believe it myself until one day, it came to me. In a flash, I was able to recall so much, down to the tiniest details.”“Another one of your so-called visions?” he asked blandly.Except she knew they were more than that. To expect him to believe any more would be asking too much.She nodded. “The very same you claim not to believe in. Tagomi-san once handed me photos of his son, Nori, and wife, Michiko. They both died sometime during the war. Almost immediately my mind was inundated with all these memories, as if triggered by the photos themselves. They had wu. Certain parts came to the forefront.”This was getting ridiculous. “Wu?”“It’s a spiritual thing. You wouldn’t understand.”“Try me.”“If you hold onto the object it can help you focus your mind enough to…”She didn’t want to say it.“To what? Spit it out, Miss Crain.”“To travel.”John’s mouth gaped open. When she saw he was not likely to recover soon, she furthered her explanation:“The night Trudy was shot, I was wearing this gold heart-shaped necklace Frank crafted for me. I left it on my jewelry stand for him to find so he would know I had gone off to the Neutral Zone. Soon after his sister, niece and nephew were executed by the Kempetai. By sheer chance Tagomi found my necklace lying in the street. He found that it contained considerable wu, so he kept it on his desk and would use it to comfort himself when the loneliness became too overwhelming, a means by which he could escape from his troubles."“I don’t follow.”“Don’t you remember
The
Wizard of Oz
? When you long to be somewhere better than where you are now, you dream about it. What about if, in that somewhere, beyond you, beyond me, the people you loved but couldn’t reach were waiting for you?”“I’m not buying this drivel.”Juliana persisted. “What if you were able to reach them?”What, over the fucking rainbow? “Dorothy wasn’t holding onto anything.”“Except for her longing to be home, with her loved ones.” At this John rolled his eyes and groaned aloud.“Did you show Helen that film?”Now she was being downright intrusive. “What did I say about mentioning my family?” There was that biting edge to his voice that called to mind what he was truly capable of.She looked at him expectantly. He relented. “No, I haven’t shown it to her.”“Why not?”“Too risky. Besides, it’s not real. I couldn’t do that to her. She still believes Thomas is…out there.”“And what if he is?”“What did I tell you about peddling false hope?”“But you wouldn’t be lying.”“You have no proof.”“That film is proof he is alive somewhere.”“It's not proof of anything!”And yet the truth was being cemented into place, one brick of remembrance at a time.“Well what about that film with the bomb?”“Which one?” There were so many to choose from.“The hydrogen bomb, of course, in the Marshall Islands.”John blanched, thunderstruck, barely able to rein in his utter astonishment. “What do you know about that?”“Does it matter?”“In this instance, yes it does.”She joined her hands over her crossed knee. The game was not over.Tagomi had told John he retrieved the film from his son. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled.His dead son.“You’re lying.”She shook her head slowly. It aggravated him, seeing how much she enjoyed eking this out. “Did that film seem like something Hawthorne could just splice together on a lazy afternoon?”“Well no, but –”“I assure you it was most definitely real. We were on the verge of a nuclear crisis in that world, too, only against the Soviets. Which is why Tagomi asked for the film, as proof something like that should never transpire in our reality.”John knit his eyebrows together, still unable to process her earth-shattering disclosure. “You gave it to him?”She shrugged.His eyes dropped to his desk as he shook his head. “But how could you have physically handed off top-secret government footage to Tagomi, unless…”Juliana held her breath. There it was. The snare trap with its ravenous open jaws. She had eluded the barbed wire and blindly walked right into it.“Unless you’re a traveler yourself.” He seemed immensely pleased with himself, that sly mocking grin exuding pleasure at her distress. The unexpected glimpse of his perfect teeth made it all the more maddening.Yes, he must really be reveling in this.“Unbeknownst to you, Miss Crain, I witnessed the signs of impending travel firsthand.” This was news to her, but nowhere in the vicinity of mind-blowing.“One moment we were conversing and the next she vanished before my eyes,” he continued, undeterred. “A courier. She happened to be carrying that film, too." He nodded towards the projector. “Right before she disappeared, all the lab equipment started to shake, the electricity short-circuited. She just faded into obscurity, shackles and all.” He smirked. “But we’ll catch her again. We always do.”Juliana started clawing her nails into her thighs.John ignored her increasing panic. He was easing back into his role. Though a far cry from that transcendent feeling the roses induced, his black armor of authority made him feel almost invincible, destined to maintain order and dole out punishment for the non-compliant. He excelled at ripping out confessions and generally terrifying subversives by his demeanor alone.Kindness and compassion aside, Juliana was guilty of multiple charges of murder. She should be alone in her cell, huddled in the corner of her cot, contemplating her last night on earth, not seated across from him enjoying his generosity.
“Tagomi is a courier. And I know you’ve been working with him.”Juliana sighed. “It’s not what you think.”He pointed at her rather gleefully. “You have been travelling. And quite extensively. I always knew you had it in you to get up and fly away.”“You’ve got it all wrong!”“Then by all means, correct me.”John waited with bated breath yet poised by default to refute whatever followed.“In this world, his wife and son perished in the war. But there is at least one where it’s clear that the Allies prevailed, just as The Grasshopper Lies Heavy showed. And in one of these worlds, instead of his family, Tagomi-san had…”Juliana turned her head away, clearly affected.His second cigarette of the day had been biding its time collecting ash; it fell in a clump onto the polished wooden surface. As John swiftly knocked the powdery substance into a hidden wastepaper basket with the steno pad, a forgotten thought resurfaced: Dr. Mengele had informed him that Fatima Hassan possessed the same appearance, down to the fingerprints and evidence of hyperpigmentation he kept shielded in glass, as a woman who had suffered a fatal reaction to one of his sinister medical experiments months earlier.John allowed a rare moment of candor to breach his fog of doubt. “He died.”She nodded, hunching her shoulders, hugging herself for comfort. “When he requested that film, he was but a visitor from our world.”Tagomi then passed the reel to Kido, who jetted off to New York during a travel ban to watch the unnatural catastrophe unfold in the secret of John's former East Meadow home.“In that timeline," she continued, "Nori and I were married with a child."Before John had the chance to make his disbelief apparent, Juliana had a brief memory of Nori lifting their infant son from his crib and bouncing him in his arms. John had by now recognized how she appeared when entering into that temporary state – the creased brows, scrunched up eyes, hands massaging her temples.As she reemerged from her state, an enchanting serenity lent a splendid glow to her face, despite the absence of light. Tears clouded her vision and she had to compose herself due to the sudden swell of emotion those memories of Nori evoked. At one point she started laughing.John regarded her silently. Was this another indication of her duplicity? It never hurt to prod a tad further. Just in case.“You knew him? His…son...” He had to grit his teeth to produce those last two words without his voice cracking.“We had a baby boy together.” John’s lips turned up minutely before training them back into a slightly downturned line.“Really?” He could never imagine Juliana Crain as someone’s wife or mother. She was far too independent. The things that woman would teach her offspring! But he supposed anything was possible. Elsewhere.“Yeah.” Her eyes were wistful as she smiled. “The cherry blossom trees were all over the backyard. So many petals strewn on the grass in the summertime we would have to rake them into piles like leaves. And the sweetness that pervaded the air reminded me, in that moment, that I was once somewhere very significant. It really moved me. And I knew right then it was all true.”“And scent, as they say, is a powerful instigator for memories,” he added. “Magnetic in a way.”And was he ever drawn to her today. Helen was still out there, far from the home they shared, but for some reason he was able to compartmentalize the disparate relationships. Even if the other woman in question was Juliana Crain.John absentmindedly smoothed his desk, contemplating whether he should clear it off with his hands or his arms. John couldn’t get a grip on these intrusive feelings. The befuddling attraction, despite all the trouble she’d caused. He sighed and brushed his hand through his shorn curls. Maybe it was his id kicking him in the groin after all.
His curiosity, like hers, got the better of him. "Did Nori ever appear in the films?”“Not that I’ve seen. But Thomas is. John, you’ve got to believe me - that footage of you two – it’s all real. That’s you. That’s your son.”He scoffed. “That may be Thomas, but that buffoon next to him is nothing like me.”“Alive or dead, we all have identities on other planes. Same birthdays, but divergent life paths.”“But he is out there?”“Other incarnations of Thomas, certainly, but not the same boy you raised. It’s highly possible his personality is nothing like the Thomas you knew.”“You’re saying if I just close my eyes and hold onto something containing wu long enough, I’ll be reunited with Thomas?”She could tear out her hair for concerning herself with the tragic figure of John Smith, grieving father. Her compassion reasserted itself though she’d sequestered it from those she deemed unworthy of calming reassurance. After the many lives he’d destroyed during his tenure as a sycophant for the criminally insane, John Smith didn’t deserve one more glimpse of Thomas.If this man required honesty, how could she refuse on his account?“In theory.” His eyes lit up. “But I’m afraid won’t work for you.”The great green orbs clouded over, hazy with disappointment.“Why not?”“For one, Tagomi-san is a deeply spiritual man. He studies the I-Ching. Keeps a shrine to his deceased family. Meditates over them daily. He practices a very serene, simplistic lifestyle outside of his position in the government. Your personalities couldn’t be any further apart, in almost every respect.”“Would studying the I-Ching speed up the process?” He was sure Himmler could lend him a copy. If its contents were even remotely esoteric, his library stocked it.If he wasn’t making more than idle threats on her friends’ lives, she would have fallen out of her chair laughing. “No, John, it doesn’t work like that.”“What, because I’m a heathen? An American? It can’t be too difficult to toss around some sticks, burn incense and pour over some photographs.” He had plenty of those.“Divination, John? I thought religion was banned in the Reich. Unless you’ve been peddling falsities yourself.”“It’s not religion. It’s meditation.”He had a point, but it wasn't going to work for him the way he pictured.“While they aren't exactly the same, mediation is also a spiritual activity. But it's not something that can be performed only on occasion to see results. You must be able to devote yourself to practicing it. As for being able to travel, it can take years to teach your mind to reach that level of deep concentration."Mengele had said as much. Yet John was desperate."But it can work?""If you're able to eliminate distractions in your daily life, eventually it could. But how can you realistically do that in your exalted position?"He looked crestfallen but she had yet to divulge the worst of it.“The bottom line is that you won’t be able to get to Thomas unless the version of yourself in that film dies and leaves a space for you to cross the bounds of space and–”“What?!”He felt a bad headache coming on, throbbing, tightening and constricting his temples like talons with a ripe egg in its ungentle grip.“Multiple versions of us exist.”“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear several times,” he replied, crossing his arms and bouncing his leg under the desk.“But people can’t exist simultaneously in the same universe. It’s impossible. One of you has to either die or never have existed in the first place. That’s what makes someone an interdimensional courier.”“And Tagomi?”“Tagomi’s family believes he abandoned them. The alternate version of him was not the same man I know. The other was chronically depressed, unable to acclimate himself to the American way of life as his son and wife did. In his family’s reality, Tagomi went off on a bender. But the truth is much grimmer. They’ll never see him again, unless he chooses to cross back over into his other life. It’s actually quite dangerous to remain in a place you don’t exist. The body can’t handle it.”Juliana’s mouth had become a tunnel through which syllables, linked together like a string of train cars fueled by trepidation, flew forth until they were somersaulting off a cliff, plunging headlong into fate with stunning finality.Now John sat nearly immobile, staring into nothingness, a subtle buzzing in his right ear, unable to blink or really comprehend much anymore. He would sit here for hours if he could, entranced by her edification, but he was compelled to return to headquarters. Ideally, Goebbels would have called in from Berlin, as opposed to local headquarters, and he would arrive fashionably late – the Minister of Propaganda and Public Enlightenment had built up quite the reputation for tardiness.John would also be expected to provide some sort of explanation for his spur-of-the-moment decision to remove a long-sought-after international fugitive from her jail cell to use for his own debauched purposes, as well as for any subsequent discoveries made during the duration of her stay at his Midtown penthouse.Then there was the risk of being stripped of his position for ‘willful perversion,’ like that precocious filmmaker Nicole Dörmer. Most of their activities would probably make only the more traditional, conservative Nazis’ ears burn, but unlike Nicole he wasn’t a German national and he very much doubted a simple reeducation would be in the cards for him.“Then you admit Mr. Tagomi is a courier.”“Yes, but only that one time, and with good cause.”Juliana had given him so much to consider, and his sleep-deprived, still mildly anxiety-addled brain was striving mightily to compare her confession to what he already understood about travelling. As such, he wasn’t altogether sure he could officially disclose her testimony yet, if at all. He wasn’t sure he wanted the Reich to be privy to intelligence that might benefit his personal agenda to be free from their hold over him.And perhaps, it could help lead him to Thomas.“So, it wasn’t really you in that alternate reality Tagomi returned to?”“No, but –”“Tagomi is a traveler,” he replied, staring at his large, pale hands. “What else are you hiding from me about him?”She stroked the side of her neck; John’s Adam’s apple bobbed instinctively. “Nothing.”Of course, knowing that Tagomi kept all the films provided by Lemuel Washington hidden, save the one Hawthorne kept out of necessity, she had no choice but to rely on falsehood; something she was loathe to do. But she’d said far too much already.“Are you absolutely certain you’re not leaving anything out?”“Tagomi-san is a noble, highly conscientious man of great feeling. He wants nothing to do with your nefarious scheming. His believes working towards amity is the only rational way for the JPS and GNR to coexist.”He studied his fingernails as if they were somehow less than immaculate. “Mr. Tagomi was particularly adamant that our empires could achieve peace.”Himmler originally rejected the Jap’s terms of compromise, as well as Tagomi’s personal assurance they weren’t seeking to attack the GNR, categorically.
He changed his tune, however, once Mengele achieved a twenty-five percent success rate with his portal project. Plans to squeeze the JPS dry would have to take a back seat to interdimensional supremacy, so he reopened the pipelines.
A free world was a death sentence to national socialism. Even John wasn't certain whether it would work. And he couldn't let Thomas die for nothing. No, world peace was not an option - at least not in his lifetime.But Tagomi could achieve inner peace and accept that his son was gone; he envied the old man's unsullied conscience.Juliana was pleased their conversation had finally started shifting away from Tagomi. Yet the transition was taking too long for her liking.“In another film, Joe Blake put a bullet in my forehead. That is, before he blew his own brains out.”
She said this with such blunt affect John instantly recoiled in horror. He never came across a film that depicted such graphic imagery. How could something like that be construed as propaganda? His mind was thick with confusion.“He tried to off me in San Francisco, remember? Junior Trade Attaché. Bravo, Reichsmarschall.”“But you see, I’m not responsible for that particular turn of events. You must learn to place blame where blame is due.”Her hands sucked into fists, attempting to stem an eruption of unbridled rage. “Oh, but didn’t you know how much he admired you? Of course you did. So to show your appreciation, you sent him to his death just as surely as you sent those volunteers to theirs. Lambs to the slaughter.”His heart lurched. Thomas, too – his burden to bear for the rest of his days. As for Joe, the wounds had barely begun to scab over. He swung the conversation back to another, less painful, point of contention.“Die Nebenwelt is Dr. Mengele’s brainchild, which, being in its infancy, still faces the occasional hiccup. But we’ll get there.”She abruptly rose to her feet and pounded her bandaged fist on his desk, distracting him from lighting his second cigarette of the morning. “That machine is an abomination to humanity! What’s the point of saving the world with a film only to destroy it by other means? You fucking hypocrite!”“Sit down, Miss Crain.”Her hands molded themselves to the desk, pressing until her fingertips turned white. Her breath came in rapid bursts. Her eyes roved to the right. The gun case. “Go to hell.”He rounded the desk and stood looming above her. As he did so his eyes skimmed over the length of her dress, noting the pinpoint-sized polka dots; pearlescent buttons stopping just above her waist. His pulse began to accelerate. He itched to pluck them out of their holes one by one until her body was bared for his perusal. He began fumbling with something in the pocket of his trousers.“Have you forgotten where you are, Miss Crain?” After all, he had welcomed her to Hades with wine. And a bath. And so much more...“You’re getting sidetracked. I need for you to put your anger aside and focus.” This woman was really beginning to agitate him. Just because he was wide awake did not mean he wasn’t skirting the edge of sanity.She backed up just barely, shaking with rapidly expanding indignation. “Do you really want to be the architect of such destruction? Do you get a kick out of allowing truckload after truckload of innocent civilians to perish, all for the sake of power? Power is the epitome evil. You make me fucking sick!" she spat.John stalked closer. The jutting, clean-shaven jawline emitted a verdant, smoky aroma that teased her nostrils. Her nipples hardened through her brassier. Despite him being outfitted in his full uniform – and perhaps, she realized in disgust, because of it – his blatant masculinity enthralled her.He suddenly gripped her chin, dropped his voice a register: “I make you come like a fountain.” Juliana gasped at his rough touch and unexpectedly hot-blooded words. “Sit down, hmm?”She yanked herself from his hand and lowered herself to the chair, stubby nails frantically digging through nerve-damp palms, simmering with suppressed fury.The old Reichsmarschall had returned – the one who met her in the foyer with a gaze that was part tiger, part serpent, part steel-eyed eagle. Ever insatiable, persistently scouting for his next meal.John couldn’t help but provoke her still. “Why do this to yourself, Juliana? You could have had a decent life, but you threw it away, all for the sake of upholding these short-sighted convictions.”He was baiting her. But she wouldn’t bite.“My sister pushed the canister containing The Grasshopper Lies Heavy into my hands, quite insistently, and begged me to bring it to the Resistance so they could pass it along to the Man in the High Castle. Not a minute later, Inspector Kido shot her in cold blood. I was just around the corner.”She shivered.John propped himself against the front of the desk, absorbing all he could, but his eyes, as always, sought to unravel her from within; to siphon up all her secrets. He was so tired of all the shrouded honesty, so he let her continue unabated.“Right before Trudy died she told me that she’d discovered the reason for everything. At the time I didn’t understand.” Juliana stared into him unflinchingly. “But now...now I understand all too well.”His eyes darted to the side again, a tell.Doubt. Annoyance.Guilt?“The last thing I intended was to join up with the Resistance, but after a while I had no choice. Some of them are no better than the regimes they’re trying to topple. And always looking for new recruits, fresh blood. I sought them out and they tried to kill me for giving Joe the first film. I escaped to the Reich and ended up back in the lion’s den. Again, they tried to murder me for retribution."She started to tear up. “I was forced to shoot my little sister’s father.” Tears slid down her cheeks, unapologetically.John averted his eyes and handed her his handkerchief. Their fingers brushed briefly as she grabbed for it, igniting rapid-fire sparks of unquenched desire.“Well,” he replied, “you must have had an awfully good reason for committing such a heinous crime.” He paused. “Did you like George Dixon?”“He was nice for the most part, but too hardened by his chosen way of life for me to ever feel truly at ease. Still, he was practically family. My father’s and step-father’s best friend.”John stared at her with such intensity it caused her pulse to bang against her throat. He refused to let her off the hook so easily. The fucking martyr trap. Her modus operandi. The broken-winged bird was running out of sorrowful melodies.He inclined his head. “But why kill him? It seemed rather personal.”“It wasn’t.” Juliana shrugged miserably and turned towards the sickening portrait of John and Thomas in military dress, back in its position on the wall next to the desk. “It’s pointless to dredge up now.”“I assure you it’s not. Come on, tell me. You did us all a favor by offing him, you know. Impersonating a Nazi officer? That’s treason. How did he get the uniform in the first place? Murder. All told, that should earn you a nice reward.” She shuddered at his well-timed wink. He finally noticed what she had been studying so intently. He shoved both hands in his pockets and sighed.“You know, I often wonder what could have become of him. Would he have followed in my footsteps? Given my rank, almost certainly. He’d follow me to the ends of the earth if he thought it would make me proud. Look at Joe and his father.”She stiffened. “They never had a chance. Joe and Thomas were but two more casualties of an egomaniac’s delusional notion of an exclusive utopia…”“Don’t speak ill of the Führer,” he warned.She crumpled up the handkerchief and threw it down on the desk.“I’ll speak ill all I want!” she cried, hurling his own words back at him. He looked mutinous at her fury. “It’s not my homeland,” she continued, bending her body towards him.He locked into the winding ice crystal maze of her eyes. How could they be at once so sensual, so angelic, and so very, very treacherous?“And what were you just doing in front of the window with me, John?”His fist tightened inside his pocket.“Don’t you have a single honorable bone in your body? I’m not just speaking about your pseudo-devotion to the Reichsführer, either.”His eyebrows lowered. “Self-serving prick,” she added under her breath. But as always, John heard.“Juliana…” His voice. Her name on his pleasingly firm lips, admitting his vulnerability. He held his jaw taut, stern. Another warning.“You go look in the mirror, John Smith, right in the eyes, and tell yourself – after everything I’ve told you, everything you’ve seen –
that you fully believe in the Reich. Or deny it. I know you’re just dying to.”Her eyes were mocking him again. John frowned, nostrils twitching.“You told me yourself you needed to find a way out of this way of life.”He squinted. “What? When?”“When I was lying down in the living room.”“You must have been dreaming.”“I was never asleep.”John bit down on his inner cheek until it left a swollen imprint. He started tapping one thumb over the other as he laughed without even a hint of a smile.“How stupid of me. Of course you weren’t.”He knew he was hovering right at the precipice. The wheels in his head cranked at warp speed.Juliana regarded him with a strange glint in her eye.He lifted his cuff and checked his watch, never really ascertaining the time.“My but you’re slipping, Reichsmarschall.”“I would rather you not call me that,” he growled."Oh, but that’s your title….Reichsmarschall.”The corners of her mouth were just about to curve into an infuriating, canary-eating grin, when John reached for her, somewhat forcefully. The instant he went to grab her arm, Juliana maneuvered her hand so that it wrapped around his wrist, then she pushed it towards him with a slight twist. As John let out a pathetic wince, she rushed for the door. It opened about six inches before -

SLAM!
With a grunt John yanked her back bodily, spun her around and pushed her against the door. Out of his mind with lust, he took both hands in one fist and raised them over her head. She tried to wriggle out from beneath his unyielding grip, but that only made him tighten his hold. Her bounding pulse battering against his palm, fierce and unafraid. Their scents co-mingling, undoing their separate defenses.
Juliana squirmed as his dark-clad figure moved into her space until he practically hovered over her form. The close proximity ignited her arousal, knowing he had trapped her, wondering how he wanted her to serve him this time.
John silently caressed her with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen on a man: matcha green with flecks of amber, framed by lashes of darkest chocolate. He stroked a lone finger down the side of her cheek. She noticed a slight tic at the corner of his lip.The door rattled in its frame as she
bucked
against him. His cock grew rigid and strained against his trousers, yearning for the feel of her soft, wet mouth.And elsewhere.“Get the fuck off me, John.”
“She used my name...she gets a prize,” he slurred into her neck, nudging her hair away from her ear with his free hand.“I thought you hated games.”He blew at the shell of her ear, sliding his thumb across her lovely throat.
“Rule number one of being a guest in my home, Miss Crain: Never trust a Nazi.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Under my thumbThe girl who once had me downUnder my thumbThe girl who once pushed me aroundIt's down to meThe difference in the clothes she wearsDown to me, the change has comeShe's under my thumbAnd ain't it the truth babe?Under my thumbIt's a squirmin' dog who's just had her dayUnder my thumbA girl who has just changed her waysIt's down to meYes it isThe way she does just what she's told down to meThe change has comeShe's under my thumbAh, ah, say it's alrightUnder my thumbIt's a Siamese cat of a girlUnder my thumbShe's the sweetest, hmmm, pet in the worldIt's down to meThe way she talks when she's spoken toDown to me, the change has comeShe's under my thumbAh, take it easy babeYeahIt's down to me, oh yeahThe way she talks when she's spoken toDown to me, the change has comeShe's under my thumbYeah, it feels alright"Under My Thumb" - The Rolling Stones
“Actually, I’ll miss our little adventures when I have to send you back.”Of course, he didn’t specify when that would be.Her eyes flitted to the iron cross at his neck."Look at me.”“I’m sick of looking at you!”John’s lips curled over her ear and he closed his mouth over her earlobe, catching her earring in his teeth. The clinking sent ripples of perverse delight down her neck. “I’m disinclined to believe bad liars.”“Get off of me!” she shouted, kicking her foot against the door.Would Meghan come to her aid if she made enough of a commotion, or was she ordered to ignore whatever she heard echoing from behind closed doors?“I told you at the beginning that you were brought here with a specific purpose in mind. But you’ve made things more difficult than even I could anticipate. I’ve tried to get you to see reason, but you just don’t want to cooperate.”Reason?“Now I have no choice but to correct your assumptions and curb that awful rebellious streak.”"Fuck you, John, " she seethed.He smirked. “We will also address those tedious outbursts of yours. No more talk of visions and all that mystical bullshit. You will cease trying to fill my head with bunk and urging me to doubt my allegiance to the Reich.”It was a flimsy excuse to regain the upper hand, but anything to stop his mind from swimming with possibilities that might never come to pass. The cadence of their breaths wrestled for control, both attempting to quell their inconvenient attraction.He rounded her hip and pushed his hand between her thighs. She bit her lip at the brusque intrusion. John proceeded to casually pet her mound, stunning Juliana into submission. Guiding his hand underneath, grazing her slit through her panties with brief but masterful strokes. She clenched on his finger through the delicate material; her clit throbbed against his skin, suddenly aching for release.
John leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. "Perhaps there's a way to go about this you're more amenable to.”He released her wrists and fished inside his trouser pocket. With an almost bewildered expression, he revealed the black leather collar as if presenting her with a rare strand of pearls.
“I found this item sitting in the trash bin as if it were a used tissue, completely inconsequential. Whatever else you chose to get rid of I don’t mind so much, but this – I don’t think you quite understood what you were doing.”John had deluded himself into thinking it had been merely a youthful pursuit. But now, the pacing tiger-like instincts roared louder than ever, clawing to escape the confines of civility and conventionality.He was, in the very deepest sense of the word, a carnal man.As his fervor grew, his striking eyes brightened to an unusual hue one might liken to absinthe verte, a licorice-flavored alcohol favored by the likes of Van Gogh, Poe and Hemingway that was once touted as a potent hallucinogen. Some considered it an aphrodisiac.
“One doesn’t do these things lightly,” he continued. “This doesn’t belong in the trash with those ratty stockings...much as they suited you. Instead, it belongs right…” He dropped a hot kiss on her throat. "Here."His own throat had begun to close up, suffused as he was by the sheer potential of what he was offering. “Should you choose to wear this, your body becomes mine to use as I see fit,” he rasped. "But only if you wish it."Juliana blinked, at a total loss for words. "I have a choice...just like that?"He just stared at her. Through every nerve was on edge, he didn't move a muscle. "Yes, just like that."Oh...“Do you have any questions for me?"She scoffed. "Why are you asking me now?""Well I doubt I can ask you tomorrow." There might not be another one for her on this earth, but he only dimly noted that as he lashed her with his gaze.
"Can you not use a leash this time?""It can be dispensed with."And gladly."Good.""Anything else?"
"No."Johns lips curled up minutely. "Are you actually granting me permission to proceed?"
This couldn't be real.She drew in a steadying breath, waiting for the familiar instinct to bolt to resurface. It didn’t. Instead...“Yes.""What?" His own disbelief surprised him."You have my permission, John."
He tried to maintain his stern composure. "Really?"She simply nodded.
He ghosted his fingertips across her collarbone. "What are you playing at, Juliana?"
"Can't a girl be curious every now and again?""It depends on the circumstances."
He refused to believe the truth about their unusual connection. And she would never tell him she genuinely reciprocated his attraction, despite the fact he was a reprehensible killer. But this wasn't about love. She could never love this man. Not in this world."You know I didn't ask for any of this."He nodded somberly, acknowledging, too, her highly unorthodox initiation into the realm of bdsm. But he was not completely sorry. He never was. "I know."She tipped her chin up. "You know, it's really fucked up not to ask me for a safe word."John smiled at her bluntness. “Ah, so you do understand how this works. Pardon me if I was remiss in inquiring earlier.""May I?""Of course." He motioned for her to whisper it to him.
She closed her eyes and, not feeling any resistance on the part of her conscience, spoke into his ear.He pulled away with a small smirk and held the collar before her. "Lift up your hair."Juliana scanned his face, clean shaven and marble white. The subdued triumph in his gaze. Heat shot from her navel to her thighs. She acquiesced.He uttered a hushed 'hold still' before he reached around her neck to buckle it. A low-hanging lock of hair snuck into the clasp and John temporarily pulled the collar tighter so he could dislodge it.She grunted in response to that tiny bit of extra pressure.“Again,” she wanted to say but could never admit she actually found the sudden constriction oddly thrilling. The curious quirk of her curved brows was more telling, however.John noticed a glint dancing like tinsel in her eyes and interpreted it as, “More. Give me more of whatever it was that you did to me.”Her pulse thrummed with hummingbird velocity; one beat of every thousand frames provided enough credible rationale to defend everything that was right with this picture.That gorgeous scent hovered still, taunting John. He would always associate it with ownership. Picturing what he was about to do to her, with her, he groaned so feral and low against her lips it sent shock waves down to her knees. They almost buckled at the ferocity of this powerful man’s determination to have her.He loosened the collar a notch and backed up slightly to allow her to take fuller breaths. He waited for her breathing to steady before refastening the closure. “Has anyone else ever been this way with you before?"Juliana's sex life up until then had been, comparatively speaking, quite vanilla; monotonous. Joe had been nothing to write home about. Though they had only fucked for a few hasty hours at best, she was already disappointed. Frank was a rather selfish lover and not very well endowed, when compared to John Smith’s cock, which was as colossal as his ego. No wonder he never quite walked so much as sauntered.Long, powerful strides, strutting towards her in tall leather boots. Long, perfect fingers laying claim to her body in ways even her own imagination was too shy to conjure up.
"You're mine, Juliana. I own every part of you."

Under the cloak of night, she lost her grip on the bed sheets bunched between her fists as John's full length slammed into her from behind. Repeatedly.

She startled and made a little gasping noise that echoed against the hollow of his neck when her captor pressed himself into her and increased the pressure on her throat. "Confess.”“N-no. I've never...”
His gaze darkened with the confirmation he had indeed been the one to corrupt her. “Well I am happy to indulge you.” His razor-rough voice subtly scraped against her skin. “You've been such a busy, busy girl. Wherever did you find the time to inflict so much damage?”He nodded to himself, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. “It's time wayward girls like you learned from your many misdeeds and set on the correct path.”Was he joking?“I am on the right path! But you –”John cut her off by grabbing her by the jaw, startling her. “Everything you knew before, it ends...right now.”
He brushed his thumb across her sultry parted lips, relishing the brief whisper of her breath against his skin. “Is that understood?”Juliana nodded warily, though her entire body surged with anticipation.
“You’re going to learn to love my methods of discipline. And believe me – your punishment will be my pleasure to bestow."
Discipline. Indulge. Punishment. Pleasure. She couldn’t see past his words, or more specifically, John having said them to her.
He tugged her forwards by the dangling ring. “Let me kiss you good morning, Juliana.”
Something sinister simmered in his jaded eyes. A flicker of fantasies coming to fruition. The capacity to render her defenseless and subject his tormentor to a turbulent encounter she would have to be hypnotized to forget.
John tunneled his fingers through undulating smooth waves and curlier wayward tendrils, angled his head and took without permission, as was his wont. He bunched up her dress as he coaxed her lips open with gentle insistence.There was an eloquence to the way he stroked the skin beneath her garters, even as he took and tasted and tugged on her ripe mouth in a most ungentlemanly manner.Her panties were shoved to the side. One finger glided through her slit, then another. “You're so wet. Is that all for me?”Juliana moaned in agreement.
He tweaked her nipple just enough to cause her to hiss. “Answer me, slut.”“Yes, John. It's yours.”Oh yes, this was happening.He removed his hand. The juices splattered onto her nearly bare thighs. He groaned then he slid to the floor, placing hard, frantic kisses atop her new panties. She was so tight, and John wanted nothing more than to spread her legs and plunge into her, utterly losing his senses to still his suffering mind. He was very tempted to do so, in fact.
He lapped at her clit with long licks, kissing over the hood, stroking her glossy folds, the taste of her alone sending him off into the stratosphere, away from the cares of his damaged life, such that all he need concentrate on was sating months of unquenched lust.If only sex could fulfill the requirements for spiritual enlightenment.“Oh fuck...”His sentiments exactly. But that didn’t mean he had to share them. He was trying to teach her a lesson here. “My, what a whorish mouth you have.”“Like your language is any less foul.”“What was that?”He rose like a shot, grabbing her by the hips and backing her against the door. “I think you meant to say you can't wait to serve me. Am I right?"She bucked as he ground himself against her front."Am I?""Uh huh."He slipped a slick finger past her lips. She sucked greedily and made glorious slopping noises with his hand entwined in her hair. It was all so innate. Whatever morals she had began to dissolve with every passing second.
When satisfied John released her and stepped over all the film canisters and cleaned his hands with the discarded handkerchief; he didn’t offer it to Juliana, who had to wipe the drool from her chin with the back of her hand. He spun the chair she occupied during the interrogation around to face the blank screen and settled into it, prying his legs apart with deliberate slowness.“Come over here.”She walked to him on wobbly legs. “Straddle me. Just don’t, under any circumstances, let go of that dress.”She lifted her left leg over his right thigh with remarkable agility. John couldn’t resist spreading that leg ever further, making her stumble somewhat. To her chagrin, he wouldn’t budge. He amused himself with the same annoying trick using his other leg, completely calm but turning hard as a boulder at the thought of how easy it would be free himself and make her ride him.His eyes dared her to falter. “I don’t have all day.”Gripping the hem for dear life she glided her right leg over his other thigh in one smooth motion. When she found herself squatting over him she flushed vermilion from her cheeks to her chest at the blatant vulgarity. John caught her off-guard by abruptly clamping his thighs together. Having nothing to anchor herself to, she fell onto his lap with a painful thump.“Ow!”He wrenched her back into the degrading position. “Stay like this. Don’t break eye contact. No words, only sounds.” He caressed her cheek. “You make such delicious noises when given the proper encouragement.”His eyes glittered like bottle green glass as he read her tension. Without warning he thrust two fingers in her mouth again and pumped them until her pale eyes watered, becoming heavy-lidded from arousal and all-consuming humiliation at this latest assault. She panted out her frustration until he removed the digits, slick with saliva. He wasted no time reaching back under, nudging her panties aside and guiding them into her tight slit.Her tired, sore muscles threatened to give out from the pressure of having to hold herself upright. John glared into her with frigid, hollow eyes and gripped her hair roughly. “If you drop it, I’ll have Meghan burn your clothing in the fireplace and you’ll have to greet them naked when they come for you.”Juliana refocused on her efforts without hesitation.She was soaking wet with damp heat as he flicked his thumb back and forth over the hood, slick with her want. She whimpered in quiet agony. Her response hit John in the gut and tunneled straight through to his groin, unraveling the tight coil of his arousal. It was like she was tugging on his shaft when she wasn’t even touching him.“Feels dirtier with this pretty dress on, doesn’t it?”“Mmm hmm.”“I agree.” He licked his lips. “I love how it looks on you.”Beneath the dress was a diaphanous half slip, reminiscent of the peach curtains she held open while searching for a passing ambulance, casting moonlight upon her gorgeous lithe form and causing her impossibly sexy outfit to shimmer like the endless Atlantic.John honed in on her panties and matching garter belt as he cradled his hands around her backside and caressed her slender hips with his thumbs in reverent approval. The panties were not as risque as the blue lace pair but tempting nonetheless, her honey-slick folds held hostage by gauzy, almost see-through fabric. He was tempted to rend the undergarment in two but decided things would be more interesting if he left them as they were. For now.He probed her pussy some more. “So tight. How does it feel when I shove my fingers inside you?”Juliana just stared at him, spellbound by the suffocating heat of his eyes.He tweaked a nipple hard enough to cause her to hiss. “Answer me.”“Sss-so good.”He chuckled at her stammering. “Off. Now.”She hurried to climb off of him. Before she got the chance to massage the newest pain out of her inner thighs, he grabbed her by the elbow and led her to stand behind the desk.“Welcome to detention, Miss Crain.”Juliana gulped out an incredulous laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”His face became cold as a tomb. He pointed to his cushioned high-back chair. “Sit down. I have some work for you to do.”He placed a new notepad and a pen in front of her.“Just a short writing exercise, nothing too terribly challenging.”“What are you my teacher now?” She pushed the pad away and folded her arms. “This is so weird,” she muttered.He grabbed the pen and forced it into her hand. “This is detention, Miss Crain. You’re being reprimanded. Number one…” He bent to whisper her ear. She caught a whiff of his distracting aroma but flinched at his words.“Absolutely not!”He whispered something else in her ear that left her speechless and scrambling for the pad.When she was through, she handed him three complete sentences for inspection:

1. I am an ungrateful slut.

2. I will display the proper deference from now on.

3. I will pay dearly for my disobedience.

“Good. Now stand up. Leave the notepad.”In the next instant John had her face down over his desk, scattering papers all over. Writing utensils rolled away; the canisters she’d stacked earlier crashed to the floor. He practically tore off her cardigan, twisted it and wrapped it around her wrists several times, fashioning an unforgiving last-minute restraint. He shoved the paper next to her face.“You have exactly ten minutes to memorize that. I’ll be back shortly.”The door slammed. She shut her eyes and banged her forehead against the wood.
The knob turned exactly ten minutes later.Footsteps: sure, self-possessed; crunching over pre-pulverized glass, knocking metal tins aside with determined agitation.A hand flattening atop the dip in her spine.Something unnamed pervaded the atmosphere.
“He whom one awaits is, because he is expected already present, already master.”

CRACK!
She yelped, turning to look at what he was wielding now. “What is that?”“It’s from a French novel called Story of O. No known copies exist in the Reich. Except for mine.”And given its rarity, a rather good translation.She meant the cold metal instrument that thrashed against her posterior. John wasn’t even attempting to disguise his perversions anymore. And he also flouted authority to the point it could get them both killed. A seed of respect for him grew, however convoluted the reason.“I own it because it’s a valuable tool for submissives. I was waiting for such a one to come along. And then, there she was ‘waiting for more than permission, since she already had permission. She was waiting for an order.’”
CRACK!
Juliana wailed. It had whooshed and smacked against her skin out of the blue, crossing right over her already inflamed welts."Whatever he wanted of her she wanted, too, solely because he was asking it of her.”
CRACK!
He was relentless in his precision, the quotes delivered with a voice dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with dirt and pure debauchery."What her lover wanted from her was very simple: that she be constantly and immediately accessible.” He squeezed her firm round ass, ran his hand between her thighs.She found every word disgusting; positively revolting. And yet, her traitorous body craved more.
“Her freedom was worse than any chains…And what is more, we know an all-consuming passion for freedom in the world never fails to lead to conflicts and wars which are no less consuming.”

CRACK!
Some parts were more revolting than others.
“As a matter of fact…if you do tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that’s no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
At this point, she was close to tears. Out of fear, desperation and frustration. She wanted to come so badly it was driving her insane. And then there was the fact that this pain was actually beginning to excite her.As if reading her indecent thoughts, John bent to her ear: “What if she actually enjoyed her debasement?”She gasped at the unexpected feel of a leather glove stroking her cheek. She leaned into him to luxuriate in the intoxicating scent but he pulled his hand away and trailed it down her back. He was indulging her erotic fixation for the material. John always paid attention. When a submissive felt appreciated she tended to return the sentiment to her master unreservedly.At that moment, Juliana Crain felt totally, utterly owned, trapped in a hazy, sensuous bubble with little air and even less space to move about.As John watched murky shadows come and go from her writhing, as he felt her trembling breaths rumble against his chest and drank in her tigress moans, a corrosive, potentially destructive hunger overtook his ordinarily coherent mind.Emboldened by her fascination, he wrapped his hand around her eyes and rasped with bestial intent: “She moaned in the darkness, all the time he possessed her.”Her eyes blew open with honest desire. It was as if he had crawled around in her mind and raided her stash of indecent inspirations.“John...”He grinned. “Oh you want me now, is that it? The irony being that you’re too late.”“No!” Her mouth clamped shut and she winced at her admission.“Yes, my dear.” He pulled out her hair tie and twisted her mane around his fist. “And you were asking for it, too. Begging for it, really.”A hoarse moan further incriminated her.“Has it gotten to that point already?”She was clawing at nothing, fighting the hold his words imprisoned her with. “Well,” he continued, “there is one thing that might make me reconsider my decision.”He felt it the moment she sucked in her breath, muscles frozen into place as a deer would react to the cocking of a gun: The sweet sound of apprehension.“I want you to beg.”“Beg for what?"“Beg me to fuck you, Juliana.”Her upturned eyes blinked in confusion. “What?!”His hand glided up the back of her quaking thigh. “Stop asking. Beg.”She never even considered this could be a possibility with him. Ever.“I...”"You can't say you haven't thought about it."She had. God, she really had.
He pinched her nipple. She let out a little scream. He tisked. “I’m waiting.”“Fuck me John.”"That's not very convincing."“I...Please fuck me, John ”"Hmm...better. Now,
how would you me to fuck you?""Um...""You strike me as woman who knows what she wants. Tell me..."How much more humiliating could this get? Perhaps she should end it now. Felix wasn't that difficult to say. Only two syllables."Please fuck me hard, John." She squeezed her eyes shut in mortification.His gaze hardened and he groaned as lewd images swarmed his psyche. He could certainly accommodate her. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers.“And...”Her heart lodged in her throat. He knew there was more.“Slow."If Juliana could move her arms she would have slapped herself.He stroked her hair. “Tell me, Juliana...what would your Resistance friends say if they knew how desperately you wanted my cock in you, fucking you raw, hard yet slow...watching my cum drip down your thighs, feeding you every last sticky drop? Unless, I'm getting ahead of myself here.”Moans spilled from her mouth at his crude words. Her already voluptuous lips swelled and darkened with a passion she could no longer control.“What would they say about you?” He was burdened with the manic lust of a vulnerable man in need of something to hold onto. But he wasn’t finished with inflicting those well-deserved punishments.“That I’m a filthy slut, John.”“Very good answer.”
She heard the distinct sound of a glass tumbler being placed on the desk. He rolled her over unexpectedly and she trembled at the sight of his darkly majestic form. A cold metal ruler clattered against the floor.Having rummaged around for a suitable implement, he found the ruler lying on the bottom of a toolbox in the utility closet. Meghan had been busy scrubbing a frying pan when he strode into the kitchen with a brief 'thank you for breakfast' before opening the freezer and placing it next to the ice maker. But when he returned, she saw him pull out the ruler. He dared her to do anything but smile before he left.
John drank in the fear in Juliana's eyes and felt even taller than his six foot stature. She lay petrified as he leaned over her, trailing his eager hands down the front of her dress. He teethed at the collar with his hot breath curling over the fragile skin at the base of her neck. She began to squirm in earnest, calling to mind his untimely visit to her apartment. Even as she lay in bed that night, her hand crept under her nightgown as she replayed their conversation word for terrifying word.No one ever need know how fast her fingers flew when she pictured him sitting before her, having dispensed with pointless civilities, patiently ripping a confession out of her as beads of sweat trickled beneath her blouse.What if he would have tried to touch her then?“Are you afraid of me, little bird?”Was she? Of course she was. And it made her so wet she couldn’t think straight. The proximity of his handsome features wasn’t helping.“No, John.”But his predacious grin said she should be.He began to trace the outline of her breasts. Then he stared into her and started to free each button. His stone face betrayed no emotion until her bra was exposed – a gossamer creation the very color of peach blossoms, which, though of a more traditional cut, made her skin glisten as if drenched in the finest champagne.He fondled the cups until he felt a small lump. Concerned, he reached inside. Juliana had completely forgotten about the extra Librium.“What the fuck is this?” When she stayed silent, he twisted her nipple.“Ahhhh, that fucking hurts!”“Good. Is this for you? Or were you trying to drug me?”“You plied me with wine, you violated me with the fucking bottle...”“Answer me!”“You were having an anxiety attack. I was trying to help you.”So that’s why he was falling asleep in the shower. And the reason he almost didn’t catch her. She had no idea just how fast he could run. Yes Thomas excelled in track and field through diligent practice, but genetics certainly played a role as well.“And here I thought you were being good. We’ll get to that later. But first…close your eyes.”She shivered but obeyed.The clinking again. Two seconds later, a shriek erupted as an ice cube grazed her breast. He swirled it around her nipple and she tried to nudge it off to no avail. John dug the sharp edge of the rapidly melting cube into her nipple with deft fingers. Again, she screamed and writhed, this time knocking it out of his hand to pool in the shallow valley between her breasts.He lightly slapped her face a couple times then locked her jaw in a soft leather vice, applying the slightest pressure.“Did you think I would forget about that stunt you tried to pull today?” He reached for another ice cube and ministered to her left breast, simultaneously sucking the life out of her right nipple – long licks and tugs with a pleasing suction.“Ahhh!!!”John responded by pressing down on her quivering stomach and flipping up her skirt, pushing her thighs together. He gripped both ankles, lifted her legs into the air with one strong fist and proceeded to rain blow upon blistering blow where the top of her stockings met her pert cheeks, thrice on each side before dropping her legs completely.“You fucking prick!”He took a long swig of what appeared to be water (and not vodka, she hoped) and slammed down the tumbler. Seconds later, he plastered himself atop her wiggling body, one arm braced on either side of her head.“Shut up, you foul-mouthed little bitch. You will take what I give you –” he rubbed another frigid block right over her clit – “and you will fucking adore it!”It was unquestionably excruciating. And then she felt it sliding lower, being pushed in past her folds. She let out a piercing scream that almost made John let go of the ice altogether and he crushed her mouth beneath his hand. Charmingly furious, he stared into her angry, frustrated eyes as he shoved the ice cube all the way in.“Nice and cold. Like my shower this morning. Quite invigorating, isn’t it?”She spat out a ‘fuck you’ he could barely make out. The gloves added an extra layer of soundproofing. “I had a feeling you might say that.”He rolled her engorged clit between his fingers. Her cries gradually morphed into subdued moans, vibrating low in her throat as she arched her neck back. John swore he could feel her smiling against his palm. He kissed her throat from top to bottom and back again then removed his hand, only to twist the front of her collar just enough to get her attention.“You little pervert. You really like this.”Juliana nodded, delirious, the ice basically obliterated by the warmth of her center. “So what if I do.”He planted several more fleeting kisses on her lips, her chin, her forehead, while his hand roamed freely over her sodden pussy. “You’re not supposed to like it.”She somehow had it in her to giggle at him.He brought his hand to her mouth again. Her laughter died out. “Such a deviant slut.” She moaned, her breath teasing the hairs on his wrist. “All mine.” He then moved his thumb and index finger over nostrils, pinching them shut. “Your every breath is mine for the taking,” he growled ominously.It was a dangerous game they were playing. And even more unbearably hot than his most graphic fantasies. John was floored by her newly discovered fetish. He would expect nothing less from someone who got off on trampling the dictates of society.She thrashed about, her soft lashes batting away tears of ecstasy. He allowed her to breathe through her nose again, but not her mouth. He’d never done this to anyone before and it was giving him a raging hard-on.“You want my hands all over you, don’t you?”“Mmm hmmm”“And my mouth?”“Mmm hmmm…”“How about more ice?”A muffled but distinct denial. Actually, were it not for the gloves, that particular punishment would be very uncomfortable for both of them. Ice was ice, after all.John ripped his hand from her mouth and flipped her onto her stomach again, this time positioning her so that only her torso lie on the desk. He crawled up her body and batted away her tangled locks. He grazed sharp, pearly teeth along the nape of her neck.“How about your little ass? Has anyone touched ever touched you there?”There was no way she could respond with sophisticated, human-like sounds called words.“Have they, Juliana?”He squeezed her cheeks and pulled them apart to make his point. He got his answer when Juliana tensed up and let out a strangled grunt. Picking out a miniscule, barely formed ice cube from the glass, John ran it over the tiny puckered hole.It was an indescribable sensation. He gleefully drove it home with a gentle twisting motion. It was sort of painful being stretched like that and the extreme cold wasn’t exactly pleasant, but she was made of stronger stuff.“Oh, there it goes. Don’t let it fall now.”“Oh God!”And then it was in all the way. Juliana’s mind was spinning. John Smith had sped past perversion, and she was on the receiving end of his sadomasochistic reawakening.
When she had calmed somewhat, he unwound the cardigan and massaged her wrists and hands.“Take off your dress.”He watched her pop the remaining buttons hungrily. She was left in her lingerie, nude silk stockings and black pumps.John was wearing his everyday uniform, but he kept his gloves on. She bit her lip in anticipation.What a kinky bastard.He kissed and nipped at her shoulders, drawing her in by the back of the neck. He seized a fistful of her tresses. “Turn around.”Juliana moved awkwardly, more acutely aware of her scars now that daylight peered through the drapes. At some point, clouds developed and shifted, dueling with the sun such that the brightness in his office was constantly in flux.But why should she give a damn what John thought of her raised silvery welts? They were personal, symbolic – the jagged trophies where she was put back together again like a post-suicidal Humpty Dumpty. They reminded her it was alright to act vulnerable in a society that treated her almost like a dog that barks far too often and bites when too long subjected to its owner’s cruelty.And yet, it did matter to her. Would John be revolted and deliver her back to her cheerless grey cell with thin cotton blankets, a pathetic excuse for a pillow and marginally edible meals?Or, would he personally escort her to her own execution?If she were fully honest with herself, Juliana would admit defeat. She yearned to please him. It excited and unnerved her. If there was anyone she would kill in this world, he would be at the top of the list. If there was anyone she wanted to make her scream in ecstasy, his name would be scrawled there, too. She was tired of the running, of the responsibility of rebellion she never asked for. She wanted his hands roving wherever they may. Touches that devoured no matter which way she breathed or moved.Just for now, she wanted to be caught.
She looked up at him, the dress heavy in her arms. John stood so close that she noticed a vein thudding against his alabaster throat, suggesting a similar pulsating elsewhere on his body. The need in his eyes.Not want. Need.John circled her, assessing his prey, as he did when she first stepped out of the bathroom in those fishnets and stilettos. That’s when he noticed she kept her shoes on this time. Still black, with a slightly lower heel. Legs that ran for miles. After he yanked down her slip and had her step out, he blew out a ragged sigh.So beautiful. So fearless.So fucking his. On this morning of all mornings, when he should be concerned about Himmler’s condition, he was more concerned about the state of his erection.He ached to fuck her, exactly as she'd requested. It was exactly as he'd pictured it, for so many lonely months when he couldn't bring himself to burden his wife with half-hearted overtures of affection. Tonight might be his only chance. But was that taking his distraction a hair too far?In the next instant she found herself perched atop his lap on his leather couch.“Well then, are you a good girl or a bad girl?”“I, well…”“Bad, obviously, or else you wouldn’t be here. Yes?”“What do you think?”“You know it’s not your place to ask questions, Juliana.”John started to fondle her, sliding her bra straps down and cupping her perky breasts that didn’t need a bra at all, pinching the tight buds, groping her crotch over her panties. She was turning him on so much. He was addicted to the sounds she made with his hand over her mouth, so he forced his gloved finger in between her teeth like a bridle.He worked her clit in harsh circles, intermittently tapping and rubbing, fingers gliding over her wet folds. Her juices were dripping onto his pants. Her stifled cries were almost too perfect for him to take.“You’re such a hot little slut.” He pumped his fingers into her. “A filthy submissive bitch. My dirty plaything. Remember who owns you.”She couldn’t stop moaning and clawing at his sleeves, gyrating her hips, driving him wild. He held her close and growled, “You're not to come until I say you can, got it?”She nodded, completely incoherent. This was definitely not what she pictured, and she was too saturated with arousal to fight it.“I need to hear you.”“Yes, John,” she mumbled.He patted the free spot on the couch next to him. “Right here. Sit back and spread your thighs,” he barked. As she hurried to comply, he grabbed something from his desk and rummaged through his inner pocket before turning back around.Juliana spread herself open and grabbed her ankles.The sight was positively…he was at a loss for words. He paused momentarily, as if he forgot something of dire importance. He twisted his head this way and that, stumbling over films until he found what he was looking for.He crouched before her, raised a dark brow and took in the heated trepidation of her exotic eyes, hooking his thumbs beneath her panties where they met her hips; she tilted them up so he could slide them down her legs with painstaking deliberateness.“Such a good girl.”She beamed.John bit back a groan when the transparent panties met her shoes. It so reminded him of when he had her tied on the floor with her lovely legs pointing towards the sky.He crumpled up the panties and handed them to her. “Show me you know how to use these.”
Juliana smirked and lifted them to her nose, oblivious to his impatience. She looked to him for affirmation, but he only shook his head, snatched them from her hands, turned them inside out and rolled them into a ball.“Open that pretty mouth for me.”Her eyes widened and her nipples puckered instantly. She fell into his eyes as they seared hers with the depth of his restlessness and elation. Her willingly parted red lips impelled him to the very edge of sanity. The panties were shoved into her mouth in one clean movement.John stroked her lips with his gloved fingertip. “I’m not done.”He reached for the slip lying next to her. John congratulated himself for his creativity for discovering another impromptu tool. He folded it lengthwise three times and brought it to her face, which startled Juliana.“Trust me,” he implored, the heat of his breath undoing her reservations. She nodded. He tied the satiny peach garment over the lower portion of her face so that the panties were pushed even further into her mouth. He knotted it twice behind her head. "If you truly don't like it or have something to tell me, snap your fingers and I'll remove it.
Juliana snapped her fingers.
"You're lying, aren't you?"She let out a muffled laugh.
John pulled back and couldn’t suppress a gasp. He almost fell back onto an overturned box when he saw the full picture. He stalked closer to her, fondling her breasts with the cool leather, letting her know just how much he appreciated this display. Her breathing accelerated.“You look ravishing. I wish I could have you photographed all trussed up like this. My silent vixen.”The things that came out of that mouth! The chaotic disaster surrounding them meant nothing for the moment.“Do you know how much seeing you like this turns me on?”The frantic sound of a zipper unlatching. The reappearance of his rigid member, pre-cum trickling out.“Play with your tits until I tell you to stop.” He climbed atop her on the couch and began to bang the tip against her clit with assiduousness.“Mmmph!” She squirmed and whined. He smiled wickedly as he continued to assault her, his pre-cum sliding into her slit quite inconsiderately.“Do you like this, Juliana?”She could only, as ever, moan in assent.“Excellent reply.” He stroked her wild hair.John pulled away from her and she pleaded with him to return. Begged with her expressive eyes. He ignored her, even though he understood what she needed.
“You handled that well. Let me show you how good students get rewarded.”He gripped the back of her thighs, thrilling at the subtle vibrations she transmitted through the leather as they quivered. Her aroma made his eyes roll back. It was so evocative of every part of her that he tried to deny himself. Of the visions he could no longer refute.One electric lick had her arching her head back and screaming through her gag. It pulsed…and tingled. John dipped his head down and feasted, a cinnamon breath mint pinballing around his mouth, rolling across her folds. Juliana watched, still making incoherent noises, as his silky dark curls shook with the force of his efforts to bring her right to the precipice. It was only fair because that’s what Juliana Crain deserved.“Don’t you dare, slut.”“Fuck off!” he swore she screeched.“Watch your language.” He pulled back and took a swig of ice water for which her clit was hardly prepared.She wanted to kill him with the nearest weapon available.
He lapped up her chilled juices, wiggling his tongue around the hood, causing her to buck her hips. He pressed down on her stomach while he curled the other around her thigh and bit down on the smooth flesh.“Don’t do it. You’re stronger than that.”He told her as much last year, and she had thought about it as she shamefully touched herself and came all over her white cotton sheets while imagining the stoic set of his mouth. The way he towered above her, undressing her with unrepentant bedroom eyes. It was one of the most immoral things she’d ever done and it stayed with her, burning through her subconscious for months on end.
John growled and smashed his lips against her clit, rubbing them around shamelessly. He possessed her by consuming her. This he did for several more tortuous moments until he forced himself to pull back.He hastily pulled off his gloves, desperate to feel her, and was quickly imbued with young, tender heat. He ran his tongue over the dew-soaked inner thigh while she sighed and twitched. He tugged on her collar.“Kneel for me.”John yanked down the gag and pulled the sodden panties from her mouth. He massaged her jaw. “Ok?”“Yes, John,” she croaked.Very
Ok.He smirked and handed her the water, which she gulped down gratefully. Juliana situated the glass on the end table and tilted her head down, awareness of her situation finally setting in.The humiliation over wanting to be humiliated, treated like a toy; the embarrassment she felt when he penetrated her in an off-limits place with the ice. The various other methods of dominance he employed on her. All flooded her mind at once, a cacophony of scent, sound, taste, touch. Even a little guilt.She really shouldn't let him continue...John leaned in and kissed her deeply, her hair enfolded within his powerful hand....yet she found she didn't care.He pried her mouth open with his cock, pre-cum drizzling down her lips. She fluttered her lashes in pure contentment while he slid himself home, wet and warm and so very…“Oh, Juliana. That’s it…”He struggled to contain her thick, unruly locks he had fisted into a makeshift ponytail while she acquiesced and accepted and fed on and slurped over and swallowed a little and choked a little bit more. Craved infinitely.“Play with your clit,” he ordered gruffly. He reached down and pinched a nipple. “Do as I say.”She fumbled around as if trapped in a dark, unfamiliar closet, searching for the light switch. Ever the dutiful dominant, John took her hand and slapped it right on her button. He even helped her along a bit.“Oh!”“There, just like that. Now moan on my cock, just like the little slut you are.”She didn’t need to be told twice. It slid and banged and grew, and she loved every second. John cradled her face, his firm bulge puffing through her cheeks.“I love fucking your mouth. I adore it. I’m going to be thinking about you sucking me off when I'm pretending to listen to that fuck Goebbels.”John thrust with renewed urgency when it dawned on him what time it was.Juliana was having trouble keeping her hand from sliding off her clit. Still, she moaned at the utter filthiness of it all. The wrongness. The absurd, inconceivable rightness.He gripped her hair even more tightly and concentrated on controlling his strokes, spurred on by the uninhibited moans vibrating against his sensitive shaft.“Come for me, Juliana. With your hand on your clit and my cock in your mouth.”She almost lost her grip entirely, half remembering his apartment visit, half too overstimulated from his utterly primal smell, his weight; the deranged sincerity of his requests. She scratched at the leather cushions, threw her head back and imagined John impaling her from behind with his hand wrapped around her neck.His hand, by its own accord, drifted to the base of her throat and squeezed. "Is she close?" he mused aloud.Then something rumbled through her - a long, keening moan only the most savage and uninhibited of beings could emit. Sweat trickled from his forehead onto the hand holding her breath hostage.He released her throat and nudged her hand away from where it tentatively grazed her clit. His fingers were promptly drenched. With an impatient grunt, he pulled out his throbbing cock and dragged her beneath him, propping a pillow beneath her head. One digit slid its way in, then another. Because she was already so sore inside he merely tapped and rubbed her g-spot with the pad of his fingertips.
She was so, so lucky he hadn't the will to fuck her. He grabbed just beneath her jaw and spoke into her ear: “I remember what you can do.”
There it was again. That absinthe gaze that told her she most definitely did something right today – she had pleased him.The throbbing, burning pain didn't seem to register to her. Neither did the Reich iconography adorning the walls and shelving. The photograph of an Obergruppenfuhrer sucking up to Hitler years earlier. The portrait of Himmler, looking on, grave and disapproving. The splintered glass. Juliana even saw past the Reichsmarschall's impeccably tailored SS garb.At that moment, all she felt, saw and knew was the man before her now. Nothing more, nothing less.
He buried his face in her hair and growled in desperation, hunting for those elusive notes of vanilla and musk and soul-baring vehemence and everything else that made her who she was. Her heightened fragrance positively undid him. As did watching through a fog of lust as she pinched her nipples and bit at her ripe bottom lip.Just as his wet thumb swiped against the very center of her clit, her eyes burst open and suddenly her hands were everywhere. It came out of nowhere, an unnatural shriek amidst fingers manipulating sodden flesh. She raked her nails against his scalp, clawed at his disheveled hair, angling her gasping mouth against his.John went at her faster. She grunted and moaned and screamed out her ecstasy as a surge of fluid forced itself past his fingers and drenched them both."What a filthy girl you are Miss Crain."He quickly rose above her and smacked her cheek with the rigid head of his cock. She opened up like a starving baby bird. He snuck a peak at the collar pressed against her throat. A faint outline marred her skin. He groaned. The cum barely made it past her lips. She took him in and drank her fill, swallowing every last creamy white drop.He pulled out of her mouth and collapsed atop her. Their breaths mingled as they fought against returning to the unfortunate reality they were born into.
John carefully unfastened the collar and placed a small kiss where it had marked her deepest.“That's it for now. You’re free, Miss Crain.”For now?He stroked her cheek, gently smoothing her tousled locks into place. She rose on wobbly elbows to accept the glass of water he held out for her. "How do you feel?"She took several gulps while considering her reply. "I'm not entirely sure."
Truthfully, he wasn't either. But he couldn't project his confusion onto her. "That's understandable. Especially given your predicament."And mine,
he thought."Right."
She stared into him. "How long is this house arrest going to last?"He tested the tops of his work trousers she had soaked through with her ejaculate. He was going to have to change into a fresh pair. "I can't rightly say."She readjusted her bra straps and sought out her matching underwear. They were crumpled up inside an empty canister on the floor."Wait here." He opened the door a crack and stuck his head out. Meghan made her way towards him with yet another small shopping bag. He stepped into the hall and shut the door. "Everything in order?""Of course, sir."He assessed the contents and nodded in approval. "You've been indispensable. I trust I can continue to rely on your discretion?"
"That goes without saying."John wasn't only referring to his captive sitting just beyond. But he wasn't about to let her into his office. Still he promised Juliana he would clean up his own mess. He only wished it was something a few swipes of a mop could take care of instead of Hitler's precious film collection.He nodded and turned away. He came back into the room, side-stepping an overturned crate. Juliana accepted the bag with extra panties, toiletries and assorted sundries John never asked for but appreciated nonetheless. Meghan really was a pro at her job.

Before she pulled them up he halted her. "Turn around. Let me have a look."Juliana was much too lethargic to blush.
Her rear was striped with angry welts, shallow scratches and tiny dent marks where he'd sunken his teeth. There was antibacterial ointment in the bag but he felt out of his element around her now that their bubble of excitement had burst.Not only that, he had grown unaccustomed to administering medical treatment when a sub required it. It had been well over twenty years since he'd done so, and due to his altered lifestyle his skills lie in the polar opposite end of the spectrum - he created pain. He destroyed.Fuck."This might sting."He unscrewed the cap and lightly pat the ointment where it looked the most inflamed. Juliana hissed and squirmed and grit her teeth. It took no more than a minute."Alright. Get dressed and come with me. Do mind the glass."He locked the office door behind him and brought her to the guest room. She followed several steps behind, wincing as she walked. He tugged down the coverlet. She looked at him with some surprise as he shut the drapes against the waning sunlight."It's time you got some proper sleep." He patted the bed. She climbed in and tried not to picture him climbing atop
her.
By default she lie on her side, which took the pressure off of her sorest spots.John paced next to the bed, knowing he had very few options at his disposal. "I'm going to call in at around noon to check on you." He produced a small golden key.Watch. He lifted the covers, then thought better of it. She clutched the coverlet to her chest."What are you -?""Shh. For your eyes only, Miss Crain." He went to the red armchair and lifted up the seat cushion. It would have to do.
"What is that for?"And why all the secrecy?
"I thought you wanted to reorganize the films."
She tried not to gloat. "I did. I mean, do."
"Very good. The canisters, as you know, do not contain titles, only numbers. The film reels are labeled with corresponding numbers. If one can't be rewound or is otherwise unsalvageable, set it aside."
She nodded.
He moved closer. "I have to trust you not to disobey me again." Juliana knit her brows together. "Don't watch anything. I'll know."That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Her typical defiance reemerged. And somehow, she knew he was bluffing. He'd already admitted to not getting through them all.
"Is that clear?"
Never trust a member of the Resistance who just plotted to blow up the portal.
"Crystal."He stared at her long and hard. "In the meantime, there's plenty of food, mainly leftovers. Other than that, your task should keep you occupied...and out of trouble."She nodded but could no longer ignore the luxury of sleep. "I will try to be back by six."
With one last searing glance and even a faint smile, the door shut behind him with a solid thud. She curled up beneath the covers, undeniably exhausted and wickedly sated, unable to comprehend the last hour, the last day. Her last thought before drifting off was, of all things, her detention assignment and just how thoroughly he'd followed through on sentence #3.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“This inhuman place makes human monsters.” - Stephen King

John stared straight ahead as the lift descended into the depths of a fresh hell. He allowed himself the thrill of experiencing freefall…weightless in his jackboots. These rides never lasted long enough. The armed guards standing sentinel in the lobby rapidly saluted to attention. He eyed each man impassively, until he swore he could feel their bones rattle. Someone must have heard. Did they think him deranged?Even though most of the destruction was located on the west side closer to the New York Harbor, his eyes teared up at the acrid burning sensation from the migrating remnants of smoke. John nodded to his doorman, who handed him a newspaper before he climbed into the town car.“Good morning, Reichsmarschall,” said the driver.“Good morning, Corporal.” He appreciated that Corporal Fletcher Andrews read him well enough to dispense with trite pleasantries and let him attempt to scan the headlines in peace:
ODE TO JOY GIVES WAY TO FURY. THE REICH DEMANDS JUSTICE.

“Citizens of the Reich, we urge you to remain vigilant in these trying hours…”
A photo of Himmler resembling a sullen bulldog. Another showed intransigent teens wielding torches, the might of their convictions compressed within their fists. Such striking imagery would jostle any man, especially those who had known near-starvation during the war and the scrimping of every last coin for that dented can of kidney beans because hunger was not something any human being should experience.He threw the paper down, unable to read any further.Hollowness gnawed at John as the car wove through the heavily road-blocked streets, littered with pieces of his past, scooped out and left in piles of rubble or burnt to a crisp. A miniature apocalypse, orchestrated by children ignorant of atrocities and fear. He thought he’d had his fill of broken glass for one evening, but it hadn’t been nearly enough for the Hitler Youth. It was pure bedlam. This destruction had a different vibe than Cincinnati. Absent were the screams of horror; the desolation and desperation of those begging to have their lives spared. The decay of death when it was all over. The deafening silence.This time, there were no üntermensch to crow over, only innocent brick, metal and wood structures, vehicles, passersby past their prime at the wrong place and the wrong time. And they were just ramping up for the main event, whatever that was to be. Out with the old…as if this were not going to be the end product of fascism in their second-tier continent. Himmler’s beloved Kristallnacht, otherwise known as Night of the Broken Glass, a triumph of immense proportions.America the Obliterated.Before exiting the car his hand instinctively traveled to the right pocket of his trousers. The pliant material was still warm from curving around Juliana’s neck. At least some things he could still control. But for how long?Tod Metzger jolted him with a powerful salute as John stepped into his corner office, which afforded him exceptional views of the East River. Major Heim took his overcoat and cap while Metzger grabbed his briefcase.“Good morning, sir,” said Metzger.This strange, almost royal treatment began to grate on his last nerve. He’d really worked his way up the ladder, hadn’t he? The Puppet Prince. He sunk onto his temporary throne, eyes reflexively swinging to the photo of his wife and daughters beaming back at him with adoration. He inhaled sharply and quickly forced his focus elsewhere.“Has the rioting been contained?”“We see no current activity but there are some stray teenagers milling about here and there on their way home. Naturally, hospitals are clogged to capacity – mostly burns, bruises, and broken bones from trampling. Some kids got too careless with their torches. But the only fatalities seem to be older and elderly folk.”“I assume clean-up efforts are underway?”“Actually no, sir.”“No? There’s glass and debris from Battery Park to 42nd Street."And well beyond that he'd imagine.“Doctor Goebbels thought it best to leave it alone.”“Well then, who am I to question the safety of our city? He must know what he’s doing.”“It most certainly seems so. There are no leads as of yet in the manhunt, unfortunately.”“Have the building’s residents closest to the room with the open window brought in for questioning.” John hoped whoever it was ran for the hills. They’d done him a favor.Metzger strode up to his desk and handed him a stack of pristine files. “Also, High Castle is all ready for you.”“Oh this ought to be good.”It was pointless, Hawthorne’s inconsequential charade masquerading as lunacy. A diverting tactic, nothing more; John employed it himself as of late. Hawthorne Abendsen was an oddity by birth, but the way he alluded to knowing him, beyond the murmurs of reverence over his sheer potential in the mess hall, but rather by freely traversing the inner workings of his mind, unnerved him to the core. Questions swam about his soupy, muddled brain half-formed but nagging nonetheless. What could he tell him about the visions? Was Juliana a liar? It was up him whether to admit his vulnerabilities to the revered prophet of the Resistance.“Did he at least appreciate his meal?”“Well I can’t be sure, seeing how it hasn’t been touched.”John sighed as he scanned the files. The words blurred together, nonsensical.“What else?”“Doctors have updated us every half hour regarding the Führer’s condition. His latest status is serious but stable, which is somewhat encouraging.”Not grave, nor even critical. A mere pit stop away from eating solid food.“And when will Reich Minister Goebbels be gracing us with his presence?” John cursed his treasonous tongue and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.Metzger hid his impatience behind grim determination. Ever since Erich’s disappearance, the Reichsmarschall’s disposition had soured considerably. And where was the genuine concern over the Führer’s welfare? If it had been him, the suspects would fill all the seats in the Albert Speer Auditorium.John Smith’s veneer was normally impeccable and so solid that nothing seemed to penetrate through to his private thoughts. He was an enigma, to be sure, and a man never to be crossed. But there was no disguising the dark rings beneath his eyes and slightly mussed hair; the vacant stare and hunched shoulders. If Metzger were not so devoted, he might be inclined to believe the rampant hearsay being spread around the building regarding what became of prisoner number 2197472-F, who was still being “interrogated elsewhere until further notice,” under the authority of his direct supervisor. He decided to probe further.“Tough morning, sir?”His unpleasant smugness made John want to order him to scrub a toilet as a sort of Jahr Null hazing ritual. This man could never replace Erich; every time he tried to behave more genially toward him John died a little inside. “I believe I asked about the Reich Minister, Major. What occurs in my off-hours is irrelevant.”His new adjutant stood taller. “Of course. I’m sorry. He hasn’t turned up yet, nor has he given any indication as to his exact arrival time.”Not that he ever would. But what was the significance of time to the man who had everything?“I see. No interruptions until then. Only open this door if it’s in regard to the Reich Minister. Or the Führer,” he added as an afterthought.“Understood.”Metzger clicked his heels together and marched from the room like the dutiful Hitler Youth he used to be. As soon as the door shut John pushed the files to the side. After some internal deliberation he decided the best course of action was to tend to his primary needs. He fell onto the couch and was soon fast asleep.

From his vantage point in the corner of the bedroom, he watched as she rolled onto her stomach with her arms cradling her head. He stalked over and climbed onto the bed to brush the thick curtain of hair aside and kiss her awake.

“What are you doing?” she muttered groggily, burrowing under the covers.

“You know exactly what.”

“Mmm, but I’m so tired…”

“You can go right back to sleep when I'm done, I promise.”

Juliana twisted her head around, reacquainting herself with her situation, as well as the dark. Yet the curtains were sheer enough to allow the moonlight to highlight his flawless nudity. John slid her silky black chemise past her hips and caressed her small rounded bottom. She hissed in surprised pleasure when he stroked her folds until his fingers were coated with dew.

No panties. She always followed through on his instructions.

She teethed her lower lip, thighs slowly parting. “Please, John...”

He wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “Hold onto the pillow.”

She did as she was bid but remained amused. “What for?”

She yelped as he thrust into her almost to the hilt, pushing ever further until he was all the way in, savoring the tightness from stretching her wide open. Soon enough she abandoned the pillow and scrabbled for the fitted bedsheet. But her grip was tenuous at best and eventually it popped clean off the mattress. The iron headboard rattled incessantly and neither participant cared, lost as they were in the impenetrable fog of late-night lust.

John gripped a fistful of her hair and turned her to meet his lips. “You’re mine, Juliana. I own every part of you.” And then he kissed her as though she would vanish forever.

She could only moan in response as he continued to pump into her, until a guttural cry ripped through and pierced the silence of the twilight. It energized him, her submission.

They lay sated in the afterglow.

“You can go back to bed now.”

“Yes, sir.”

John was taken aback. She never called him that and he didn’t want her to. “No, not sir.”

“But I want to call you sir.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t. I have a first name, you know.”

“Mmm, but sir…”

“Juliana…”

“Please sir,” she pleaded, though he had no clue why.

The room suddenly became incredibly bright. They must have been at it for hours for the sun to rise already, though it felt like only twenty or thirty minutes had passed.

“Sir?” Suddenly he felt a hand on his back. He tried to shake it off but it persisted.

“Sir, you need to wake up.”“That's going to cost you in the morning,” he mumbled.The newly-minted Obersturmbanführer’s brow crinkled. “Reich Minister Goebbels called.”John’s eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled over and sat up, patting his hair back into place and adjusting his sleep-rumpled uniform.Metzger was confused but determined. “Is everything alright, sir?”What was a good excuse for the highest authority in the American Reich having an erotic dream about a renegade Resistance leader while napping on the job?"I'm fine. Just a small migraine. What time is it?”“Ten minutes after eleven. He requested that you join him at half past for lunch uptown.”Of course, this really meant that he might be sitting there nursing a whiskey alone for a half hour, potentially accosted by a who’s who of the Reich’s elite class in Manhattan.Still discombobulated, John grunted out his thanks and asked for some aspirin.
Taverne auf dem Grün was revered as a staple in the local restaurant scene since its revamping in 1950. It was located conveniently inside Central Park, set amidst a sprawling meadow of edelweiss and cornflowers. The interior was enticing in that ordered, ostentatious way one got used to in the GNR: walnut paneling, red carpeting throughout, exposed beams festooned with Nazi flags of every conceivable size, a massive mural of the Alps, paintings of majestic stags and trite woodland landscapes, portraits of Hitler and Himmler in gilded frames, Austrian crystal chandeliers glittering to the rhythm of a whimsical waltz.The waitstaff donned traditional Bavarian garb and brought to one’s Biedermeier–style table the finest sweet and savory fare outside the Fatherland itself: Rhineland sauerbraten; baked pike with mushrooms; loin of pork with prune stuffing; tangy red cabbage; turkey with blackberries; home-style German potato salad, linzertorte; spiced streusel. All in all, a devoted Nazi’s culinary paradise.Goebbels had kept John waiting a good fifteen minutes before hobbling in with a jerky saunter, which is the most graceful entrance he could ever hope to achieve. He greeted nearly everyone he encountered with a wide grin set among deep-set smile lines. Four separate sets of people chatted with him before he finally made his way to the table. John stood and saluted him with a force he didn’t feel but somehow made his sham show of deference seem effortlessly convincing.Before the Reich Minister sat down, a cavalcade of staff were upon him, pulling out his chair, placing an embroidered napkin across his lap. John had barely touched his whiskey when Goebbels held up two fingers for dunkelweizen, one glass for him and one for Herr Reichsmarschall.His bespoke suit of light beige Guanashina set off his golden tan. Only yesterday he was summoned from his biannual tour of the northern African colonies, where he had been lounging away in Tangier.“Crude place. Unfortunate architecture. But the sun is ideal for cultivating this fantastic glow you see here.” Goebbels pushed up his sleeve to reveal a rail-thin arm lightly dotted with liver spots and speckled with sun damage. John smoothly nodded his revulsion away. “Anyway, all those unsightly relics will go the way of the Moor and vanish! We shall be eradicating them soon enough. But this is the American Reich’s turn.”His vanity had become a crutch, not only because he wanted to flaunt his wealth and exalted status, but because he needed to distract the public from his plentiful deficiencies. In addition to the unsightly club foot, Goebbels stood at a measly five-foot five, possessed a prominent nose, no chin to speak of and was almost entirely bald. What hair remained he kept unnaturally dark, so unlike the chisel-faced man sitting across from him with a head of thick, gently graying curls and (he must admit) striking eyes. John’s entire mystique bothered him. But then again, so did most people.So used to feeling inferior, Goebbels often employed sarcasm, jibes, and intense criticism toward those he deemed most threatening. And that always included women and practically every alpha male who roamed the earth. In decades of nightly diary entries he lamented the state of his life, bemoaned the hard knocks his pathetic writing career dealt him, expounded upon jealousies within the Party, and basked in the glow of new romances. Life had certainly tossed him around a bit. A congenital deformity affected the proper development of his foot. An unsuccessful operation left his foot permanently turned inward and thus he was unable to enlist to fight in World War I.Instead, armed with fierce intelligence, he earned a PhD in German literature. Dead tired from the piles of literary rejections, his anti-Semitist leanings reached a fever pitch. At Hitler’s urging, Goebbels barged his way onto the nearest podium and blamed the Jews, again and again. Newspapers, film studios, radio stations and the like were seized in 1933, transforming the entire media landscape almost overnight.Propaganda posters portrayed Jews as growling apes; Hitler, in stark contrast, was a haloed white knight, a savior to all oppressed German citizens. He had their stores smashed in. Their possessions were stolen, their homes torched. He ordered the all books from every publishing house that rejected him – many of which, to his delight, were Jewish – to be burnt.Anything remotely subversive, pacifist, communist, or Jewish landed in one of several massive bonfires, which were often organized by college students. Works by Oscar Wilde, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Franz Kafka all piled atop one another, dangerous words erased by monstrous flames. Violence made Joseph Goebbels come alive, which in turn, whipped crowds into a frenzy without really knowing why.
Goebbels summoned the nearest waitress, clearly in no need of a menu. He leaned toward John. “Die Rouladen here is just like mein Mutter used to prepare it. It’s exceptionally rich, but I find no place else gets the sauce quite right. I highly recommend it.”John begged off the national treasure of beef rolled with bacon, pickles, onions and mustard and then roasted in wine. “Thank you for the suggestion but I think I’d prefer some lighter fare today.”And not so heavily tainted with German. He waffled between two dishes, but sentiment bade him to choose the blaue Forelle with wild mushroom pilaf. He could imagine tasting Thomas’ first catch all over again, though nothing could ever recapture the wonder of watching the trout sputtering and sizzling over smoldering sticks as the sun slid beneath the horizon on a beautiful autumn evening. It might be his favorite memory of all. He never wanted to let it go.“I ate not too long ago but didn’t want to have to turn down your invitation.”“Nonsense, John. Naturally, you would have had very little say in the matter.”In keeping with the ideals he promoted, the Reich Minister ate very healthfully – nothing but the finest fare and only as much as his stomach allowed. Today it was broiled salmon with boiled potatoes and a hefty serving of vegetables and salad, no doubt a nod to Hitler’s debatable vegetarian diet. As a German he used his utensils in the Continental Style, keeping his knife and fork in his hands while he talked at his companion, only setting them down to sip his beverage.Goebbels wasn’t as insufferable as Himmler, but though erudite, the man could be an incredible bore. He often provided detailed analyses of his appallingly unreadable novels, recited banal lines of unpublished poetry, and quoted his most beloved speeches and articles. If one were to get a word in edgewise, the interrupter's response would be challenged and refuted or agreed and expounded upon with the inevitable tangent. Thus, the best way to cope was to let him ramble on about whatever suited his narcissistic fancy. As a consequence, he took an inordinately long time to finish his meal. In addition, the more alcohol he consumed, the louder his voice carried, to the point several patrons discreetly rolled their eyes.John started to feel impatient to end the meeting before it really began, fidgeting with his watch beneath the table. Time ticked by with snail-like alacrity while he struggled to follow the Reich Minister’s meandering dialogue.Metropolis was on the agenda today, as was his continued inability to understand why “cowardly Mr. Lang” fled to Los Angeles, where the director was hunted down by the SD but never actually apprehended. The self-appointed Patron of German film felt the popular medium served a more profound purpose than providing entertainment. He considered it to be a convenient, easily digestible means of infusing the brains of the war-weary masses with Party principles, and they were a boon to the economy to boot. Goebbels blamed Germany’s defeat in the First World War on the media’s failure to uphold the morale of the people when it should have promoted escapism and national pride.The UFA’s production of the fantasy film Münchausen, influenced to a great extent by The Wizard of Oz, was deemed an indisputable masterpiece of European cinema. He also liked to cite Frank Capra’s It Happened One Night as a template for future filmmakers to follow. This particular director was extremely popular stateside and stars like down to earth Clark Gable, whom Hitler had a perverse fixation on, could teach the ramrod stiff German actors a thing or two about loosening up. Today, his Reichspropagandaleitung der NSDAP was run like a tight ship with a slick-tongued bully at the helm.John tried his best not to yawn over his excessive commentary, even going so far as to flex his banged up toe on the off chance the twinges of pain might distract him from the more aggravating remarks. The man wasn’t a diabolical scientist like Mengele, but his evil had a flavor all its own. He excelled at making even the most mild-mannered citizens hate with a putrid burning fervor toward non-Aryans they’d never known themselves to possess. He could do this to anyone; children were especially vulnerable.When he was in the sixth grade, Thomas had to practice reciting lines from one of Goebbels’ interminable speeches, which were so mind-numbingly long each student was only responsible for a stanza or two. This was a far cry from John’s recollections of having to memorize the Gettysburg Address or the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution. Twelve years old and already sprouting the dogma of a failed academic in the guise of a prolific orator with Hitler’s undying stamp of approval, hitting every inflection with blind accuracy. John remembered his family applauding his efforts after dinner. Now he could only cringe at the recollection.“I must tell you what a brave sacrifice your Thomas has made. Of course, I have been so wrapped up in overseeing my propaganda empire that I was never able to properly express my most sincere condolences.”In truth, Goebbels avoided John Smith like the plague because he felt vastly overshadowed in the presence of such perfect masculinity, as well as by his military prowess. So many shortcomings wrapped up in the diminutive figure lovingly referred to as the "poison dwarf." His gregariousness masked a sinister temper that his workers witnessed firsthand. Hence, the tight ship.“Thank you, that’s very kind,” John replied with that familiar tinge of bitterness every time someone dredged up his son’s overplayed martyrdom.“Without my children I would be lost. They are…my finest creation. I was so proud to raise them the right way, in a pure Aryan world,” he practically crowed.No one played paternal paragon quite like Paul Joseph Goebbels. During the war the public was subjected to saccharine-sweet home movies of his home life, where his remarkably well-behaved children became beloved across the Greater Nazi Reich as ideal Aryan offspring. As they grew, they and their expanding families were involved in considerable propaganda campaigns. Goebbels now had fifteen grandchildren to fawn over, with another two on the way.
“Frau is on holiday with the children, ja?” Goebbels sipped his beer and fixed John with his penetrating obsidian orbs.“She’s been craving a little rest and relaxation.”“Is that what they call it here?”John cocked his head, feigning nonchalance, though the implication was clear. “Sorry?”“And on the night of the opening ceremonies no less,” the Reich Minister continued, tapping his freshly manicured fingertips against his plate. “Makes one wonder as to the timing…”Yes, John Smith, so-called "Father to All," knew he was held to a higher standard than every other single person on the continent, so image was everything. And it was tarnishing fast.“I believe it might be terribly isolating spending even one night alone in that frightfully tall building. You know, on many occasions the Führer would confide that, were it not for his Eva, he didn’t know where he would end up.”
Always trust the woman in your life with your life.
Except when you couldn’t even save them from themselves. Ironically, that is how Helen viewed John and his rigid devotion to a cause she knew he truly despised but had molded and shaped him so perfectly it was almost poetic; the uniform became a weapon in itself, even to unsuspecting innocents.When Thomas was two, Helen had a bout of bronchitis, so John the ever-dutiful husband went to pick up her prescription at the corner drugstore. A gaggle of girls, none older than sixteen, glanced up from pouring over Reich Idol and gasped. The girl holding the magazine shoved it back onto the shelf seemingly in slow motion. As John left, he tipped his cap to them. “Heil Hitler.” In unison and pure schoolgirl admiration, they sighed out a “Heil Hitler,” their barely suppressed giggles and cries of "Isn't he dreamy?" and “I saw him first!” mingling with the bell as he stepped out onto the street, where more women were ready to impress him with batting lashes and teasing smiles, hormones on high alert.As flattered as he was, he had a beautiful wife to keep his bed warm and his heart full. Their marriage was sweet and uncomplicated. Perhaps it was the stress of being the perfect Nazi wife, compounded by the emphasis they placed on bearing as many children as possible. Competition with one’s neighbors for being a top breeder wasn’t the greatest aphrodisiac. Life was fairly idyllic on the whole; if one chose to ignore the fact that the warm quilt holding the Smiths together was starting to fray at the seams.On November 4th
of last year, an Indian summer wind carried his boy away. Then came the films. And the lies. The slow separation and strained interactions. He was almost envious that Helen could attend therapy while he had to keep his emotions padlocked away. So he sought refuge in his study, and time spent in the sanctuary of a comfortable bed with soft cotton sheets and an even softer companion became increasingly infrequent. No, they had to shoulder their burdens separately.One evening he explained to Helen through a six-inch crack in the door that he was working on sorting through Americana for the new campaign. All perfectly routine. That instance was partially true, as viewing the films of Thomas was becoming a nightly event. Another time she inquired if he was "at it again with those films," followed by Dr. Ryan’s borrowed line about insomnia leading to anxiety, which in turn led the budding masochist to watch them until his vision dulled and his poor eyes practically screamed for sleep. Surely watching a healthy, happy Thomas on a loop could only lead to tranquil dreams.But instead of his son, there she was again, taunting him with an icy knowingness that sent a cold thrill zipping up his spine. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.After he peered through the glass partition of the interrogation room, he knew. Yes, his primary aim was to use Juliana as a pawn to keep Joe in line, but something about her dishevelment and startling ethereal beauty called to him as if they’d crossed paths before. He wasn’t a spiritual man and the concept of déjà vu seemed farcical. Yet even the clothing felt familiar. In the car when their eyes met, his gaze lingered longer than was proper. He wanted to stroke this stranger’s windswept hair. Anything to forget he was about to commit cold-blooded murder. Something to remind him he was just an ordinary man battling simple urges, not a calculated killing machine. The fantasies began to intrude soon after.Part of John Smith’s discomfort around Juliana Crain stemmed from her deeply upheld convictions, in direct contrast to his perpetual state of immoral hypocrisy. She made him feel like a monster, a Quasimodo to her enchanting Esmeralda. Her remark about raising his son wrong stung him still, so he stung her right back. Knowing such a saintly figure exhibited signs of corruptibility was immensely gratifying. It’s why this morning he had to do more than merely subdue her. He wanted her to want it.
“It’s witchcraft, you know.”The words wrenched John from his stupor.“Women. The whole lot of them. Very difficult to pull away once they make eyes at you and then you’re in trouble, ja?” Goebbels motioned for a waitress to refill his glass. Upon asking her name, he gasped in astonishment.“Did you say…Lída?”Twenty years earlier, he had been forced to end his relationship with the Czech actress and ingénue Lída Baarová due to Hitler’s disapproval over his romancing a "dirty Slav" and out of loyalty to Goebbels’ own wife, Magda. Baarová was cast out of the Reich film industry altogether, and although communications between them ceased almost immediately and he and Magda soon reconciled, the serial philanderer never stopped pining after her.“No, Reich Minister, my name is Lin-da.”“Ah, so you are! Mein Libeling Leen-dah, be so good as to bring me another dunkelweizen and a mineralwasser. Danke.” Caught in a trance for a few odd seconds after the petite brunette bustled away, the wizened caricature roused himself and continued on with the conversation as if no dismal star-crossed memories had damped his demeanor.After she returned he raised his glass in a toast: "‘He who seeks virtue and proper love should come to our land. There is much joy. Long may I live there.’* Prost!”John’s prost was considerably less enthusiastic. He hoped this marked the end of their discussion of the fairer sex.But when he glanced up from wiping his mouth he noticed Goebbels’ eyes raking him up and down like prize horseflesh. It felt almost predatory. “Oh John, I am so jealous. What woman could resist you? Even a member of the Resistance, eh?” Goebbels’s small chuckle grew rapidly until he was practically chortling with glee.John adopted his best I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it isn’t that pose all while contracting every muscle in his body. One cheater could always smell another; Joseph Goebbels was a bloodhound.He had warned those guards not to say anything. Then again, Goebbels probably would have a whole line of them shot if no one were to come forward with the goods. Word would of course spread like wildfire, and he could hardly narrow down the culprit to a single officer. His life was crumbling as sure as Lady Liberty had right before his eyes, and he knew a night spent brooding alone with a hefty supply of booze wasn’t going to be a sufficient distraction. Where his mind was at, it might even prove dangerous. As it turned out, John's ill-conceived remedy proved to be much more than he bargained for.And yet…what a colossal, twisted, wonderful mess they’d made together. So many aspects of his life were now shaded with regret, but he was determined not to let their encounter be one of them. He would treasure it in all its absurd debauchery. It was only one night after all. Where was the harm in it?“As Reichsmarschall of North America, I would imagine it would be more than appropriate that you be allowed to carnally cavort with a decidedly inappropriate woman.” The laughter continued, unabated.John cut up his fish, poked around at his pilaf side dish and deftly shoved several forkfuls into his mouth, not dropping a single salacious clue.“Schiesse!” Goebbels’ gaze hardened and he peered around furtively. “She’s not a Jew, is she? Now that would be a real horror. I would not have a Jewess betwixt my sheets if she were the second coming of Fraulein Garbo herself. That is, before that traitoress scampered off to Hollywood, as if our country smelt of schweinescheiße!”John smirked a little, but what else could he do? Nothing this man could possibly say would truly surprise him at this point.“I recently had the misfortune to learn after the fact that I bedded a Sephardic temptress. Thought the blonde hair would fool me. I had her put to death and scrubbed myself until I almost ran out of soap,” he punctuated with a wave of his fork. “One day it’s a Jew, the next a lusty Slavic wench. Before you know it, a Roma whore will be showing up at your doorstep.”John had no idea how to respond but resistance was futile with the scrawny, loathsome man. “As far as I’m aware, Miss Crain is Aryan.”Or was she? As far as he was concerned her ethnicity held no weight. His own best friend had been Jewish.“Whatever she is, you’ve earned your trophy many times over.”John furrowed his brows. Trophy?“Enjoy the spoils, Reichsmarschall. So long as you are willing to share when you grow tired of her antics. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!”“Sir, I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”More bawdy laughter drowned out his reply. “Do not be coy. It’s treason to lie to me, you know. And should your methods of persuasion prove ineffective, Reichsmarschall…” He shrugged in a mock humble fashion. “Well, I may not be gifted with as fine a face and figure as yours, but make no mistake…I am plenty capable of making up for it in other ways.”John was rendered mute with fury.“At least you’re not ein schmutziger Abweichler. What kind of example would that set? We have enough of those as it is. My niece included.”The slight weight of the collar was searing a hole through the lining of his trousers. “Well, Miss Dörmer knew the rules.”Not that anything would prevent John from breaking them himself.“She is wild and impetuous. Imagines herself a ‘new woman’ but has grown too accustomed to getting her way. I absolved her for the time being. She’ll be back tomorrow to strategize.”John sat up straighter. “Strategize? I was under the impression the Reichsführer ordered her to undergo mandatory re-education.”“Bah, Herr Himmler should be worried about hanging onto his own miserable life before he sabotages another's. No, Nicole has too much a mind of her own and is, in my estimation, much too valuable an asset to be saddled with children. No, I have great, great plans for her. Jahr Null has only just begun. I have heard excellent things about yesterday’s ceremony! I cannot wait to see it unfold on the big screen.""It was an unforgettable experience," John deadpanned.Nothing could dampen Goebbels’ exuberance for his protégé. “She is like a granddaughter to me. Well, if I were old, she would be. I prefer to see myself as more of a loving uncle.” The way his thin reptilian mouth produced that familial term made John’s skin crawl a little. “Riefenstahl gets all the credit, of course, Eiskönigin that she is. But Nicole is on her way to becoming an auteur in her own right. Her work has an emotional component you Americans gravitate toward. Why do you think An American Hero was such a commercial success? Critically, as well, with those four Adolphs, including one for Outstanding Long-form Documentary Feature! Our Führer would be quite satisfied.”It was obvious he wasn’t referring to the man with the perforated liver. There was certainly no love lost between the forever dueling gargoyles.“I really taught her well, didn’t I? Too bad Herr Himmler couldn’t be more appreciative.”“Indeed, sir.”Goebbels prattled on, imparting how crucial it was that no one interfere with Nicole’s new undertaking, and that he would himself be taking on a temporary supervisory role to keep her on track should she get the itch to flout her perversions again. Though he already wanted no part of it, John was too inextricably woven into the fabric of Reich hierarchy to refuse anything in an official capacity.He next explained, a bit too cheerfully, that anyone caught with anti-Reich propaganda, or anti-fascist propaganda, for that matter – all dissidents were dangerous – was to be shot on sight, and their family members were to be hunted down and killed, whether they were in the middle of an Aryan history lesson or in the middle of bathing.“These deaths may be perceived as undignified, but you must agree there is no greater indignity than being related to a traitor.”John tried to bite back his horror but wasn’t alert enough to monitor his revulsion completely.“Oh John, your face has gone as soft as a dish of spatzle! You must avoid the appearance of weakness and exert dominance, at all times. Be that leader der Volk can admire. It is your destiny. Embrace it.”The waiters briskly removed the fine china and cutlery and brushed away the crumbs with expert flicks of the wrist. John rubbed his own wrist and noted it really was getting rather sore.Oh, but she deserved it, didn’t she? The troublesome little minx.A bowl of gleaming red apples was brought in, situated closer to the Reich Minister. He immediately reached in and plucked out the biggest one. John didn’t know which was shinier – the apple or the top of his balloon-shaped head.“You cannot leave anything to chance.” He considered his reflection in his knife before cutting the fruit into sections. “I was thinking of suggesting for a slogan ‘Rejoice, Do Not Resist.’ It has a nice ring to it, ja? I do so value your opinions."John’s eyes darted to the side.
“Can you not sense it in the air? The thousand-year Reich lives on through a brave new generation. They truly are beacons of hope guiding the way for a brighter future.” He wiped at a well-timed tear with an absurdly histrionic flare.“Well, I think the children have had their moment. School resumes tomorrow.”Goebbels shook his head and stabbed into a piece of apple, crunching down with crowded, misshapen teeth. “Nein, I gave them the day off. Besides, our Kristallnacht was held over two nights, not one. The public could not contain their passion, you see. And now it is finally their turn. I am to address the masses on the steps of the New York Public Library – Or, what remains of it! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!”Goebbels continued as if entertaining a rapt audience. “Everything will be set to 'Horst-Wessel-Lied,' of course. Best to do these things when emotions already run high. People love to know they are playing an active role in the production of great art, especially if it celebrates the splendor that is der Volk. The Reich has made great strides at literacy, yet there is nothing quite like sound and visuals to bring the message to life.”John found this talk of glorifying eternally brainwashed children utterly repellent. If only he could step out, even for a few minutes, he could get a grip on his nervous stomach. Those breathing exercises might even do the trick.“Just this morning I saw them downtown taking turns chipping away at that old statue of Nathan Hale. Then again, you have your own little spy to contend with.”His next words took John’s meager appetite away entirely.“Fraulein Crain’s punishment must be swift and severe. Those Salem witch trials from days of yore come to mind. By which I mean, no trial at all. Picture it: that vile resistance scum having to parade through the streets of your fine city with a sign around her neck identifying her as a terrorist. Ooh, and let's take away her shoes, shall we? Maybe the schoolchildren can line the path of the procession and pelt her with stones! Let’s give the martyr what she wants, ja? Herr Himmler will be sorry he had to miss it all first-hand. If he is fortunate enough to survive, he can view it at the world premiere.”John nodded woodenly. The deranged bastard wanted to film it.And then came the most sickening suggestion of all, should Juliana continue to hold out on providing the names of her co-conspirators and divulging any other secrets she kept hidden away (of which there were many). Goebbels wanted to brand or tattoo her body with the word Staatsfeind, an 'Enemy of the State,' in front of everyone, to be aired on live television, of which every home must be equipped at all times. That and a radio.
If either didn’t work properly it had to be repaired or replaced at once.“If she dares to denigrate the Reich with such seditious activities, she must face the consequences. In a very humiliating, very public manner. Everybody must know what the situation is!*”John looked momentarily stricken. A wave of bile upended him, the seasick feeling of sitting at a table with a truly dedicated sociopath.Goebbels jumped back in surprise. “You are not coming down with something, are you John? It would not do for the Reichsmarschall to be seen as vulnerable. Especially since the would-be assassins have yet to be apprehended.”

“Be rest assured, Herr Doctor, we have plenty of men on the case.”Goebbels said nothing at first then grinned maliciously. “Of that I have no doubt. Your task, however, Herr Reichsmarschall, is to convince our fair former fugitive that the Reich will not be toyed with. She only seeks to drag you back into the darkness.”John tried not to contemplate the reality that Juliana Crain would have to face a very protracted, undignified death. He knew it needn’t be that way. Even if their ideologies clashed. Even though she slashed open Joe’s throat and left him to bleed out on a dingy bathroom floor in a Japanese flop house.
She had given him hope to cling to; he must do the same in return. Sure he might never see his Thomas again, but after being denied the comforting closure of saying goodbye in person, as dreadful as it must have been for Helen, he had to search for another version of his boy to bring some sort of peace into his life. Even a single glimpse would have to suffice to sustain him for the remainder of his miserable days left on this planet.
As far as he knew, Goebbels had not seen the footage containing his family from another world (which, strangely enough, never included his daughters). Surely the topic would have been broached by now. But first things first.“I haven’t really had much success. She’s been very…recalcitrant.” Halfway through a quenching sip of water, John realized he absolutely gave himself away. In fact, he'd accomplished that feat a while ago.That wrinkly, droopy-eyed...Bloodhound.Pinpricks of sweat gathered at the nape of his neck.“Recalcitrant, you say? Well, let’s try harder, shall we? See if you can’t make any further headway with diese widerspentige Frau tonight. She can be returned to her cell tomorrow morning. I’m sure by then you would have tired of the likes of a raving lunatic.”John uttered a noncommittal, “Yes, Reich Minister.”After prison, what then? She was under no direct obligation to him. Faced with Goebbels in charge, she would most assuredly choose traveling over certain death (and possible sexual relations), leaving John poised to grow into a lost, friendless, fanatical cynic. The very idea of this frustrating yet intriguing woman becoming intimate with an elderly man who would serially shower her with adoration while simultaneously planning her demise was simply out of the question. Juliana was, and always would be, his – if even for a couple nights he’d have to eclipse for all eternity.
Linda shyly returned with the dessert menu, which Goebbels promptly waved away.“You have heard the tale Hänsel und Gretel, ja? Pudgy little faule Kinder lured in by lollies and lemon drops get eaten by a witch! You must agree these sweets are too damaging to their developing minds and bodies.” He tapped the bowl of apples with a nearby fork, which jostled John’s already frayed sense of decorum. “Fresh fruits and vegetables. No more cakes and candies. Which reminds me, we should do away with that nonsense holiday with the ghouls and goblins…was ist es?”“Halloween, sir.”Pagan holiday-loving Himmler would not be pleased.“Ja, Halloween. You see John, uninhibited children grow into uninhibited adults, and all that tooth rot degrades into the moral rot that you and I both know to be – ”“Decadence,” John replied without missing a beat."Ja. Decadence. It will be rooted out once and for all."John could endure no more. He excused himself to go to the restroom to try to ward off the beginnings of another panic attack with splashes of icy water.“Make her smell like a goddess,” he’d told the discreet maid over the phone. She didn’t question a single request. He’d be charging this to his personal account.It pained him to admit he needed his fix of Juliana again. Her keening moans, purrs and whimpers, the feel of her warm, wet mouth enclosing him, her delicious body bound for his pleasure...all served to sustain him through the long, desolate hours. When she vexed him, it motivated him to venture beyond his usual repertoire with all-encompassing intensity. Everything was instinctual with her.
After what he'd put her through, he should refrain himself from further intimate contact. But how could he deny himself after he’d tasted her body, learned what pleased her most? It was more than a distraction. He feared it was worse. John Smith, a remote figure by any standards, wasn’t accustomed to living alone after nearly twenty years of marriage. He didn’t want to have to fill a void with a woman who wasn’t his wife, but he didn’t see much of an option. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't that desperate, that he hadn't been sucked into the vortex of a blinding hurricane with no hope of ever making it back to shore.
And then the siren appeared.
The mutual attraction – he’d felt certain it was so from the very beginning –
served to quell the burden of his guilt somewhat.Just then he remembered that he’d essentially left Juliana to her own devices. What on earth possessed him to make such a lapse in judgment? Euphoria, he guessed. All he told Meghan was that Juliana was his guest but had an important task to complete that required the use of his office, and that she wasn’t to be disturbed, except for meals.Before he could fully stand, Goebbels stopped him, placing his hand over John’s on the table, queerly earnest and misty-eyed. “Tell me, are you as proud as I am of our great progress? Do you believe in the noble sublimity of the Reich so much that it fills all the spaces deep in the marrow of your bones, expands your blood, makes your heart thud more vigorously every time you ponder the wisdom, the foresight, the vision and untimely sacrifice of our one true Fuhrer, Adolph Hitler?”John grit his teeth again and sat back down. At this rate, he was going to ruin his molars. “You know I do, Reich Minister.”“All eyes are upon you now, John. They have been for some time. Besides the continual expansion of the Fatherland into the Western Hemisphere, your skill as a world leader is one of the few things upon which that dachrinnenschwein and I can agree.”John could not help but turn up his lips at that. Gutter swine. Shrimp. Both wanted Himmler out of the picture. And in their line of work, there was only one way to resolve their dilemma.“Now, how often do you make speeches, John?”“Not terribly often.” He despised giving them almost as much as the disease he couldn’t pronounce that marked his son for premature death by the State that supposedly loved him so much.“Ein wenig aus der Praxis, ja? We shall remedy that soon enough. There is nothing like a crowd of docile spectators to make one feel as tall as an oak among little white acorns.”He ordered a bottle of Riesling Sekt and led John in a toast before discussing the next venture. He raised his flute to hoping the forecasted rain would hold off until nightfall, “though no storm shall ever be fierce enough to dampen our spirit going forward!”Prosts were exchanged once more. Glasses clinked.“I will help you, Reichsmarschall. Though we live our lives disconnected by a vast ocean divide, take comfort in knowing we share the same golden aspirations – for ourselves, for our children’s futures, our grandchildren’s futures and so forth. For those who will one day look back upon this time and say, ‘John Smith was my ancestor…and what a great man he became!’”John drained his glass in one shot.“And do make sure unser kleiner Mӓrtyrer is watching today. Perhaps she'll learn a lesson or two on futility!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “Am I under arrest?”

“Just answer the question.”

His eyes bore into her face, never allowing her a moment’s respite from the effects of their intensity.

“Yes, I watched it. Wouldn’t you?”

She cringed at her softened response, naively hoping he would stop staring at her like that. Her heart thudded as she tried to calm herself.

He nodded, considering. “Tell me what you saw.”

The exchange, though no more than five minutes long, was torture enough. Finally, he rose from the table and retrieved his uniform cap.

“No one need know about this visit. It will stay between us.”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” she whispered.

The booted footfalls faded away.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

CLICK.

Her heart lurched.

Obergruppenführer
Smith reversed his steps, pausing behind her but saying nothing. Her heart thudded in the silence.

She turned to him. “Was there something else?”

He twisted his hat. “Funny thing instinct is.”

The hint of an edge in his voice.

Juliana’s chest heaved beneath her ivory silk blouse as she struggled for a response, eyes darting everywhere but his impassive face.

John stopped about a foot away from her. “Miss Mills.”

Her hands trembled.

“Look at me when I speak to you.”

He waited while she lifted her pale face to his. He honed in on her wobbly, parted lips immediately.

“Would you like to tell me what else you’ve been hiding from me?”

“What? No.”

“You’d rather keep it to yourself?”

“I’m not…hiding anything.” She ducked her head.

He inched forwards, lifted her chin. “Are you sure about that? You seem rather nervous for someone with a clear conscience.”

“There’s nothing more I can tell you!” she shot back.

He bent close enough to tickle her ear with his breath. She squirmed away from his shadowy proximity but gasped as his intoxicating aroma hit her – clean and woodsy. “I disagree.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Juliana repeated.

“I know I can be a bit…demanding at times, but that’s just part of my nature that I can’t help. Just as you can’t help how responsive you are.”

Her ears pricked. “Responsive?”

John bent and lifted her shoulder-length hair, gently blowing against her neck. She tensed her thighs.

“You’re really suffering, aren’t you?” He dropped her hair. “Tell me what ails you. Perhaps I can help. I’m a very attentive listener.”

She could smell his cigarettes and cinnamon, his urgency for something. Her nipples hardened. He looked down and smirked.

“I was right about you.” Her pulse thumped as John's cap hit the table.

“Unfortunately, withholding of information…that’s grounds for arrest.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t help her rejoinder. “So you are going to arrest me.”

“Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

Juliana realized in that moment it was indeed possible to wish someone dead and simultaneously want them to touch her, relieved of an awful burden. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

John trailed his hand down her shoulder, delighting in the feel of tiny arm hairs surrendering to the mildest of touches.

She pulled her arm away as if burnt. “Don’t touch me.”

He smirked. “Fine. I never needed to in the first place.” He sat across from her once more.

Juliana leaned back, inadvertently thrusting her chest out.

“Miss Mills, you have only two options: You can keep up the pretense of innocence and we’ll drag you right over to Rikers and force it out of you, or, you can tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

John’s hot gaze honed in on her tight buds, straining through her cotton blouse. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell, so hypnotic. And arousing.

Incriminating.

He stood and towered over her.

She shivered and folded her arms around herself, huddling, hoping she was six again and her wish to become invisible actually came true. Then John Smith wouldn’t be privy to anything.

The table squeaked loudly and her head shot up as he wrenched her hair back and pulled in such an exacting way her breath cracked into a whine. He heard it and pulled her up from the seat, by her hair, mere inches from his body. The suddenness caused her to cry out and squirm away from his chest. John hissed at the feel of her nails clawing through the wool.
“How long do you think you can keep this up, Miss Mills? ” he rasped.
Her eyes shot to his, a deep olive green with sparse honey flecks, so alive for such a staid and ruthless man. This scum of humanity should not have been gifted with such hauntingly beautiful eyes.

His smell, a clean cologne stifled by smoke. The barest hints of stubble. The perfect shape of his jaw line. The grim promise of his lips.

John released her hair and smoothed it down, while keeping hold of her right arm. “Don’t be afraid of me, little bird.”

She sucked in her breath and felt a slight shock of embarrassment at his diminutive
nickname for her.

“It’s useless to lie to me, you know.”
He slowly lifted her hand towards his lips. He licked the delicate skin of her wrist, feeling her very lifeblood against his lips. He bit down .
Juliana shrieked. John ignored her and continued to kiss up her arm. She didn’t know whether she should fight him off or let his mouth continue its ascent, his warm breath tickling her skin.

“That’s because I’m telling the truth.”

He paused. “I’m disinclined to believe bad liars.”

She tried to twist away from his hold and he wrapped his hands around her back and pulled her towards him. The uniform’s shiny embellishments melded with the dimmed daytime, highlighting the tautness of his cheekbones, which had a beautiful pale lavender tinge she found oddly alluring. In fact, she couldn’t stop staring at him.

John smirked and edged towards her ear, inhaling her scent – fresh, like morning dew, spring air. But there was something else mingling with that. Something quite impossible to ignore.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he whispered.

Juliana gasped but was quick to deny. “No. That’s absurd.”

He lifted her chin, and her icy blue-green orbs dissolved under his silent order to meet his predatory eyes. “I remember seeing you in the forest somewhere.”

What the hell was he talking about? When she was with the Resistance?

“When?”

He nuzzled her cheek. “In my dreams. Always…” He kissed her jaw. “Always in my dreams.”

He stepped back a few inches, but it didn’t matter how far away he got – he was always there. On top of that, these strange admissions. “Maybe you need a nap.”
John cocked his head and assessed her demeanor as apprehensive but not terribly so. He ran his elegant fingers down Juliana’s cheek; soft electric shocks drifted down to her lips. They parted instantly. His thumb brushed over the tiny cleft in her chin. "Maybe all I need right now is you.”
She brushed his hand away. “No, John, you want High Castle.”

He sighed in a comical way. “I’d rather focus on someone else for the moment.”

The room seemed to darken as he advanced upon her, grabbed her wrist and pulled her left arm behind her back. Juliana struggled to release herself but John just grabbed her right arm, trapping them both in one fist held against the small of her back.

She stilled almost instantly but her pulse was wild. John dragged his fingers down her throat and grazed her collarbone beneath the collar of her prim blouse. He watched her small breasts heaving beneath the pristine embroidery. Suddenly he started to palm her breast.

“Oh!”

“Are we so surprised? Because I’m not…” His eyes flashed mischievously “…Juliana.”
He flattened his hand and traced circles over her stomach.

In a horrible turn of events, she started to giggle. His eyebrow rose and he smiled. “So sensitive, are we?” He leaned in and tugged at her lower lip and ground himself into her.

“Fuck.”

He was too, too close.

She could taste the cinnamon wafting through his breath. Cinnamon fit him. All smoke and spices and sweltering heat.

“Language,” he warned.

She chanced a challenging look. “Yes, it’s called a curse word.”

“Good girls don’t say bad words. More proof of your propensity for deception." The words curled and unfurled through the sliver of distance between them like mixed colored ribbons: Black for danger; red for hatred; white for lust.
"And just what are you going to do about it…Obergruppenführer? Are you planning on killing me?”
“No, I have enough on my own conscience as it is.”

“I didn’t know you were allowed to have one of those.”

“I can have anything I want.”

With that he flipped her over and pushed her onto the table. “Don’t move. Keep your arms like this,” he stated with primal energy in his voice. Her thighs quaked as they absorbed the impact.

John caressed her hip and headed towards her bedroom area. Drawers slid in and out, banging shut. Banging again. Her mind conjured up her freshly made bed. Rattling. Shoving. Crumpled up sheets and grabbing onto the headboard.

He returned and set something atop her back while he positioned her forearms so they lay atop each other. He then wrapped one of her sheer thigh-high stockings around her arms and wrists and tugged until he was sure the binding was secure enough. Juliana wiggled atop the table, where she could just make out the faintest Impressionistic outline of her predicament and the great shadow looming over everything like a halo from hell.

“This is how I picture you sometimes, in my dreams.” He trailed his forefinger down her spine and luxuriated in her involuntary spasms. “Why must you always run away from me, Juliana?” She struggled in her bonds.

John threaded his fingers through her silky strands. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” He sunk his teeth into her shoulder.

“Ow!” But then the pain evolved into a pleasant reminder of John Smith’s subtle violence.

He abruptly pushed up her pencil skirt and slip and raked his nails down the back of her thighs, left untouched by today’s nude nylons. Juliana yelped. Then he dug deeper.

“I’m so glad I was able to find you at home this afternoon, tending to your chores like a good Reich housewife in training.” He bit at her and she screamed.

SMACK!

“Ahhh!”

“It’s all a ruse, of course.”

Thunder rolled in the background. A flash or two of lightning.

SMACK!

“If only they all knew what you were really about.”

SMACK!

She thought of Helen. Her image faded when he ripped her light pink panties down. She blushed furiously that he saw them at all.

John unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his coat, carelessly throwing them on the floor. Then came the silver cross and tie. Finding the room a tad stifling, he popped a couple buttons on his dress shirt and stalked back to Juliana. His gaze memorized the slight curve of her calves, the panties that were too innocent not to be destroyed.

He took hold of her bindings and dragged her from the table. “Down on your knees, Juliana.”

"Why?” she asked in shock and undeniable arousal.

He just laughed and shook his head. “Kneel. Right here.” He pointed at a spot right before his feet.

Juliana maneuvered herself to the floor awkwardly due to the restriction of a hand-me-down gray skirt bunched around her hips. John nodded in satisfaction and reached for his tie. He bent before her and wrapped it around her neck until there was one length left on each side. Without warning, he tightened and released it, quick as a single heartbeat. Her eyes widened and she moaned quietly.

He tugged again and kept up the constriction until she coughed. When he released it, she smiled. He grinned in return. He knelt before her and kissed her deeply, pushing his hands through her hair and twisting his tie at the base of her throat. She hissed. He growled.

"Caught you."

Juliana’s eyes burst open. She came to with her hand clutching her throat, her chest drenched in perspiration. She blearily took in the watercolor wallpaper adorning the Smith's guest room before closing her eyes and willing the dream to continue.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I can’t hold this day

Anymore

Understand me

Anymore

To tread this fantasy, openly

What have I done?

Oh, this uncertainty is taking me over.

“Over” - Portishead(Earlier that day)
A narrow plume of smoke drifted skyward while Meghan Rafferty sipped her coffee, blended from beans procured from South America. She indifferently flipped through the latest copy of Aryan Woman Magazine, on a break from sprucing up yet another elegantly-furnished dungeon and thoroughly enjoying the solitude.While the nurturer in her protested, part of her orders was to not bother Miss Crain. Given the precious little sleep she’d been permitted by the Reichsmarschall, it was probably for the best.The elevator dinged and the maid jumped up and stubbed out her cigarette, fanning the air with her hand. “Finally.”Assuming it was the men from the appliance store coming to replace the busted television set, she rounded the corner with the well-practiced grace and dignity of a proper lady but suddenly screeched to a halt.“Meghan?”“Bridget!”Meghan reined in her tension and rushed to embrace her lookalike cousin, older than her by two years at twenty-five. She stepped back and smoothed her demure black dress. “I thought you had the day off. Isn’t today a national holiday or something?”Bridget gave a perfunctory glance around the surroundings. “No, not that I know of.”“Well, it appears you came all the way over here for nothing because I’ve been hired for the whole day.”“What, you? But I work here!”“Take it easy, no one is firing you. You just weren’t supposed to come in today.”Bridget wrinkled her brow. “That can’t be right. Mr. Smith woke me up and told me I could have the morning off, but not the entire day. That’s ludicrous!”“That’s not what he told us.”“Hmm. Maybe I misheard. He woke me up really late, so I must have been pretty groggy. Must have sounded it, too! How embarrassing!”Meghan laughed nervously. “I’m sure he didn’t notice.”That carnivorous lust bleeding into the phone spoke of a man too oblivious to anything else. He was controlled, blunt and courteous. When he asked for extra discretion her ears prickled; Reichsmarschall John Smith, the consummate master. She couldn’t decide if she should envy the mystery woman, or fear for her life.“I’ll just phone headquarters to be sure.”Meghan stopped her with her hand on her coat. “I wouldn’t bother him. He’s been so busy, I’m sure he just forgot.”Bridget nodded. “He has been out of sorts lately. I told him where his family went, and he looked positively baffled. He thanked me and left without another word. That must have been around five-thirty. I went home at eight, so I have no idea when he got back. When did you arrive?”Meghan rubbed at her neck. “I got here a little after six, after I picked up my paycheck. I made breakfast and tidied up a bit.”Bridget usually arrived at seven. “I see. It’s just strange because I practically live here and rarely get a weekday off. Why would he ever need to call anyone else?”As mandated by Berlin, the Reichsmarschall’s home was to have round-the-clock maintenance, which included a live-in housekeeper. The Smiths, however, were able to convince the powers that be that their maid should keep separate living quarters to grant them more privacy; losing a child and transitioning to an urban lifestyle was jarring enough.“I’m as clueless as you are, Bridge. So, now that you’ve got some well-deserved free time on your hands, how do you think you’ll spend it?”Bridget fingered her lightweight plaid scarf then her hazel eyes brightened. “I’ve been just dying to reorganize my closet by color."“Well, here’s your chance.” Meghan loved her cousin, but she led a dreadfully monotonous life. “It’s been a crazy few hours, hasn’t it?”“Just a nightmare, really.” Bridget fidgeted with her dainty watch.“I heard the Reichsmarschall was standing right next to Himmler when the sniper fired.”Bridget shook her head dismally. “I know. It was all over the news this morning. They don’t even know if he’s going to make it.”Meghan swallowed and sighed. “All we can do is hope.”“As if he hadn't had enough on his plate, between mourning his dead son and marriage troubles…”Meghan raised her eyebrow.“I should go,” murmured Bridget.“Well, if you really must.”Meghan had no qualms gently guiding her cousin towards the elevator, away from the inconvenience of having her privy to the erratic behavior of her boss.“Although,” Bridget paused, “it might be hard to catch a cab right now. Everyone’s trying to avoid the debris on the sidewalks. And the air still seems rather polluted.”Meghan was going to suggest she call for a car but having her wait around was too risky. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem catching one.”Even during the lunch hour, when absolutely nobody would be hogging all the taxis.“You’re probably right.”Bridget stepped forwards.
CRUNCH
She hesitantly lifted up her foot and there partially embedded in the sole of her sturdy black pump were tiny crystallized fragments. She swiftly spun back around and marched into the living room. Meghan scurried after her.“Wait! Bridget, please.” But she carried on.What she saw gave her goose bumps: The coffee table parked sideways. Navy arm chairs facing the opposite direction; one shoved close to the unlit fireplace. A television sitting in ruins. She turned to her cousin with more alarm than outrage.“My God, was there a robbery? An assault?” She squeezed her purse to her chest while her eyes darted all around the dismantled living area.The television screen hadn’t merely cracked – the impact of the solid silver hairbrush fractured the glass. It took Meghan over an hour to collect what shards she could with a broom and dustpan before scouring the area under the couch on her hands and knees. She must have missed a piece or two.Bridget started trembling, so Meghan gathered her close and stroked her neatly coiffed hair. “I’m sure it was nothing as awful as that.”She was close to tears. “How can you say such a thing?”There was ambiguity surrounding what truly transpired, and she doubted either guest or host would elaborate any further than the bare minimum.But the truth spelled it all out. Perhaps bath time hadn’t quite finished when Meghan was through with her shift, if the widespread puddles were any indication. And judging by the oblong gaping hole near the center of the screen, he must have been, at some point, purple with rage.Bridget lifted her head and frowned. “Why are all the picture frames like that?"“I have no idea. They were like that when I got here.”Bridget abruptly pulled away and started to stand them up.“Don't.”“Why not?”“I was instructed not to move them.”Bridget rearranged the chairs so they were in their normal positions. “I don’t understand any of this.”Meghan dragged the rather light coffee table back to the center of the carpet. “It’s not for you to understand.”“Oh God, you think Mr. Smith did this? She shook her head, dumbstruck. “I really thought I knew him.”“Perhaps it was the shock from narrowly escaping a gunshot wound.”Bridget sighed. “He’s my employer. I should know what goes on around here.”“Not everything, apparently. But you know how it is. We’re just the ones who clean up their messes. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to have to deal with this.”She needn’t mention the alluring convict sleeping down the hall or the weird sexual escapades that undoubtedly transpired.Bridget glanced out the window and frowned. She rummaged through her purse and wiped off a small smudge with a tissue. She didn’t seem to understand what off-the-clock meant.Eyes trained on her task, she asked, “Are you still with that agency, the one I’ve never heard of?”"Uh huh."“And they placed you here?”Meghan thrust out her small pointed chin. “You think I’m not good enough to work here?”“No, I’m just surprised. You would think the Reichsmarschall would want someone who…”Meghan placed her hands on her hips. “Want someone who what?”Bridget crumpled up the tissue and spun around. “Never mind.” She stooped down to hunt for more glass. “Does your agency pay well?”“I can’t complain.”Meghan wanted to usher her out of the apartment before she got too inquisitive, but acting inhospitable went against her nature. She had Irish blood, after all. “Would you like some coffee? It’s still fresh,” Meghan said, pulling out a seat at the dining room table.“If it’s not too much trouble.”Meghan squeezed her shoulder. “I think I can handle a coffeepot. Just sit back and relax.”Bridget set her handbag on the dining room table and hung her coat on the back of the chair. “Relax? I hardly remember what that feels like.”She’d overheard Helen uttering those same words once, with tense desperation in her voice and a deafening volume that reverberated down the hallway. At least the girls were at school.Upon being introduced to the Smith matriarch, the wide-eyed woman gave her a polite but distant smile, paralyzed except for tiny awkward steps and fiddling with empty hands, unprepared for the upheaval of change. Bridget constantly had to remind her most tasks were no longer her responsibility. On a few occasions John had to intervene.
“Let her do her job.”

“Why?”

“Because, Helen, it’s her job.”
“And what about my job?”
“Your job is to relax.”

“How…how am I supposed to relax? I don’t have a son anymore. I don’t have my home…”

“You know, you can’t go stalking strangers like that anymore. Especially now that I’m elevated.”

“But it was our home!”

“And now we live here.”

“This isn’t a home. It’s a prison! I just…I just want…”
They’d gone into the bedroom and shut the door swiftly. He emerged a few minutes later and asked Bridget to fetch him a glass of water before disappearing into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet door squealed and slammed shut – a habitual sound.Bridget didn’t judge. Every married woman she knew of was prescribed something or other. Her aunt, Meghan’s mom, had become particularly friendly with them, due to hideous pain and other uncomfortable symptoms. That is, until the Nazis found out. After that, no medicine in the world could save her.
On her way to the kitchen, Meghan veered into the bathroom, careful not to bump into the door that barely clung to its hinges.She tossed Juliana’s hand-washed lingerie into the hamper to hang back up to dry after Bridget left and hid the damaged painting in the linen closet underneath a towel. Smoothing down her black bun, she flushed the toilet to round out the minor deception.As the premier “discreet housekeeping establishment” in the city, Maidenkind provided all manner of amenities for Nazi officials who required maid services (and occasionally, if they were willing, something more), without fear of pesky, potentially deadly gossip. It stocked an array of negligee from tame to tasteless, evening gowns for companions to attend the opera or a formal event, plus all manner of accessories. Everything was imported from Europe and well worth the exorbitant price tags.The undergarments she chose for the Reichsmarschall’s guest sat in a box untouched for months; it was one of the smallest sets they had. It was neither flashy nor plain, or made for a buxom woman (which is how she knew it wasn’t for his wife). It was all svelte sensuality, watery blue with an Italian lace overlay, ungodly expensive and – Führer-forbid – decadent. She felt her skin flush a little as she jotted down his additional requirements. Here was a man playing with fire.Meghan knew of Juliana Crain through the rumor mill. She with her pale eyes peering, untrusting; a runway angel dazed and tattered. And so clearly modest. Of course Smith wanted to play with her.She swooped back in with a hot carafe and cup, setting it before Bridget, who added two sugar cubes and a hefty portion of milk. “You were mentioning something before, about the Smiths’ marriage?”Bridget stopped stirring. “Please ignore that,” she implored. “I said too much as it is.”“Hey, it’s me. No one ever discovered who dropped Auntie Maeve’s lucky earring down the drain, did they?”They laughed together. “No, and I’m eternally grateful for you not spilling the beans on that one! But this is the family’s private business. I have no right to know what’s going on in that respect.”“You have every right. You said so yourself.”“That was me being concerned about my safety.”“And you think a Reichsmarschall with a rocky marriage isn’t any cause for concern?”Bridget gasped. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Meghan.”“I didn’t mean it like that.”Oh, there was no danger on that front. Or was there?“Look, the Smiths have been nothing but kind to me. I’ve grown to care so much for them. I love Jennifer and Amy like they were my little sisters. Sometimes I feel like…well, like I’m part of their family, too. Helen would share secret recipes with me. And Mr. Smith is an exemplary husband and father and so protective. I could never believe him capable of any sort of wrongdoing.”“His new role comes with a great deal of pressure.”“Yes, I know. I wish he didn’t have to be alone right now.”Meghan’s ears perked up. “Alone?” He never gave her any information aside from what to do and when to show up.“Mrs. Smith said she and her daughters would be staying at a friend’s beach house on Long Island. She called it a girl’s day out and said they'd be back soon. She left so abruptly and hardly took anything. I remember Amy kept asking for her schoolbooks but she practically yanked them towards the elevator. Jennifer wasn’t even wearing a coat.”Meghan leaned forwards on her elbows. “You’re telling me she ran off to a beach house with her daughters, in the middle of October, behind her husband’s back?”Bridget shrugged, her usually calm stomach contorted at the prospect of divulging the damning truth. “Now that you mention it that does sound a little odd.”He must be furious, Meghan thought. The puzzle pieces fell into position, but it was far from finished.
“A little. You’d think out of all people he would want his children around to celebrate Jahr Null. They’re going to miss the parade. Kids love that sort of thing.”“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Smith had her reasons. Maybe it was for the best, considering what went on last night.”Meghan’s gaze flicked towards the hallway. “Oh?”“It’s a total mess out there. You’ve seen it. 34th Street is almost unrecognizable. They broke the windows of that store that replaced Macy’s…I forget what it’s called.”“You mean Gerhardt’s?”

“Yes, that’s the one. The newspaper listed the names of so many stores I couldn't keep track. It’s just not safe to be out there.”“Let’s not think about that right now,” said Meghan, lighting another cigarette. She took a quick drag and held it out to Bridget.“No, thank you. You know I don’t smoke.”“I’m not going to rat you out to Mr. Smith.”Bridget shook her head but reached out her hand anyway.“Alright just one puff. God, I’m so naughty!” she giggled. Meghan laughed too, because her cousin was quite the opposite, puritanical almost. But she let her savor this moment in her isolated life.Bridget took the cigarette and held it to her lips. She inhaled too hard and coughed until her eyes watered. Meghan smoothly retrieved it and tapped out the excess ash while Bridget downed the rest of her coffee.“One day you’ll get the hang of it.”
Bridget pushed her cup away. “I don’t want to get the hang of smoking. It’s a vile habit. I wish you’d quit.” Meghan shrugged and took a languorous drag. “Besides, my boyfriend wouldn’t wish me to smell like I'd spent a few hours in a bar.”Meghan fought not to roll her eyes. “And how is Jason?”Dr. Jason Hughes was a medical resident who had taken up the mantle where his mentor, Gerry Adler, left off. A very dedicated Nazi, too. Bridget was hoping to get engaged during Winter Solstice. They first met at a mutual friend’s VA Day party. It was mere coincidence that the Smiths had known the Adlers personally, but for some reason every time she mentioned their name they became stone-faced and changed the subject.“Busy. Then again, I spend most of my time here, so it works out fine. He’s still broken up over Dr. Adler’s passing. He’s known him since he was a child.”Meghan scowled into her coffee cup. “Wow, I had no idea.”Over the next half hour, the two caught up on their lives as young women in the Reich. They pored over Helen’s magazine, discussing articles about makeup techniques and dating advice. They spoke of their family with as little detail as possible yet agreed everyone should get together soon.Waiting for the elevator doors to close, Bridget caught a final glimpse of the television. This was the best job she’d ever had. It would be a shame to have to give notice.

Juliana felt the sunlight tickle her eyes, but they refused to budge, knowing what would greet them when they finally snapped open. Instead, she let nostalgia lull her back into a deep slumber and an untroubled, ordinary Tuesday night at her local dive bar where she joined Frank, Trudy and Ed to knock back bottles of Sapporo, mock Hitler and fail miserably at darts.
“Your turn, sis,” said a clearly intoxicated Trudy.

“Well, I’m afraid this is going to be my last round. I’m crap at this. Seriously.”

Then everyone started chanting, clapping in time with the chorus: “Jules! Jules! Jules! Jules…”
“Alright, guys. Give me a minute.” She couldn’t get over the fact that she could hurl a grown man over her shoulders like he was nothing but never achieved bull’s-eye gold.
“Yeah, let her concentrate,” said Frank. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, whispering, “Go ahead. You’ve got this.”

Juliana lined up her dart, pretending she was a mythical maiden wielding an arrow.

Out of nowhere, the face of Kido materialized, all wire-framed glasses and dismal glare.
The next thing she knew the board was in her hands having been roughly torn from the wall. Her scream became a roar as she slammed the board onto the floor and started to stab at his face with the dart, right between the shallow eyes.
“The Empire does not show mercy to traitors,” Kido’s image intoned with all the passion of a robot.

A chill zigzagged up her spine. Then, a ghostly silence. A copious stream of crimson skirted past her boot. Still crouched on the ground, Juliana backed up on her hands until they met something wiry-soft.

Wool. Her fingers gripped the fabric and…

“Oh God. Oh no…no…”

Trudy lie pale and still, staring up at the ceiling fixture. Juliana hesitantly brushed her sister’s hair back, her heart crumbling to dust. “Tru. Tru? Please wake up, Tru!”

An idiotic thing to say to her cold, lifeless sister.

Then a sharp swishing sound came from behind her, beyond the pool table, followed by a sickening thud.

‘”Frank!” cried Ed.

She woke clutching a pillow in a cold sweat, heaving for breath, weighed down by the irrefutable truth that Frank was gone.For a few sparse seconds Juliana expected to hear birds twittering about but then recalled she was trapped in a luxury high-rise funded by the Reich. The sky, dulled to a dove grey, allowed just enough light to permeate the window and lent the whimsical wallpaper a dimensional sheen.She rolled onto her back and cried out. There was a reason pain was a four-letter word.Awareness of hours past pulsed throughout her body, her mind a sinister tour guide that stopped every so often to remark upon the origin of each individual pain in exquisite detail.
Juliana’s rear throbbed where John struck her over and over – a hot, naked palm; leather; iced metal. Her nipples screamed when she accidentally rubbed against them. Her limbs, already weary and worn from a week on the run, plead for languid respite from all further movement.She pushed her hair out of her eyes and huddled beneath the coverlet. It all happened in the blink of an eye: that incendiary argument, the entirely justifiable accusations she leveled against him, their cataclysmic collision. But it was a game, a means to an end – to work him until he was an emotional wreck. And she was starting to make some headway; that is, until he discovered her meditating.She put her face in her hands and groaned. How could John not know what she was doing?Time and again, she strove not to give into him. But her fight dissolved as curiosity beckoned. It always seemed to show itself at the most inopportune times. Once John pried open that kernel of inner darkness in her, he extracted those conflicted longings and exploited them for his own gain.Though she tried in vain to deny it, it gave her a rush to be rendered so powerless, a sort of blackened enchantment that rearranged her assumptions about sexuality. She could summon very little regret for succumbing to John’s primitive, calculated finesse.She was only human. He was just a man. And she was going to die if she couldn’t escape, so she might as well enjoy it.She still felt him as if he’d only just left the room.
Helpless moans dripped from her lips as John's fingertips caressed her folds, stealing her honey-sweet juices. He pushed his filthed-up fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself.

"Take it. Take it all."
She couldn’t budge when he held her by the hair. Or when he tied her with the panties he chose for her around her ankles. Or when she first stepped into the stilettos. John was as dedicated to debasing her as he was to tracking down insurgents.She lightly slid her hands down her body and adjusted her twisted dress. Unbidden, she imagined him pushing the material aside to roughly caress her breasts. He was a hot-blooded Svengali with a taste for dissension that Juliana latched onto as an excuse to make it alright.She allowed her intruder to breach her gate, seep into her pores and bind her innocence as expertly as he bound her body.Juliana had been damned the moment she heard his voice.
When John introduced himself he immediately commanded her attention, regardless of his unassuming civilian attire. His wealthy breadwinner demeanor was decisive but reassuring. Could he be trusted? After all, this was the one man Joe strove to please. She got her answer when he requested a favor she never intended to return.A flicker of something unnameable passed between them, his teasing green eyes lingering on her face before turning back to the road. A soft smirk belied the tension he expressed by tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
His exacting grip on her throat had sent her flying.
That menacing hunger had instilled itself in her blood. She wanted to scream, but that wouldn't change a thing.She already admitted to herself, quite shamefully, that he was a trifle too handsome not to get everything he demanded in life. When they ran into each other as she was leaving a tutoring session with Thomas, he was dressed in that hateful uniform, which made him irredeemably attractive.The juxtaposition of inky black against ghostly pale skin. Early speckles of grey in curls tamed with trimming shears like German clockwork. His genial arrogance was both irritating and intriguing.The roaring aura of danger and potential for untold pleasure turned her into a shrinking violet when John bid her goodnight; she was compelled to say goodbye with the sweetness of an inexperienced teenager.Finding such a notorious fascist appealing in any way was not part of the Resistance code. That was grounds for swift justice on their part. Still, Juliana willed herself not to stare as he strolled towards his front door – the one with the columns that screamed I made it – with the swagger of a domesticated panther. In that moment, she felt like a little girl lost to all reason.
But such a man was positively off-limits.
"What would your Resistance friends think if they knew…"
That this was just another role she was forced to play to dig herself out of yet another calamity. That’s all.An avid fan of movies, she picked up a few acting tricks here and there. The part of fictional Julia Mills was just one foray into the field. Welcoming her into their community with an unlocked door, the Nazis not only promised to treat her better than the Pons had, but also to accept her into their fold of certifiably obedient sheep.Lucy Collins once took her out to lunch at an intimidatingly posh restaurant named to honor Hitler’s wife (and Lucy’s personal icon), Eva Braun. The entire time, Juliana felt as if a spotlight beamed hot upon her deceitful face.“All the fashionable ladies are eating the Continental way.
Why don’t you give it a try?”
“It’s bad enough I’m so used to chopsticks.”

"Why, you poor thing! Let’s see if we can fix that…”
Afterwards the unsuspecting housewife spent far too many marks to see her new friend outfitted in a piece from the winter collection. The cream and black dress Juliana now wore was just as fine. Rather than gliding over her hips, however, it flared at the waist, rippling against her slender thighs whenever she walked.Unbeknownst to her, John committed those movements to memory while sipping his bitter brew that morning.Juliana berated herself for accomplishing absolutely nothing but the rapid tarnishing of her dignity. What was she thinking leading her new friends on a fool’s errand?How could she betray gentle Tagomi’s confidence after all he had risked for her?At which point had her all-consuming conscience been replaced by arrogance and recklessness?Worst of all – did she actually learn to enjoy her debasement?Perhaps it was that she craved danger lately, high on her hunger to best her seasoned oppressor. With every covert act she grew bolder. There was power in being able to convince hardened cynics to believe democracy was still achievable. Gone was the trembling little spy, tearing up as John tore at her defenses.She could have eradicated him when she had the opportunity. Just a twist of the neck and it would all be over. Her hand slid up his nape and weaved her fingers through his dark, soft mane, searching in vain for wayward curls. She tried to ignore his deceptively soft mouth as he pressed himself right over her center.
"I’m not going to give you what you want."
But he certainly expected compliance from her. Did memories of a gentler, more respectful man compel her to obey him? She knew John, too, had been rattled by the same bewildering sentiments and visuals too tangible to ignore.Why was this happening now? And to someone who only had a vague notion of the power of the great unknown.What was going to become of her tonight?
A soft rapping jolted her out of her musings.“Just a minute!”She took a deep breath and crawled to the edge of the bed, clutching the foot board while struggling to stand. She shoved her arms into the sleeves of the cardigan draped over the armchair, trying to ignore the memories of his various implements of punishment and entrapment.At the last second she remembered to retrieve the key, rushing to find somewhere on her person to hide it. She slipped it beneath the lace top of one of her stockings and headed to answer the door.She winced, but with every agonizing step, the twinges of grief seemed to evaporate. Bombarded by images of John, she concentrated on the pain. Soon, she reached the door.“Sorry to disturb you, Miss," said Meghan. "I was just wondering if you’d like something to eat.”Juliana’s stomach growled at that exact moment.
She had been so focused on ignoring John – as well as that untimely floral delivery – to notice how little she’d actually consumed before.Meghan smiled. “I take that as a yes?”Juliana shyly nodded and followed her into the dining room but paused as she reached the seat.Although at this point she truly was starving, the idea of sitting was out of the question. Meghan awkwardly returned with a bed pillow and placed it on the seat. The two exchanged not a word.Juliana gingerly lowered herself onto the chair and ground her teeth through the pain. How utterly humiliating. It was bad enough to have to converse with a woman she didn’t even know while barely holding the rent prison garb together. This stranger had seen her naked, hideous scars and all. Yet the fact that the maid knew in advance to bring out a pillow just made her want to crawl in a hole and die.A bowl of steaming stew was placed in front of her. Juliana picked up her spoon. “What did you say this was?”“Venison. Deer meat.”“Deer?”“I can fix you something else if you’d like. There’s loads of things in the fridge.”Juliana stared into her bowl. It did smell rather appetizing. “I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you.”The maid nodded and was about to turn away when Juliana halted her. “Hey, why don’t you join me?”“Oh, I don’t know, Miss Crain.”“It’s Juliana,” she smiled.She really needed a break from Miss Crain. It only reminded her of one thing and, from now on, always would.
She stirred the stew around. It was hearty and filled with vegetables and dumplings. It was a far cry from raw tuna and sticky rice, but it stirred her keen appetite.“Did you make this from scratch?”“Oh no, their chef prepared it and left it in the fridge. It’ll last for days.”Did Helen ever cook anymore? If not, what did she do with herself all day?Juliana knew better than anyone how distraction could be worth its weight in gold. Clandestine though her intentions may have been when she interviewed, working as a gaijin assistant diverted her attentions from the pain of losing her baby sibling.Now that she didn’t even have the barest scrap of freedom to get the most menial job anymore, she was at the mercy of these dismal thoughts once again. She hadn’t really processed Joe. But now Frank...where was the solace? Helen must have gone mad without anything to occupy her besides serving as First Frau.
She really had to stop empathizing with Nazis. She turned her attention back to the meal. “It has a strange flavor, but it’s growing on me.”Except that nothing in the Reich should be growing on her.“Mr. Smith shot the deer himself.”Juliana paused with a spoonful halfway to her mouth. Of course he did. Mr. Outdoorsman. She idly wondered if he’d gone hunting with anyone else since Thomas died, or if he just prowled the forest alone with a rifle slung over one shoulder.She forced herself to make small talk with Meghan to quell the burgeoning fantasy of her pressed against a massive tree trunk, trying to elude John as he crept by.“You should try some yourself. As you said, there’s plenty to go around.”Meghan looked momentarily unsure.Juliana tucked her heavy hair behind her ear. “I could actually use some company. That is, if Reichsmarschall Smith will allow it.”The maid dropped her shoulders. “Well, he did say I could have lunch, too.”“I won’t tell if you won’t."When Meghan left, Juliana lifted her glass of opaque brown liquid that smelt of apples. She took a tentative sip and was pleasantly surprised at the rich sweetness.Meghan returned with a bowl of her own and sat across from her.“Do you like the cider?”“Is that what this is?”
“You’ve never tried it before?”“We missed out on a lot of things in the JPS.”“If you don’t mind my asking, what was it like living there?”Juliana breathed deeply to will Kido’s bloody massacre out of her mind. “It was fine, until it wasn’t.”“I’m sorry to pry.”“No, it’s alright. You’re just making conversation.” Still, Juliana eyed her with skepticism. “And where are you from?”“Abington, Massachusetts.”“Do you ever go back?”“Not if I can avoid it.”
Regardless of Thomas Smith’s over-hyped martyrdom, Meghan was all too aware how such an unexpected death could wreck havoc on a family. Diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at age 37, her mother Maura was taken in by the health authorities in 1946. Meghan was only five and a half. Soon after, her father fled to the Neutral Zone to be alone with his grief and religion, leaving her under the care of Bridget’s parents.During the war, her brother Finn had succumbed to sepsis stemming from severe battle wounds he received fighting in a breakout rebel brigade.Prayer offered no solace for Meghan; it was yet another excuse to ruminate over these senseless deaths. She knew where to find her father but couldn’t bring herself to visit. Sometimes she worried about how lonely he must be, but he promised her God was keeping him plenty occupied.For the next few minutes the women ate in companionable silence, two servants to a Nazi covertly assessing the other.Meghan perked up. “Why don’t I run you another bath?”“No thanks.”“Perhaps some ice will help?”Juliana grimaced.“I'm sorry. I forgot. More ointment, then.”“Sure, I guess.”Meghan peered at her wrists. “Are you alright? I mean it.”“I’m fine,” Juliana replied, too quickly.Meghan pat her hand. “Don’t be ashamed. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”“Where on earth do you work?”She shrugged and began to clear the dishes. “Wherever the higher ups need me to be.”"Hence you being a discreet maid.” Meghan nodded. “Are they all this twisted?”“Everyone’s got their own idea of fun. But the Reichsmarschall is a special case.”“How so?”“It’s the whole anti-decadence sentiment, combined with his status.”“Anti-decadence?”“Oh, you can get in a lot of hot water for the dumbest things around here.”“You don’t need to tell me that.”“Then you can imagine what would happen to his reputation if word of his preferences ever got out.”Oh. She never thought about that. “You think someone might tell?”Now she was worried for herself. For even more severe treatment at the hands of brutal prison guards.A fate more excruciating than death.“Not if we can help it. But it’s hard to trust anyone regardless of how careful you are. Loyalty isn’t exactly a stable commodity among the high and mighty.” She mused, “I wonder if Reich Minister Goebbels knows.”Juliana gulped. If Goebbels knew, there was a very good chance everyone else in the entire Reich would. Including people like Liam. Hell, it would spread worldwide. His propaganda held nothing back.“You know what? I’d really like a drink.”Meghan brightened. “I think that can be arranged.”“Care to join me?”
A couple minutes later, Meghan was behind the Smith’s wet bar, taking a whiff of the potent whiskey housed in a Viennese crystal decanter. A hundred memories of family gatherings, from lighthearted, lazy nights to fascist-driven funerals flashed through her mind.The amber liquid splashed once, twice into a glass. Meghan sampled a bit, nodding in approval before drinking most of it down.When Meghan handed over the decanter, Juliana heaved massive sigh and took a huge swig.“Whoa! Careful now.”Juliana immediately regretted it. She needed to keep her wits about her, and here she was already beginning to blow it. She set it back on the bar. “God, I needed that.”Meghan sipped her whiskey. “I bet.”Juliana hesitantly started to warm towards her. Yet however much she appreciated Meghan's kindness and accommodating nature, it would be foolish to let down her guard entirely. She was under contract with John, after all.Out of the blue, Meghan dropped a bomb of a question. “So what happened with the hairbrush and the television set?”Juliana struggled to think of a suitable lie. “It was his wife’s hairbrush. He was angry. He broke the mirror, too. It was pretty frightening.”“My God. Did he hit you with it?”"No." Her eyes lingered briefly on the well-stocked wine rack. "Not with that."“Has he hit you anywhere besides your…?”She shook her head and leaned against a barstool.Hit her? No. But his hands were absolutely everywhere.“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to run you another bath? I promise not to touch you. I’d make the water more warm than hot. No bubbles. Then we can apply some more ointment.”Juliana looked uncomfortable once more. “I don’t…can we just not…” she stammered.Meghan set her cup down. “After what you’ve been through…well, someone needs to take care of you.”“I said I’m alright.”“Look, I saw the ruler go in that freezer. And when he came to retrieve it, he also filled a glass with ice. He wore this unnerving expression on his face. Then he smiled at me as he walked by. I swear I almost dropped the pan I was scrubbing and got grease all over the floor.”Juliana shivered at his absolute commitment to squelching her defiance; though, secretly she knew it turned him on. Where was the attraction without her chronic insubordination?Meghan studied her huddled form. “It’s pretty obvious you’re new to the world of BDSM.”She looked up, befuddled at the acronym. It sounded like one of the street drugs Liam trafficked in the Neutral Zone. “What’s that?”“Didn’t he explain it to you?”This was not a conversation Juliana wanted to have, but Meghan was determined. And perhaps she might actually help her make sense of the past few hours. “Briefly.”He never asked.He took.He tore and tasted.Nothing could stop the imagery.Meghan scoffed. “That’s not good enough. Any practitioner worth their salt is upfront about the rules. Unless, of course, he felt consent was optional.”“What did you call it…bead...?”“B-D-S-M. It stands for a few things: bondage and discipline; dominance and submission; sadism and masochism.Juliana felt momentarily feverish, but more so because of the disturbing implications.“Did you enjoy any of it?”Juliana’s face flamed. “I...I don’t really know. It’s all so new to me.”“You’ve never been spanked as a child?’“No, never.”Juliana was a shy yet conscientious child and a protective sister. She wasn’t a troublemaker by any means. That was her Trudy. Nevertheless, her parents never laid a hand on either of them.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, if you enjoyed it. Certain types of pain can be very pleasurable.”Juliana knew pain. It was recovering in a hospital for months, pumped full of pain medication, hooked up to IVs and monitors, unable to move a muscle so her bones could fuse back into place. It was seeing her sister, face in the dirt atop an open grave, left to rot as if she were part of a human compost pile.
This thing with John was something otherworldly and entirely abnormal.He was abnormal. And so must she be for participating and giving herself over to his carnal manipulations, despite his earlier mistreatment. (He still had it coming to him for that.)And yet his frustrated indecency prevented her well of grief from overflowing. Back in the here and now, however, free of the impenetrable intimacy she shared with John, a few scant tears began to emerge.Meghan rounded the bar and pushed back Juliana’s tousled locks that seemed to hang in her face of their own accord. “Oh God, he is such a son of a bitch!”Juliana swiped at her cheek. “No, that’s not…”“This isn’t your fault.”“That’s not why I’m crying.”“It isn’t?”“My boyfriend.”“Please don’t think that counts as cheating.”Meghan handed her a handkerchief and Juliana gratefully swiped away the moisture.“No, he’s my ex-boyfriend. I just keep forgetting that he’s dead. I don’t know why I kept him alive in my head.”“I’m really sorry, Juliana. Was it recent?”“Very.”“And then to have to deal with this on top of it…”“Actually, as demented as it sounds, it kept me distracted,” she admitted candidly, though the words sounded so insulting to her ears. It was way too soon to make sense of everything. Whatever this BDSM was, it seemed impossible to deconstruct. A feat onto itself.“Pain can do that, too. Just so long as you’re ok with it.”“And how do you know all this?”“Just part of the laundry list of things I need to know for my job.”
A half hour later Meghan started rifling through the extremely homogeneous music selection.“I wish they had something else besides Wagner and Beethoven." She lifted up an album. "And opera.”“No Schubert?”It was one of the three or four records that she’d been given during her brief stay in the GNR, courtesy of John and Helen Smith. She missed jazz and blues. Can’t Help Falling in Love. The bouncy twang of the guitar enlivening the dance floor with illegal rockabilly as she took a twirl with Liam.“How do you feel about Flight of the Valkyries?”Juliana scrunched up her face.“I couldn’t agree more.”Meghan concentrated on locating something, anything to play. She needed the background noise. “We have to put something on because you never know when someone might make a surprise visit just to make sure we members of der Volk are one with the melodic voice of the German spirit.”Juliana thought it was odd the way she mentioned such an obligation so casually while searching through the meager record collection at breakneck speed.“Nothing yet?”“You would think the Smiths would have a massive collection being who they are, but I guess music is more for the masses, not the fully converted. We get promotional albums in the mail all the time.”Juliana knew the drill. Once every two weeks each mailbox would have a square envelope sticking out. She was always tempted to toss them in the trash.Meghan finally selected some Beethoven and set the record to play a particularly frantic piano sonata.“Why do you do it?”“What, my job?”“Yeah. It seems so…demeaning.”Meghan leaned against the back of the couch. “For one, it pays well.”“So you’re in it for the money? That’s understandable.” Repulsive career that it was.Meghan bit her lip and ushered Juliana to stand next to her. She motioned her closer, past the normal distance practiced between close friends. Her voice dropped down a register, set to the thunderous terror booming from the turntable.“It lends me proximity and access, too.”
Juliana was whiplashed by the comment. She lowered her voice to match. “What are you trying to tell me?”Meghan just smiled.No, it couldn’t be that easy.Meghan reached for her hand. “I took this crummy position for women like us, Juliana.”“Sorry, I’m nothing like you.” She tried to break free from her grasp but Meghan wouldn’t budge.“Women like Karen Vecchione. And Trudy Walker.”Juliana shrunk back and blinked several times. Piano keys trilled as her heart soared, her mind a wondrous blur of possibility. “You know about Trudy?”“Sure do. It’s coming up on four years for me.”Juliana sank onto the couch, oblivious to the pressure on her welts. “I want so much to believe you. How can you be sure the Nazis don’t know who you really are? The Reichsmarschall kept me close for months even though he knew I was a subversive. Then one day, he came to this dormitory he and his wife set up for me… Anyway, he forced me to admit I met the Man in the High Castle. It was very…unsettling."
And arousing as hell.
Meghan shook her head. “I don’t think this is a man whose mind was dead set on conducting a full background check. Besides, I’m his own housekeeper’s cousin. An Aryan daughter of unimpeachable reputation.” She tilted her nose up a little.Juliana’s laugh morphed into silence for the next couple minutes as the composer kept beating the keys to a discordant pulp. “This entire situation is so fucked up.”“I know it is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of your unique predicament. After all, we both know what you’re capable of.”“Just what are you referring to?" She couldn’t possibly know she was trying to travel.Meghan lowered her voice. “Before I came in to collect the food that second time, I overheard you mention something about a collection of films.”She gave Juliana a pointed look. If Juliana’s mind would spin any faster she’d faint.“You must have misheard.”“Did you really come this far for nothing? You were almost blown to pieces! Why are you giving up already?”“You don’t understand. They’ve got High Castle, too. And his wife. They put a roof over my head so I could escape from the Reich. And the Pons. They’re the best kind of people. And I got them arrested.” Her eyes plead for understanding.Meghan crossed her arms. “They got you into this. And I hate to say it, but your sister, too. If it weren’t for them –”Juliana threw her hands up. “I won’t listen to you condemn them.” Her eyes rose, misty with tears fueled by protectiveness. “It was my decision to keep going. I left my life with Frank behind to carry out Trudy’s assignment. I didn’t feel right not to. They’re both gone because of me.” Her lips trembled. “He’s dead because of me. I know that now,” she said almost to herself.Why had she been denying it when she’d discovered it only a day ago? Captivity did strange things to a person. She smirked sadly when she realized Tagomi had her necklace still. But now that meant she owned nothing of Frank’s.“We are so grateful for his sacrifice. And Trudy’s. But now it’s Abendsen’s turn. What’s got you so bent out of shape about him?”“He’s become like a father to me.”She wasn’t lying. After finding out that Arnold worked directly for the Pons, to her he devolved almost to the level of John Smith. To have known his daughter was in mortal danger was unconscionable, but there it was. “I would hate to lose him like this. And just when we’d grown so close.”“Well, just think when he dies he’ll become a hero, won’t he? Gone but not forgotten.”“Can we not talk about death please? Just for a little while, I’d like to forget it even exists.”“Look, if you can survive all these hours cooped up with a psychotic Nazi, surely you’ve earned the right to treat this place as your own.” Her eyes darkened with intent.Juliana studied her warily. “I don’t catch your meaning.”“There’s always another way in.”“Just what do you expect me to do? I’m a fucking prisoner!”“The infamous Juliana Crain will find a way.”“I don’t know, I….”A voice broke through from beyond. “You’ve got this.”Though she couldn’t confirm what had befallen Frank, she felt in the pit of her stomach that he’d met a violent end. There was no doubt at whose hand.The fascists weren’t going to get away with this. Perhaps, there was another way, but right now it was eluding her.
In a daze, Juliana wandered on stocking feet and stood before the stately windows. The sky had darkened considerably over the last hour. Her upper back and hips began to throb. It was going to pour.Cars honked incessantly. She didn’t miss New York at all. There weren’t any pleasant memories for her to reminisce about. Exactly the opposite. The Adler funeral for one, where to fit in, she not only had to attend, she had to Sieg Heil a monster. She also got to witness John Smith, hometown paragon and master orator. Then holding Thomas through a terrifying seizure. Conspiring with Helen to shield his condition from the public, as well as her own knowledge of the situation from John. He would end her life in a less than a heartbeat.She honed in on the GNR Headquarters building, knocked back the remainder of her whiskey, and glared.Meghan came up next to her. “Our feisty little Grasshopper sees the streets tonight. The film that changed my life.”Juliana grabbed her hand.“I had that film with me, in my bag. But I lost it during the blast.”“My friend Richie has it now.”“Right now? He had a copy?”“No, but his ‘business associate’ did. He’s making duplicates as we speak.”
Thank you, Liam.
“Who first showed it to you?” Juliana whispered with a hopeful expression.“A friend that is sadly no longer with us.”“I’m sorry.”“Anna and I were in the League of Aryan Girls together. We always dreamed about running away together. But she was such a troublemaker. We were at summer camp a few years back. One day I woke up and her cot was empty. They’d caught her…well, that’s a story I’d rather not get into now. Needless to say, from then on, I never looked back. But I still had to keep my guard up.” She turned towards Juliana. “We do what we must if we want to live an even remotely normal life.”“You consider yours normal?”“And how about yours lately?”“Good point.”They both looked upon the monochromatic glare of a once vibrant city, each lost in scattered reverie.
Before heading into the office, Juliana decided to wander the penthouse to get a better feel of its layout.
One of the rooms was covered in whimsical blue floral-patterned paper. In the corner was the most lavish dollhouse she’d ever seen. She lightly fingered a half-finished needlepoint that lay at the foot of the tidy bedspread. There were several books arranged in alphabetical order on a small desk.Sitting atop a well-worn German-English dictionary was a brand-new hardbound textbook with a teenage girl wielding a baton on the cover. Lebenskunde für Mittelschulen. Inextricably drawn to it, Juliana picked it up and flipped through a few pages. She grabbed a random stack of pages and turned. A diagram of a food chain had some text beneath:We have established that all creatures, plants as well as animals, are in a constant battle for survival. Plants crowd into the area they need to grow. Every plant that fails to secure enough room and light must necessarily die. Every animal that does not secure sufficient territory and guard it against other predators, or lacks the necessary strength and speed or caution and cleverness will fall prey to its enemies. The army of plant eaters threatens the plant kingdom. Plant eaters are prey for carnivores. The battle for existence is hard and unforgiving, but it is the only way to maintain life. This struggle eliminates everything that is unfit for life, and selects everything that is able to survive.That seemed innocent enough, if not a little more graphic than she was used to. Japanese texts tended to be quite a bit more subtle, however. She read further:As we have already noted, people do not live as individuals like animals and plants, but as peoples, which largely have come together as ethnic states. We know something similar only with insects.Bees and ants are not only the sum of individuals; each individual shares a united drive in service of the entire group. They do not have an individual will any longer, but rather their actions have only the goal of serving the welfare of the whole, the welfare of the community. Certain ant species even have a warrior caste that fights in the front lines for the rest; the battle against the enemies of the state here, too, involves the whole group.There was a clear agenda, and they were pushing it at an early age. Poor Amy couldn’t have been more than eleven. A few pages later, a toddler stacked blocks while her mother looked on in pure adoration."Marriage, too, cannot be an end in itself, but rather it must have the larger goal of increasing and maintaining the species and the race. That only is its meaning and its task." (Mein Kampf, p. 275)"The goal of female education must be to prepare them for motherhood." (Mein Kampf, p. 460)It was disturbing yet mesmerizing, like a fiery plane crash one couldn’t look away from:These natural laws are incontrovertible; living creatures demonstrate them by their very survival. They
are unforgiving. Those who resist them will be wiped out. Biology not only tells us about animals and plants, but it also shows us the laws we must follow in our lives, and steels our will to live and fight according to these laws.
The meaning of all life is a struggle. Woe to him who sins against this law:
"The person who attempts to fight the iron logic of nature thereby fights the principles he must thank for his life as a human being. To fight against nature is to bring about one’s own destruction." (Mein Kampf, p. 314)Juliana held the book away from her in disgust but delved right back in again. She came to a new chapter with a photo of a shirtless blonde-haired boy in shorts climbing a rope while being cheered on by a crowd of boys of a similar age and dress:Each of us must keep his body strong through exercise and healthy living habits in order to develop his capacities and use them to serve his people. Those who do not do so are unsuitable for the more refined, yet just as relentless, nature of our struggle for life and will perish. Our Führer tells us:“He who wants to live must fight, and he who does not want to fight in this world of perpetual struggle does not deserve to live!” (Mein Kampf, p. 317)She slammed it shut and dropped it onto the desk. She rubbed her hands against the skirt of her dress as if they were tainted and backed into the hallway in a daze.Juliana unlocked John's study and discovered he had cleaned up the glass and made a path for her to walk through. The image of him in sweeping up his mess in his pristine uniform was highly comical. What about this situation wasn’t?
Aside from that, the films were as the living room furniture, brushed aside without a care for someone else to reposition. She worked methodically to sort through the hodgepodge of film canisters and busted office décor. What exactly was she supposed to do with a broken swastika lamp? Glue the monstrosity back together? She shoved it aside.When she unwound a strip of slinky celluloid from the leg of a side table, it reminded her of being bound to a table leg, the handcuffs scraping at her skin. She paused to massage her wrists. Would he bind her again when he returned?The purpose of her mission overruled her desire for temporary sexual satisfaction (no matter how wickedly intense he made it), so she forced her attention onto reorganizing the disaster so that she might have some extra time to go exploring. A mantra beat through her brain as she worked: Keep your eyes on the prize.One lone film lie next to the massive desk, beneath John’s crumpled up doodles. Juliana picked it up and frantically set up the projector. Hadn’t she earned a little light entertainment?
The phone rang just as the screen lit up. Juliana sunk onto the marble tiles without taking her eyes off the screen, suddenly immune to all else.After the second ring, Meghan picked up. It was the Reichsmarschall.“Good afternoon, Meghan. Has our guest been giving you any trouble?”“No, sir. She’s been no trouble at all.”“Has she eaten?”“Yes, she’s had a whole bowl of stew.”“The entire bowl?”“Yes.”He paused for longer than expected.“Sir?”He seemed to rouse himself from a stupor. “You placed an order for a television set?”“Yes, they had the exact model in stock.
I expect it should be here soon.”“Thank you. Please put Miss Crain on the line.”“Right away, sir.”A sigh. “Heil Himmler.”“Heil Himmler.”Meghan set the phone down and rushed to the office. When she rapped at the door, there was no reply, just a distant fluttering noise. But time was of the essence, so she cracked open the door and peered inside.
Juliana sat on the floor, surrounded by columns of canisters stacked behind her in the shape of a crescent moon. Two young men on the jittery film reel engrossed her. Tears shined in her bewildered eyes.One Meghan recognized instantly – the resemblance was unmistakable. The other man, however, she couldn’t place. She cleared her throat and startled Juliana.“Who
is
that with Thomas Smith?”Juliana beamed and snuffled. “Frank. Frank Frink.”Her Frank, posing proud next to Thomas, in front of a mural of some sort.John would have to wait.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Hello?”Her hesitant voice curled into his ear at just the right moment, all womanly voluptuousness having pooled deep in her throat. John pushed the earpiece closer, closed his eyes, and leaned back into the cushion of his desk chair.“Ah, there you are. Where were you just now?” His voice was more seductive than he’d anticipated but, heart lodged in her throat, Juliana barely noticed.
“Just in the restroom.” She bunched a fistful of material around her stomach and breathed away from the receiver.“How are you feeling? Are you—”Her gaze drifted to the leather couch. “I’m fine.”“Let Bridget know if you need anything.”“Bridget?”“Sorry, I mean Meghan.” He scratched his eyebrow. “How have you been getting along with her?”“She’s nice. We don’t see much of each other because I’ve mostly been in holed up in your office.”“Be sure it stays that way. I hope you locked the door before you went to the restroom.”“That door doesn’t lock anymore.”“You know which door I'm referring to. Please tell me you remembered to take the key.”She smirked. “I’m wearing it right now.”His eyebrows rose, intrigued. Yet he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by her salacious response. “I hope you’ve been having a productive afternoon thus far.”“I think it’s going well.” Her eyes were trained on Frank and Thomas, marveling over the blinding brightness of their expressions and camaraderie. Somehow it didn’t feel so strange.“Is it now?”“It is. Thanks for cleaning up the glass.”“I said I would, didn’t I?” In truth, he’d forgotten all about it. “How many films were you able to salvage?”Juliana pulled her gaze away from the large, luminous screen and scanned the sea of circular skyscrapers fanning the length of the room. Some leaned slightly because the covers were too dented to fit properly. The landscape was marred by shiny holographic ripples. “Most of them weren’t so very bad. Some are still rather tangled up, so I’ve been focusing on re-spooling them.” A task she found mundane and frustrating.“Well, keep it up, just don’t rush it. It is imperative you preserve as many as possible.”“I can do that.”“Good.” There was a lengthy pause that made Juliana think she’d been disconnected from the call. But then: “You haven’t been doing anything you shouldn’t have, have you?”Juliana bit down on her lip, tightening her grip on the receiver. She wondered if John could sense her body trembling through the phone.When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Know that if you don’t abide by my orders, I’ll simply have no further use for you.”Her eyes widened such she couldn’t properly blink. “As what exactly?” She heard the swipe of a lighter on his end.“As whatever I see fit.” Her traitorous nipples tightened. “Do I make myself clear?”“But I thought…I thought that after this morning–”He exhaled into the mouthpiece. “If you’re thinking of escaping in that special way of yours, you’ll soon be found and put to death. As will every last one of your comrades.” She stood shaking in silence. “Now was that a yes, or a no?”She swallowed. “Yes, John.”Her submissiveness was music to his ears after a day of hearing Goebbels drone on and on. Feeling a surge of insubordination, he decided to further indulge himself. “And now for a pop quiz.”“What?”“I want you to recite those lines you wrote for me. The ones I asked you to memorize.” He rocked in his seat. “I seem to recall someone earned herself a detention today.”She glanced at the door. Meghan could walk in at any moment. She could do without the embarrassment.“One…”She froze. Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted the sheet of paper, teetering on the edge of the great desk. She flipped it over with lightning speed. “I am an ungrateful slut.”“Louder,” he rasped.She repeated herself, which satisfied him. Flashes of her bent over his messy desk made his next drag twice as forceful. “Two.”Juliana held the paper close to her face. With the swastika lamp trashed, the room had become rather dim. “I will pay the proper deference from now on.”“And finally…”“I will pay dearly for my disobedience.”“You most certainly will.”Her skin prickled where he’d whipped her with his worn belt, wrists bound. Naked, except for the fishnets he tore through. Her body had memorized the exact sensations. Then she remembered her first dream that day. Her fingers slid up to her throat of their own accord. But she couldn’t give in completely. “Haven’t you inflicted enough damage?”He teethed at the tender mark inside his cheek. “Have you considered your circumstances are not what they once were? That I’d somehow forgotten what you've done, everything you represent?” He casually tapped out some ash. “Let me clarify something for you, Miss Crain. As far as the Reich is concerned, your rights are null and void.”She scoffed. “I should have known you’ve been lying to me the entire time.”“I said the Reich, not me,” he rushed to counter. “I don’t have time to discuss this right now.”“Look, I’m sorry about what your wife did to you. But I’m not some consolation prize for the way your life supposedly wronged you.”He frowned. “You’re not that.”“Then what am I?”He rubbed his aching temple. “Infuriating.”“I thought you enjoyed seeing me suffer.”“Not in the way you imagine.” But he knew she wasn’t ready to believe him. Maybe she never would.“What’s going to happen to me after tonight?”“I’m not sure.”“Yes, you are.”“Subversive activities carry serious consequences in the Reich. You should be aware that at some point I won’t be able to protect you.”How she wanted to laugh. “Protect me? Is that what you fascists call it?”John had been jarred by Goebbels’ pronouncement of what awaited a woman of her caliber, but it wasn’t his place to warn her. “You need not worry that Meghan will expose our little dalliance. She knows what’s at stake. By that I mean she’ll lose much more than her position.”“You wouldn’t.”“Oh, I very much would. After everything, I thought you knew me better than that.”“I guess I was mistaken.”“You were.” John grazed his nail across his paperwork. “In light of that,” his tone suddenly shifted, “I'd like you to do one more thing for me.”“What’s that?”“When you hear the sound of the elevator, no matter what you’re in the middle of, you are to drop to your knees and wait for me.”She just as quickly felt her face flush with heat as she cradled the phone expectantly. “Does that mean—”“Just do as you’re told.”The line went dead.
Juliana held onto the receiver and listened to the droning beep for a few seconds before dropping it back onto its cradle. She leaned on the desk to collect herself. Seconds later, Meghan burst into the room.“Well, what did that asshole have to say?”Juliana closed her eyes and debated revealing the tidbits of cliché warnings he rattled off. “Just checking up on me.”Meghan noted her breathing wasn't quite calm. “Is there anything I can get for you?”Juliana shook her head and twisted a lock of hair behind her ear. She watched the narrow-skirted maid slink around loose canisters, toeing at one and picking it up, turning it in her hands. “How many of these have you watched, before you came here that is?”“Well, I was with Hawthorne, so quite a few. They didn't all come from worlds where we won. Frank was in the second film I saw. He was executed by a Nazi soldier, right after they bombed San Francisco.” Those last words barely above a whisper.“Bombed? Jesus. You really think something that horrific could have happened to him?”Juliana nodded. “It did happen. I saw it.”Meghan set the film down on a side table. “You sound rather sure of yourself.”Juliana traced her fingers over the smooth body of the projector as she pictured the Joe of that film smugly putting his weapon away.
“It was too real to be faked. I’ve seen one of Hawthorne’s creations. There’s no comparison.”Meghan took a seat on the couch while Juliana flicked the switch to continue the film. “And how about this one?”The sorrow resurfaced but Juliana tamped it down just as quickly. “I'd like to think he’s not so troubled there.”Death could not be the only option. For either of them.Meghan’s dark eyes lit up. “Say, it just might work.”“What do you mean?”“This is exactly the sort of ammunition we could use.”“Oh, no. We don’t even know what…I mean, no one outside the Resistance and the JPS really knows who Frank is.”“Well, it won't remain that way for long."Did John keep tabs on Frank, too? She could only imagine how it would scar his psyche watching an anti-fascist terrorist – newly converted to Judaism at that – acting chummy, patting his son on the back as Thomas held up some unreadable document.
"I couldn't do that to him."“You think Frank would want you to hide something like this from the people here? You know the truth needs to be told, or else why bother risking your life in the first place?"“And you think you’re safe? You’ll be killed on the spot if they find you with this.”“They won’t find out. The Reichsmarschall definitely won’t.”“Why is that?”“Because he’ll be too busy being distracted by you.”Juliana scoffed. “You’re out of your mind if you think I want to continue to put up with this, this…weird man.”
For lack of a better term.
“I don’t think you quite understand what it means to be discreet.”“Of course I do. I worked for the Pons, infiltrated Helen Smith’s circle. You don’t need to spell it out.”“Come with me.” Meghan led her back to the wet bar where she replaced the somber Beethoven with a generic opera. “Not everyone can blend in so easily. Let’s just say some of us are willing to sacrifice a bit more than their conscience.”“Don’t tell me that you...”Meghan fingered an empty glass. “I’m not ashamed. I’ve saved lives. Luckily, it usually doesn’t last too long. But it’s just enough time to get what I need from them. If they’re intoxicated enough, they won’t even remember they cheated on their wives.”Juliana stared open-mouthed. “So that’s how you know everything.”“Mmm hmm.” She leaned forwards. “That’s where you come in.”“You have got to be kidding me. I’m not some prostitute.”Meghan flinched at the insult. “I didn’t say you were. But look around—you’ve stumbled upon a goldmine.”“Dragged in was more like it.”“So use it. And use him like he used you.”“He didn’t use me.”“Didn’t he?”Juliana looked away. Discretion didn’t necessarily mean Meghan should be privy to everything. Even if she wanted to divulge what transpired between her and John, she wouldn’t know where to begin.“Please don’t romanticize what that bastard did. You’re better than that.”“And what are you going to do, shove the film in your purse and have Richie make copies?”“No, my purse is too small, and it’s far too obvious. If they search through a minder’s purse, don’t think they wouldn’t scour mine. I sewed a special double-layered lining inside my coat.”“How clever of you.”“What can I say? I’m an expert at hiding in plain sight.”Juliana paced and picked at her bandage.“So, what’s the verdict?”Juliana cocked her head and recalled John’s words from a few minutes earlier: “Subversive activities carry serious consequences…I won’t be able to protect you.”She was doomed no matter which way she looked at it. Her eyes honed in on the busted television, the dreary sky, recalling the crash; John’s cold rage staring into her soul. How he'd spun her onto her back on the carpet with a flick of the wrist. Every brutal act, before it became pleasurable.Juliana turned away from the bar and motioned Meghan to follow. She shut off the projector and removed the film of Frank and Thomas, placing it back into its snug canister. Before replacing the cover, she noticed the name and smiled to herself. “Take good care of it.”“Will do,” Meghan said with relief. She rushed off to stash the film inside her coat.Juliana wandered back to the bar and took another swig of whiskey, straight from the bottle, before pouring more into a glass.Meghan returned ten minutes later.“All good?”Meghan nodded as she accepted the drink. “I had to sew it in so it doesn’t fall out.”Juliana pointed at a stack she placed on the desk. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done so just yet.”“You think there might be more buried treasure?”“Got any extra room?”

Meghan emptied the glass. “Maybe for one more.”“Then it’ll have to be a good one.” Juliana gave her a conspiratorial grin and started to walk away. “Let’s get going. He’ll be back before you know it.”There were only one hundred ninety-seven left to go, give or take.
One of the films showed a large group of teenagers dancing close together, a joyful orgy of twisting and bending and bopping their heads. The boys’ hair was long and shaggy. The girls wore headbands to frame bouffant hairstyles or let their locks swing loose around their shoulders. Some even had theirs cropped rather short. Hemlines rose up the thigh whenever their bodies sunk low to the ground. There were balloons everywhere. Everyone seemed to be in their own little world.Meghan let out a whistle. “Look at all those wily degenerates!”“I know. They look so free.” Juliana closed her eyes as she surrendered herself to an invisible beat.Meghan nodded. “Somehow I doubt they’re squirming around like that because of Wagner or Beethoven.”Juliana smiled. “Ever been to the Neutral Zone?”“Once, to visit some family.”“You have family out there?”“Most people know at least one or two people who escaped.”“I wonder if I might have met them.”“Perhaps. Then again, it’s a huge place. My bet is on not likely.”“That’s true.” Juliana was taken back to that lazy evening Trudy forced her out of hiding. “Remember the music?”“How could I forget? At least I have Resistance Radio to tide me over. What about you?”“I used to hang out at the Grand Palace sometimes with my…friends.” She almost said Trudy. “But no one danced like that.”Juliana was mesmerized by the modern movements. Before they knew it, the women were mimicking the dancers, but it was clear one was more skilled than the other.Meghan smiled. “Look at you, you’re a natural. Have you always been such a good dancer?”Juliana blushed. “I never really thought about it. I mean, I rarely get the chance. I don’t often get to hear music I truly enjoy.” She brushed a stray sticky hair from her forehead.Meghan glanced around the office with obvious distaste. “Ugh, the Reich is so pitiful. What they call dancing hasn’t evolved since the 1800s.”Juliana fanned herself. “I’m so glad they never forced me to waltz.”“I can’t say the same for myself.”“Who did you waltz with?”“Whoever paid for me to accompany them. We had to learn in school, first with the girls, then during Hitler Youth socials after we turned sixteen.” Meghan patted down her bun. “I’d imagine it’s something expected of the Reichsmarschall, too.”Juliana tried to picture a waltzing John. I would suit him. He was too precise for it not to. He would sweep any woman off their feet, she noted to her chagrin. "Makes sense."“All of us had to embrace Germanic culture as superior to all else. Treating it now as if nothing else ever existed.” Her eyes narrowed. “At least my parents were truthful with me.”Juliana brushed down her skirt and stopped the projector. Anne and Arnold should be in the Neutral Zone somewhere. She often pushed thoughts of a less savory fate to the back of her mind because dwelling on it too often set off a chain reaction of headaches, anxiety, and crying spells.When the film played out, Juliana motioned for Meghan to hand her another. The more they spoke, the less time they would have to do exactly what John explicitly ordered her not to do.
________________________________________________________
John stubbed out his cigarette and rested his chin atop tented fingers, hoping to make sense of absolutely anything at all. Naturally, he blamed external forces.America in the 1920s was depicted by the Nazis as a vile creature: every other man was drowning in booze, reveling in sin, burning away their family money on cheap entertainment, fattening up the bank accounts of Jewish film moguls. In Hitler’s beady blue eyes, America needed to suffer as they had after World War I. And after the crash, suffer they did.John had been well on his way to a privileged existence mere mortals could only daydream about. Charles Preston Smith and his society wife, the former Amy Eliza Bauer, were very much a fixture on the Manhattan social circuit. His mother was one of those women who’d managed to escape a bland, small-town existence. She worked hard to infuse her soft Midwestern twang with severe affectation to attract a rich man so that she’d never have to return to what she deemed a truly miserable home.The couple was lucky enough to escape the clutches of the frigid Atlantic and the Titanic’s watery grave when Amy Eliza complained she was too ill to travel. As it turned out, she was pregnant with the couple’s first son, Edmund. In October 1914, John was born. A stillborn daughter and two harrowing miscarriages later, their family was complete. A banker who was increasingly rarely home, Charles insisted upon moving their family to a massive townhouse in the Upper East Side.John strove for excellence, hoping for hints of praise or encouragement from his father but he was continually denied. Then the crash swung its mighty axe across America—falling the week of his fifteenth birthday. He had to return home from West Point because the bank Charles worked for folded not long after. Not accustomed to failing by any means, he shot himself with his hunting rifle, which John kept locked in his own gun cabinet. It served as yet another deterrent to taking the coward’s way out. This secret he kept locked away from his own son. Not that he took after his grandfather in any way.It was indeed a rude awakening for the family, having to go from daily baths and luxury accommodations to being forced to ration water from a communal pump. It got so bad he started washing up in the local creek. Rare is the life that projects forth into time straight as an arrow. Ill-suited for the farming life, his mother spent her later years either mending ratty overalls or watching over her brother’s six children. It was pure drudgery to a woman who preferred cocktails and socializing to her own family. Then after Edmund died, something seemed to break in her. She was never the same.Now the sole heir and “man of the family,” John took to the fields of his Uncle Rick’s fledgling farm with fresh determination. He vowed never to succumb to the pleasures of the flesh and financial wastefulness that left his hometown, the capitalist Mecca of the U.S., in shambles. Because he pushed his cousins to toil even harder, his family never starved. In fact, John’s arrival was the boost they needed to make it through tough harvest seasons. The bounty was continually at the mercy of Iowa’s haphazard, oftentimes terrifying climate patterns, heavy black clouds teasing and taunting with its promise of rain, or dumping snow into gargantuan snowdrifts. Grasshoppers devoured crops, forcing many farms to foreclose. John made sure his family’s wasn’t one of them.The long days blended into a blur: planting seeds; harvesting corn; repairing tractors; endless tilling; being jolted awake by an old, cranky rooster. Sweat trickled down his back as the sun darkened the skin of shoulders broadened by backbreaking labor; the neighborhood women couldn’t help but notice.Then at twenty a switch turned on: the notion that he could feed his waning ego by mastering a woman. Getting her to bend to his will. He never spoke of it to any of his friends and urged his partners to keep their activities a secret in order to uphold the clean-cut conservative image he had developed.Two years into the war he met Helen. Just as abruptly, the all-consuming need to dominate sexually dissolved. She was wholesome and nurturing where his own mother was vain and materialistic. A virgin at the time of their marriage when most women he’d dated would lift their skirts without a second thought, Helen would steer him away from a life of debauchery. Not only that, the rigid structure of National Socialism toughened his skin, rendering him extremely inflexible. It allowed him to hyper-focus on profitable, predictable achievements.
He aspired to perfection. There was no other option, no one to idolize save Hitler himself; he became John's reluctant religious idol.But it wasn’t enough.A lust left unfulfilled festered over the last year, despite his simultaneous need for his wife’s steady companionship. He wanted Helen to hold him but could no longer stomach the intimacy that once made their marriage so solid. A hand holding here, a turned down invitation to make love there. The dissolution was unspoken and gradual.When he initiated sex the night before she made breakfast for the family, Helen was left positively limp. He remembered her gazing at him before drifting off to sleep with a dreamy smile. His stamina and expert caresses certainly made up for his chronic inattention; in fact, he was ninety-nine percent certain he’d screwed Dr. Ryan out of her system for good.John allowed it to feel like what it was—betrayal. One measly peck on the cheek that was supposedly so innocent it caused a teacup to smash against the bedroom floor. It was humbling to realize his perpetual good looks could not save their marriage from the wrecking ball of rampant ambition. After discovering the truth about Erich’s disappearance, he had no choice but to manipulate his own wife into compliance, something he swore he’d never do. He truly didn’t deserve those perfectly cooked scrambled eggs.In this fixed chess match he was the black knight, destined to follow a crooked path but imbued with the ability to leap over friend and foe alike. But while he felt Helen was ultimately right to bolt after refusing the blood test, she wasn’t a born strategist. She was banking on luck continuing to be on her side. They hardly even took anything with them. How much money did she have? While she could have money wired to her at any point, doing so would reveal her location. Which route did she take? Did she take a handgun for protection? Questions he’d forced himself not to ponder since pulling Juliana into this mess pelted him from all directions. He needed to reclaim his strength before his thoughts broke him down again.He pushed back from the desk and headed for the elevator. There was one more bullet point on the agenda for today.
Minutes later, John was striding through the frigid basement corridor that echoed yesterday with a brief gasping buzz, targeted currents creating little cracks in the sickly pure conscience of a prisoner.During the interrogation Juliana refused to give up the other names and whereabouts of her Lackawanna co-conspirators. He was ready to listen. Instead, she stared him down in that haughty manner of hers, pulling the metal restraints up and towards her, taut. He was momentarily mesmerized watching the cuffs dig into her tiny wrists as she taunted him with her silence.She also undermined his efforts to keep Joe in line, a young man poised to become a respectable Nazi. It was to be his way of giving back; paying it forward for all the ways the Reich aided his own family. This adoptive son he was forced to relinquish to a madman who ultimately underestimated the sheer potency of empathy. And she undid it all with a slice to the neck, like an angel of retribution who used a man’s personal vulnerabilities against himself. John knew this was so because she was doing the same to him now.He was accustomed to the tried and true mechanisms of military men, traitors, and dictators. But Juliana was a Venus flytrap hidden within the petals of a delicate bloom. And he was stupid enough to become the fly, granting her unfettered access to his home office and all his secrets, should she care to hunt for them.Despite all that she’d done to rattle his psyche, he still wanted that flesh and blood siren to lure him away from his miserable existence and into blessed oblivion with a simple stroke of slender fingers. It was a moment that threw him off guard—no one had ever comforted him like that, not even Helen, kindhearted as she was. Never had he felt so exposed and yet so willing to pour out his emotions. And to a virtual stranger at that.
It wasn’t meant to be a seduction, and, despite Goebbels’ insistence, there was certainly no clandestine courtship in the works. The pragmatist in him was obliged to release his captee. Just how much further he could realistically take it with her he couldn’t say, but it would have to end sometime soon. It was only ever meant to be a temporary, highly distracting solution to a series of monumental problems.A peculiar odor that never before graced this particular floor of the building wafted out. After a guard unlocked the second to last door on the right, he noted a tray heaped with food: thick links of sausage, sauerkraut, potato salad, even a sizable apple strudel for dessert. How very kind of his subordinates. If it weren’t such a prideful meal, perhaps the prisoner would have deigned to lift his fork. A man like that, too…it would take a lot to keep him from sustenance.Hawthorne Abendsen sat cross-legged on a regulation cot, arms folded tightly against his chest as if to ward off a chill. He stared straight ahead as if John had never entered the room.“Going on hunger strike won’t do you any favors, you know,” John said, pointing to the plate.Hawthorne huffed. “Excuse me if I don’t believe it was prepared out of the kindness of your blackened hearts.”“I’ll have you know I requested it personally.”“I’m not hungry. Too worried about my wife.”“Ah yes, her. We’re capable of making Caroline’s recovery very unpleasant, or nonexistent. Or you can eat. Those are your only options.”Hawthorne leaned his back against the concrete wall and twiddled his thumbs over his paunchy midsection. It growled in untimely protest.“Has the Depression taught you nothing about wastefulness?”“I’m sure some other prisoner would appreciate it.”“It would sooner be given to the dogs, I assure you.”“Those Dobermans sure do earn their keep.”John looked down and wordlessly pushed the tray towards Hawthorne.“Well, I’d rather you not kill my wife.” He started to pick at the potato salad.John clasped his hands before him as Hawthorne gave into his hunger. “It’s best you continue to obey, Mr. Abendsen. You see, it is entirely within my capacity to kill you, or, if you’re willing to cooperate as Miss Crain has thus far, spare you. But I can’t do both.”Hawthorne’s face fell. “You have Juliana?”John absentmindedly rubbed at his wrist. “We most certainly do.” He nodded. “I questioned her myself, rather thoroughly.”He let the cool breeze from the air vents soothe his suddenly warm skin as he watched the man visibly stiffen, fork in hand. “I must say she’s been greatly concerned about the welfare of you and your deservedly injured missus. She wasn’t very cooperative at first. In fact, I was ready to have her hauled off and tortured at Rikers. One would think that being from the Pacific States she’d be aware of the ramifications of insolence.”Hawthorne gave him a queer look. “What have you done to her? What have you done to my chickie?”When the endearment slipped out, John had to chuckle. “Cute. I was always amused by her pathetic bird-with-broken-wing act.”“You better not have broken anything else.”John said nothing.“Let me see her, John. I need to know she’s ok.”“Let me know when you become Führer, Abe,” he replied dispassionately.“I’ll take a hard pass.”“Well then, you’ll have to settle for scraps. And should anything you say prove false, well then you’ll have two loved ones to fret over, won’t you?” he added with feigned cheerfulness. “Anyhow, whatever’s been done to Miss Crain, she earned all on her own merit. No thanks to you.”Hawthorne hung his head. “You’re right. This is my fault. I was getting too long in the tooth for this vagabond life. I forced the torch onto her though she begged me not to.”“Through you she’s become a slave to magical thinking.”“Oh, that’s Himmler’s bag.”John stepped closer. “Even so, you fully encouraged her to go on that harebrained mission to find the portal.”“You’re damn right I did. The rest she figured out on her own. She’s resourceful like that.”
John rubbed his bruised shoulder. “As I’ve discovered.”“It was always meant to be her, you know.”“Why is that?”“She’d been hovering before my eyes in black and white for years. I mean, how could I know that? I kept my eye on the prize, not some kid in the crowd. Little did I know she was the prize.”“So very virtuous, yet dangerous enough to gun down my men and make her way to the Poconos intent upon blowing up the portal.” John stopped. “You met her when she was younger?”“Not in person, no. She was in my homemade film. Sweet little girl with braids, waving Old Glory around at a parade. I would imagine it’s somewhere among the evidence you requisitioned from my home.”Metzger had in fact delivered to him a new film canister upon his return from his god-awful afternoon out with Goebbels touring the destruction uptown but was too distracted to pay it any mind.“No I haven’t yet had the pleasure.” He was in no mood to discuss children and allegiances. But Juliana was a different story. The woman was endlessly fascinating. “Does Miss Crain know she’s famous?”“It was she who pointed herself out to me. I made it back in ’48. All those years without knowing who I’d kept spooled up in celluloid, collecting dust on a shelf...” He shook his head in bewildered remembrance.“That’s a very touching portrait you’ve painted, Abe. Your confidence in her is admirable. Unfortunately, every other word out of that woman’s mouth is a goddamn lie. She’s not to be trusted.”“And yet you’ve kept her alive all this time. Why?”She had become so very useless to him, hadn’t she? A definite liability.“Tell me you haven’t hurt her.”John clenched his jaw and plastered nonchalance on his face. “She’s not clinging to life if that’s what you’re implying.”Hawthorne let out a ragged breath. John dragged a lone metal chair in front of the rough-hewn cot and sat with his arms resting atop his thighs. Shadows amplified the depth of the violet crescents that had taken up residence beneath his tortured eyes. He leaned into the prisoner’s space. Hawthorne checked the urge to inquire about the sorry state of his face.“She’s been so very concerned about your needs,” he said, tenting his long fingers, “but right now it’s my needs that require sating.” John stared into him hard.Hawthorne defiantly returned the stare, though with considerably more irony than potency. “Is that not the entire reason you slithered up the food chain, John?”Although the verdant glow in John’s eyes had dulled and drained from fatigue, they nonetheless speared through Hawthorne. “I just need you to confirm a few things for me. Then I’ll leave you be for a bit.”“Oh, goody! Do you promise?”“You won’t regret it.”“I already do.”John ignored him. “Two young women were spotted exiting your car outside Denver. Miss Crain and an unidentified woman were then seen boarding a bus bound for San Francisco. Who was the second woman?”“You mean you haven’t beaten it out of Juliana?”John’s nostrils flared. He didn’t need the reminder. “I wanted to hear it from you.”Hawthorne snorted. “That would be her sister.”“Trudy Walker.”“The one and only.”“Back from the dead? Try again.” What did he really know about travelers besides what Mengele showed him—the twenty-five percent success rate; the gruesome noxious odor of chemicals, metal, fire. Death. The absurdity of it all. He glanced at the ceiling.
Just cave in on me already.
“Well, if someone saw her with Juliana, she certainly wasn’t an apparition.”John casually crossed his arms. “So you’re saying she rose from the dead?”“In a manner of speaking.”“Dead is dead. It’s the only way out.”“Oh ye of little faith.”John closed his eyes. “And how did the once deceased Miss Walker come to live with you?”“Well, to be with Juliana, of course.”“I didn’t ask why. I asked how.”A nearby door slammed shut. Keys jangled and booted footfalls faded into the dense silence of the steel grey purgatory.“The first time we met, I urged her to identify a random man in a film—we had no idea who he was, a Nazi lying dead in a random alleyway. That film just so happened to be the only one in which you fuckers win and San Francisco isn’t pulverized by an A-bomb.”John’s eyes darted around in tired confusion. He stilled when it finally dawned on him who Hawthorne was referring to. “George Dixon.”“She couldn’t place him right away. Then again, she wasn’t in the greatest state when they brought her to me. Naturally, it would be difficult to recall very much. I put a lot of pressure on her. We were running out of time, which meant –”“Get to the point.”“She knew he had to die, but she didn’t know how or when. As it turned out, he was in the Resistance, and they weren’t too keen on her after she got one of their own killed.”“So she shot him in self-defense.” And yet she insisted it wasn’t personal. More lies.Hawthorne shook his head. “Well here is where that goodness you so despise in her comes into play.”“I’m listening.”“She tried to break away, but they were making it mighty difficult, as you can imagine. They kept making promises. Do this, and you can leave, that sort of thing. For her to allow a Nazi to have a prized film was irredeemable. And it is. But Juliana, rather blindly, sees past a label. Sees what’s possible. And what she saw in your son –”John’s head shot up. “What’s that about my son now?”“Well as you might imagine, they had a hit out on you. But Dixon, being who he was, found a way to bring you down without the Resistance having to lift a finger.” Hawthorne grinned. “He was in possession of some mighty dangerous cargo.”John was ready to tear out his hair. “Another film?”Hawthorne slowly shook his head. “John Smith, he carried your kryptonite in his pocket, proof your son had a genetic disorder. Something you quite recklessly overlooked in your mission to high-tail yourself to a promotion.”“I’m many things, Mr. Abendsen, but reckless is not one of them.”“It was reckless of you not to know that Mr. Dixon was not merely a member of the Resistance, he was also the dorm’s electrician.”John’s heart raced at the realization. Reckless was far too insignificant a word. Logic was his only defense. And logic required shutting off his emotions and having an innocent guard executed to cover his cowardly tracks.He placed his head in his hands, thoughts crashing against each other, unable to register this avalanche of new information. “Juliana killed her sister’s father just to protect Thomas? Knowing the kind life he would lead? His views…” John’s throat grew tight beneath his silver cross as he fought back the wetness that threatened to reveal itself in his softening eyes.Hawthorne watched the Reicshmarschall crumbling, every little tell he’d been forced to hide peeking out a little here, a little there. He spoke more kindly to him. “Thomas was an innocent, though misguided boy. She knew in her heart he was a good child, didn’t want to believe he was resigned to his fate. His ideology didn’t matter one iota. Wasn’t his fault he was fed lie after lie all his life.” He glanced at John, who looked murderous.“She burned the evidence, of course—a lot of good that did. But it did buy you some time to rush over to Berlin and play the heroic Nazi. Hence, San Francisco stayed on the map. For that I really must tip my hat.”John could hardly form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. “What…what happened next?”“Then I found her, shattered, disheveled, and alone. Practically inconsolable. Such is the destiny of truly compassionate people. I couldn’t stand by to watch her suffer. And neither could Trudy. Caroline said they were a pair of magnets, those two. Always clinging to each other as children, refusing to be separated for too long. Those few months she spent with her sister were really what saved her from spiraling into madness.”John creaked forwards on thighs ready to snap from tension, forgoing his original method of attack for the time being.Hawthorne hummed an old army tune as he chewed a bite of sauerkraut. “Just out of curiosity, how’s that portal situation going?”John’s hazy vision honed in on a tiny crack in the wall. “There was a small glitch. It’s being tended to.” He struggled to focus as the crack seemed to blur.“Glitch? Oh John…”“I see. You want me to believe she spontaneously willed herself to go through while the others weren’t able to.”“Some people can override the system if certain special conditions are met.”“What sort of special conditions?”“Did Juliana happen to mention anything about visions?”John ran his hand through his hair, unable to formulate a response.“Well?” Hawthorne regarded him with calm amusement.
“There is no credibility to any of that without proof.”“What about having some good old-fashioned faith? Have you ever tried that?”“There’s no—”“—religion in the Reich,” Hawthorne finished. “Yes, we all know that. It must be so difficult to go through life expecting people to prove they’re not insane for holding beliefs inconsistent with your own. Or lack thereof.”“I bet you also expect me to believe all the films are real, too. Sorry, but I don’t. It’s all propaganda. Just like your pathetic homemade film. I’m a rational man, and my very rational mind is rarely wrong.”Hawthorne tossed his fork down. It clattered against the aluminum tray. “The truth is just eating you alive, isn’t it?”Flashes of the hydrogen bombing blasted through John’s mind, but his propensity for cynicism brushed them away like dusty cobwebs. But the fact that Tagomi received the film from his own deceased son niggled at him. The revelation of the elder man’s death, perhaps evidenced in celluloid to back up Juliana’s impassioned claims. The strange synchronicities that resurfaced the longer he was in her presence. He wanted it to be a hoax. If only it were.“You never did answer my original question. How did she do it?”“Longing is a powerful thing. When someone yearns for another that is no longer of their own world—”“They can meet them in another.”Hawthorne nodded, though he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. “So long as—”“So long as they don’t already exist in that world,” John uttered, without a hint of sarcasm.
No noise save the soulless hiss from the vents and an occasional agonized wail of pain from beyond—as familiar to John as his children’s laughter—threatened to sever the opaque serenity of the moment. John’s pain, however, was more apparent.“I see you’ve already been enlightened.”John was too absorbed in his singular train of thought to notice Hawthorne had even replied. “You asked earlier if I was given any films to review, and I was.” He inhaled slowly. “I found that I’m in one of them. My son is in two.”Hawthorne nodded thoughtfully. “Two, perhaps more.”John turned towards him sharply. He felt a twinge he could only reckon was great anticipation, tainted by fear and tempered with awe. “There are more? With my family?”Hawthorne’s small blue eyes seemed to twinkle. “There’s infinite universes out there.”John tried to still his quivering hands. “I’d give anything to see Thomas again.”Though Hawthorne was struck by John’s candor, he wasn’t quite moved. He idly scratched at his itchy sleeve. “Again is a strong word. Might be a bit difficult for you.”“Why for me?” John began to pick at his wedding band.“Because the boy in those films is not yours. He never was. He doesn’t even know you exist. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know other worlds exist!”John twisted the band around until it pinched his pale skin. “You know where this Thomas is? He’s alive and well?”“I’m not a traveler, I’m a filmmaker. Sorry, make that former filmmaker. You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal.”“You don’t understand. I need to see him.” He was practically imploring High Castle for a miracle.“I’m not God, John! I’m a man, just like you.”“No. No, you’re nothing like me. You’ve never had to grieve for a child. You can’t possibly know…” He looked down at his lap, unable to finish lest he completely break down in front of the feeble-minded wizard.“Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying. After a while, Caroline and I realized it just wasn’t in the cards. This suited us just fine—the Neutral Zone isn’t exactly ideal for raising kids, you know? So she opened up a record store and I focused on the films until…well, until they became my babies.”“That’s cold consolation.”“Well you can’t have everything,” Hawthorne said with a resigned shrug.“I’m not just anyone.”“Listen, John. Unless there’s a world in which you’re not alive and Thomas is, that’s even if he’s willing to acknowledge your very existence, it’s never going to happen.”“I can make it happen.” His voice carried a strange and unhinged energy.“You’re not God, either.”But John didn’t need God. Religion was for the resigned. The close-minded. He was not that. Appearances could deceive a great many—especially Helen, who could never learn about the depths of his depravity, his secret urges. This barely cracked world that was possibly but a fragment of infinite fates. Die Nebenwelt, on the other hand… He would have to encourage Mengele to speed things along.“Look, I know what you’re thinking. Why set yourself up for further heartbreak?”“Trudy found her way to Juliana. That means Thomas can come back to me.”“Well, it wasn’t a permanent reunion, you understand.”“If Juliana’s sister can return to her, I can damn well see my son again!”“What, in the flesh? Doesn’t work that way.”John suddenly sprung from his seat with palpable urgency. The chair legs screeched against the tile. “It will work that way for me!”“It wasn’t her Trudy, anymore than the boy in those films is your son. Don’t you get it? They’re completely different people!”John started to laugh. Hawthorne watched as his broad-shouldered form paced for a few menacing moments until his footsteps crawled to a death knell.“Something funny, John?”“Oh, just something interesting I found the other day at work.”He paused, suddenly removing something thin and rectangular from his inner jacket pocket. He flipped it over and Hawthorne instantly felt his stomach overturn.It was the photograph of him and Caroline he’d taken from the old dust-laden book in the basement of the farmhouse. “Nice little home you had there. Pretty garden in front. I almost envy you two lovebirds.”“If only you weren’t so ambitious, so status-seeking, so willing to stain your hands with the blood of millions. Yeah, you could have been as happy as we were. Or close to it. But I don’t think you’re the type to settle for anything less than number one. No, sir. Only the best for John Smith.”John scowled deeply. “Who has the rest of the films?”“They’re gone. By the way, how’s Mrs. Smith liking the new digs? She’s a household name, you know. I saw her on the cover of an old…now what is the name of that ladies magazine? I can’t recall for the life of me…” He tapped his forehead for emphasis.“Gone, you say? That’s too bad.” To the portly man’s horror, John began to tear at the photo in line with Caroline’s head. Hawthorne’s eyes just about bulged out of his skull. “I must ask you again, Mr. Abendsen: Who did you give the films to?”Hawthorne bit his nails but soon grabbed for the photo in shaky desperation. “The trade minister!”John’s pulled the photo away, heart dropping at a meteoric rate. He forced a tight smile and returned the chair to the corner, gripping the back tightly before replacing his trepidation with triumphant menace.“That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” he inquired with false cheer. “It seems we’ll work together just fine. Like back in the old days, on the same side.”John dropped the photo onto Hawthorne’s lap; he picked it up and clutched it to his chest is if it were Caroline herself. “Were you ever really on the right side, John?”“I am now.”“You never were known for your sense of humor. You know what they used to call you during the war?”“An ideal role model for new recruits?”“Hardly. The Tin Man.”Cold. Devoid of feeling. An echo of a knock against an empty chest cavity.“Fuck you, Abe.” John turned and rigidly left the room, but not before first fixing Hawthorne with a withering glare.
SLAM!
“Say hello to Toto for me!”
________________________________________________________
As it so happened, the goldmine was well worth the deadly dig. It had been an illuminating experience for both women. Juliana was busy re-spooling one of the reels when she noticed a thin strip of yellow running alongside its sprocket holes. “Hey, I think this one has sound.” She handed it to Meghan, who’d recently taken over projector duties.“Here’s hoping.”The title jumped out over a vertigo-inducing animated backdrop: “Schichlegruber Doing the Lambeth Walk” and, beneath that, “Assisted by the Gestapo ‘Hep-Cats’.”Meghan’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Hep-Cats?”“Gestapo Hep-Cats,” Juliana corrected.Within moments they were laughing so hard they could hardly stay upright. Meghan was grabbing her sides. “Oh God, I’m dying!”The film featured footage of Hitler saluting, making speeches, and gesticulating wildly, juxtaposed with groups of soldiers goose-stepping. Their marching was edited so that they appeared to be moving backwards, retracing their steps and going backwards once more. The entire film was like that. The cherry on top was its jovial soundtrack, occasionally interrupted by an odd sound effect like a thud or a honk. It made the Nazis look utterly ridiculous. Which, in essence, they were.Meghan nudged Juliana. “Say, when is Goebbels’ birthday?”“Do I look like I care?”“You will after it gives him a coronary.”Juliana giggled. “Well, be sure to wrap it up with a nice red bow.”They played it three more times. It never got old. Finally, she noted the time on the wall clock. “OK, you’ve got to get this away from me.”“Do we have a winner then?”Juliana beamed at Meghan. “Oh, most definitely.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

San Francisco, Japanese Pacific States. 1:05 pm

Nobusuke Tagomi sat facing the bridge in his office pondering Juliana’s potential whereabouts. In his hands was her note. It carried an energy that began to haunt him.Knowing how impetuous she’d been as of late, there were bound to be obstacles for this kind and mysterious woman who handed him a necklace he later discovered to be hers. And she actually let him keep it.
Despite the inequality of their social status, they were able to explore an unusual bond deeper than friendship.
He recognized some of her struggles were similar to his own. The inescapable craving to be with the departed. Having to resort to deception in order to keep this world from further wars and destruction. But also an affinity the quiet joys of life: Tea ceremonies; beautiful sunsets; watering flowers.
Aikido taught her there was another way out besides acceptance of an unfortunate situation. It took considerable strength to overcome misfortunes and continue where one left off. To do so could involve escalating violence.The smear of blood on the report was evidence of that.
Joe Blake. How else would she be able to gather these documents? One had to be close. Insanely close.
She must stay the course because the world needed her.To do so, she must first stay alive.When the dual sliding doors began to open, he hastily shoved her note inside his breast pocket.“Trade Minister, you have a call from Mrs. Watanabe.”“Arigato, Kotomichi.” Tagomi took a deep shuddering breath before taking the call but instantly brightened at the thought of hearing her gentle voice again.
“Kon'nichiwa, genkidesuka!” Tagomi smiled into the phone.
Tamiko giggled. “Kon’nichiwa! I am well. Thank you for the lovely hydrangeas. Are they from your garden?”“Yes. From a transplanted bush that is nearly twenty years old.”“To have such a gift! I can barely get my houseplants to stay with me for a year if I’m lucky.”There was a pleasant, almost giddy pause which wasn’t awkward in the slightest. Finally, Tamiko responded. “I also called to say that yes, I will accept your invitation to dinner tonight.”Tagomi closed his eyes in relief. “I am honored. Especially after the…unpleasant business. I did not think you would agree. I appreciate your giving me another chance.”“Nonsense! You are a brave and honorable man, Tagomi-san. I’ve never felt afraid around you.”He marveled at this woman’s faith in him. “To be safe, I am having a driver pick you up. I will be in the car as well.”“How kind of you.”“It is no trouble.”Tamiko sighed. “Well, I must get going. I wish to get back to my new painting before sundown.”“Do you usually paint outdoors?”“Mostly. I feel much freer doing so.”It was on the tip of his tongue to warn her of the risk of being seen alone in broad daylight. It had not even been a week since the Lebensborn attack. Despite it being in self-defense, the man’s death had rendered Tagomi heartsore. In all his sixty-five years on the planet, it had been the first and only time he’d struck a fatal blow. No matter the threat, it just wasn’t part of his nature to harm another human being.“Very well, I shall pick you up at eight.”“I look forward to it, Tagomi-san. Sayōnara imanotokoro.”“Sayōnara.”After placing the phone back in its cradle, he pulled out Juliana’s note once more.We will see each other again. He wished this could be true.Tagomi locked the note in the top drawer of his desk. After a few moments of contemplation, he went to sit down at the table in the corner of his office designated for consulting the oracle.It was time-consuming, this ancient process of meticulous division. Using coins was faster and much less complicated, however he found the more active form of meditation promoted receptiveness and induced a state of tranquility.He began by taking fifty dried yarrow sticks in one hand, removing one with his right and setting it aside. Next, he separated the remaining forty-nine into two piles. Holding one pile in his left hand, Tagomi removed one stick from the right, positioning it between the pinky and ring fingers of his left hand. He picked up the other pile with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, then he counted out the sticks by fours until four or fewer remained. They were placed in between his ring and middle finger. Always, always Juliana’s fate remained at the forefront of his mind. Tagomi’s wrinkled hands reverberated with fresh energy each time the hollow sticks clicked together.He pulled sticks by fours from the other pile. This time, only one stick was left. He placed that between his middle and forefingers. These five sticks in his fingers were set aside to the left. He repeated this bunching and counting two more times. At the end of each cycle he paused to jot down a number. When three cycles were completed he added the numbers together, which helped create his first line. Tagomi went through the entire process five more times for a total of six lines.He flipped through his well-worn copy of The I Ching until he found the sequence of broken yin and solid yang lines that aligned with what he threw.Hexagram 36.
Earth upon Fire. Ming Yi. Brightness Hiding.He wasn’t too surprised at this result. It made perfect sense that Juliana would have to swallow her inner goodness and exquisite sensitivity and keep an extremely low profile. Perhaps that meant donning a disguise or dying her hair a different shade. Perhaps she’d ventured into Mexico, headed for South America. At worst, she was apprehended by authorities, most likely Nazis.Though the 5,000-year-old oracle rarely steered him wrong, its wisdom had a reputation for being vague. It was more forthcoming with guidance on whether conditions were favorable or not, using metaphors to suggest how one should proceed in a given situation.He read on:“Advice: Moving along the unlit road, we can come to a precipice or get bogged down.Judgment: Darkening of the Light. In adversity it furthers one to be persevering.
The light has sunk into the earth. The image of Darkening of the Light. Thus does the superior man live with the great mass: He veils his light, yet still shines.”
There was one changing line in his reading.
Line 2: “Darkening of the light injures him in the left thigh. He gives aid with the strength of a horse. Good fortune.”
It went on to further explain:
“Here the Lord of Light is in a subordinate place and is wounded by the Lord of Darkness. But the injury is not fatal; it is only a hindrance. Rescue is still possible. The wounded man gives no thought to himself; he thinks only of saving the others who are also in danger. Therefore, he tries with all his strength to save all that can be saved. There is good fortune in thus acting according to duty.”
Because the second line changed, Hexagram 36 turned into 11: Earth upon Heaven. Tài. Pervading.
Peace.

Advice: “Do not be afraid to lose small. You will be rewarded more. Stay tuned, when luck accompanies you. Remember: everything is transient.

Judgment: Peace. The small departs, the great approaches. Good fortune. Success.”
The Image:
Heaven and earth unite: The Image of Peace. Thus the ruler divides and completes the course of heaven and earth; He furthers and regulates the gifts of heaven and earth, and so aids the people.He removed his glasses and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of ship horns fade. He needed pure silence to connect the dots. Darkness could be overcome after all, but at what price for Juliana?

New York City, Greater Nazi Reich. 4:35 pm

A somber deluge pummeled the streets of Manhattan for the last half hour, drenching the windows in liquid despair.The intelligence briefing regarding the raid at The Lehrer Tower, also home to some four hundred hapless residents, lay on the desk undisturbed. None of the occupants had been very illuminating regarding potential shooting suspects; they were either in bed passed out on Seconal to drown out the commotion below or plastered to their television sets so as not to miss a single moment of American Reich history in the making. Those were the only acceptable answers. John pawned off the customary confession by coercion contrivance on Metzger, who jumped at the chance to prove himself a worthy replacement.He spent the remainder of the afternoon languishing in his top-grain leather chair, a whiskey perched on one outstretched leg and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Fury coursed through him upon returning from his frustrating interview with Hawthorne Abendsen. He very nearly punched a hole through Himmler’s face as he was tempted to do the second he laid eyes on the portrait of the German worm so adept at rotting his life from the inside out. But as a pleasing warmth settled into his bones, John found remaining inert a more appealing option.He didn’t normally turn to alcohol, but the past few days had thrown him down the stairs sideways. Drinking was Helen’s crutch against the gut-wrenching pain of loss; his had been diving headlong into perfectionism. Perhaps if he numbed himself as she had his contribution to the toxic cloud hanging over his family would dissipate. Then the sun would beam down upon them as it had in the much-cherished photograph sitting next to the files and miscellaneous paperwork he couldn’t be bothered to handle.Though it was planned well in advance, John took the day off and surprised everyone with a picnic in Belmont Lake State Park, out east in Babylon.
It was the Friday before what used to be known as Memorial Day weekend. In the station wagon, Amy, Jennifer, and Thomas put their own spin on “John Jacob Jingelheimer Schmidt” by inserting Obergruppenführer Smith instead. Eventually, both he and Helen joined in on the goofy song. The follow-up, “99 Bottles of Beer,” however, was not as well received and due to Helen’s throbbing temples, they never made it past 53. The trip was by no means perfect: The bees couldn’t get enough of Helen’s black forest cake, it wasn’t quite warm enough to swim, and the car got a flat tire on the way home. It wasn’t the day he’d imagined, but he never loved life more. A true time capsule memory if ever there was one.Those glittering days were behind them. Now, instead of purchasing postcards and knickknacks at the park gift shop, novelties of another sort awaited Helen and the girls once they crossed into the Neutral Zone: rough ‘citizens’ who would lavish them with uncouth manners, pollute his daughters’ innocent minds with ugly hearsay, and attempt to rob them of their valuables – guns pointed at their sweet heads. Helen was surely a mama bear to be reckoned with, but she was in no way equipped to steer them away from dangers he couldn’t protect them from.
And as resourceful as she was, what possible excuse could she give to the border guards, during the week of Jahr Null of all times?
The Nazis were simply indomitable. Their propaganda machine made citizens of conquered nations question their loyalties; the UK and America were their primary targets. Practice runs in Europe allowed them to build the American camps with astonishing ease. They force-fed Wehrmacht soldiers a type of methylamphetamine, Pervitin. It purported to induce even the laziest of specimens to perform with the sleek speed and savagery of a great white. After being stationed in Cincinnati, John soon discovered just how on point the comparison was.The grunt work callously doled out to fresh blood was intolerable to any man with a conscience. To counteract said conscience, Pervitin was handed out at these new camps. Though it was not a hallucinogen, it could block out one’s memories of having to commit executions en masse. If one had his head on straight, he kept a steady stream pumping through his bloodstream. Days blurred into months while chaos reigned in small cities across America. In all that time, not a single pill passed through John’s lips. The only time he’d considered it was when they started to dump bodies in the river; many crematoriums started to malfunction due to usage well beyond their intended capacities. Not to mention, the air pollution was nearing hazardous levels. The only animals that seemed to thrive during this pitch-black period were crows and cockroaches.John’s only means of mental survival was imagining he was back on the farm. He equated the fate of prisoners destined to die with that of common livestock. He poured himself into the mindless drudgery as he had a decade earlier because farmers were put on this earth to provide. To be a successful agriculturalist, one had to be diligent, unphased by adverse conditions, physically strong, and willing to perform the same unsavory tasks day after day. If you fell behind, your crops failed, you would have nothing to sell and, at worst, nothing to eat. If he could save his family from starvation in the past, he could do it again without question.But he couldn’t pretend a death camp was a cornfield forever.It will all be over soon, he told himself each time he left Helen and Thomas behind. We’ll find our way out of the darkness. He greeted each morning not with hope, but fear. Always the fear.That feeling shrunk in proportion to his rise in stature, unusually accelerated given his birth country. The Nazis repeated what he’d heard his entire military career – he had exceptional potential. The sky was the limit. Nothing could be worse than Cincinnati, so he allowed himself to relax into self-importance. He didn’t seem to realize just how comfortable he was becoming.Or how corrupt.Some days, there was nothing like watching an insurgent crumple at hearing they would be beaten until no more lies could spill from lips, which would soon become cracked from dehydration, swollen with split flesh. They were just numbers to him. More fish to reel in while he bid his time. Though there was never any real joy derived from his duties, the satisfaction of having come out on top yet again, gaining high accolades for his drive and dedication, flattered his ego. When Hitler entrusted him with tracking down the films, he was at the very pinnacle of his game. He saw nothing wrong with encouraging his son to seek a similar path.All that changed after Thomas’ diagnosis. Even arresting High Castle, arguably the most coveted catch of all, amounted to little more than a ripple.
In the end it was meaningless. All of it.
John glared into his glass, resenting the amber liquid before tossing back half. He noted with some abstract pride the glint at the tip of his boot. He could still feel the insistent pressure of Juliana’s hands wrapping around the shaft, grasping for sustenance. There was something indecorously delectable about her then.Wait for me. A simple enough order.He had plucked this beautiful bruised-up peach from the ground and bit into its flesh, finding it sickly sweet. He should have tossed it away to be preyed upon by ants. But that didn’t stop him from devouring. Her plush lips coaxed him, further whetting his appetite for a woman who shouldn’t be in his home in the first place.Reckless. A fitting accusation.John recalled the precious fear and awe that painted Juliana’s features before he crossed the threshold at the dormitory last year. Catching the way she said, ‘Yes, sir’ as he left, it was all he could do not to storm over and force her to her knees right then and there. Compared to today, he exerted the self-control of a Franciscan monk.
“You owe her nothing, Joe. That woman is an operative for the Resistance. Next time you see her, she’s not to be rescued. She is to be shot.”
Though he was loathe to admit it, since Juliana reappeared in his life, the nightmares ground to a standstill. Images of Hawthorne's revelation ran through his mind like a revolving projector wheel. In audacious disregard for her own safety, she killed to protect someone she barely knew. That this singular woman was willing to risk so much for an enemy's child - his child - shook John to his blackened core. Did her hand tremble as she lined up the gun? Had Dixon pled for his pathetic life? Whatever transpired that fateful day had stomped out her spirit, but only until her sister returned and reinvigorated it, emboldening her to strike a deal with some of the shadiest figures on the continent. Wyatt Price among them.Wouldn’t Thomas want him to treat her more kindly having been a friend to him when he needed comforting even his own parents couldn’t provide? Although there was at least a decade’s age difference, Juliana was just the type his idealistic son would fall for, and he did. It was all very innocent.John didn’t view her in quite the same manner.He held the tumbler against his forehead as if he’d been trapped in Death Valley at midday and these were the last drops of liquid available to him. He was pressing it flush against his cheek to sooth his imaginary plight when the door swung open, revealing a revved-up Metzger. Some whiskey dribbled onto his hand as he hurried to right himself.“This just came for you, sir.” He was slightly short of breath.John wiped his hand on his pantleg and tilted his eyes up in annoyance, but they steeled as they took in the film canister. He immediately set the quarter-full glass on the coffee table and held out his hand. “Another from the farmhouse?”“No, there was just the one from earlier.” Hawthorne’s cobbled together patriotic extravaganza.John lifted the lid and snuck a glance at the title. “Where did it come from?”“I’m afraid I’m not sure, sir.”John’s face morphed into mildly incredulity. His voice dripped with sarcasm he could no longer contain. “You’re...not sure?”Metzger stiffened his spine and leveled his eyes with John’s, whose jetty brows remained raised in mocking disbelief. “I found it on my desk after I went to use the um…lavatory.”“I see. And you were away approximately how long?”“I would say three minutes at most, sir.”“So it just arrived.”“Only just, sir.”John rose, feeling alarmingly buzzed. The Obersturmbanführer fought not to retreat as his superior stepped forward cautiously, as if testing whether he was on solid ground. Metzger’s ever-alert eyes flicked to the near empty tumbler.“I assume you examined the security footage?”“All it captured was Hauptsturmführer Brady dropping it off. I will need to check with him for details.”“You do that.”John placed the canister on his desk and wandered towards the grand windows, the pale pewter sky a perfect backdrop for his svelte silhouette.
He absentmindedly shoved both hands into his pockets. Once his hand tangled with something familiar his blood began to roar.He would have let her be, he knew, if she’d said no. As he should have before his baser instincts took over. But instead of kneeing him in the crotch, she let him tighten the collar around her fragile throat. She allowed him to do unspeakable things to her all that morning.
There was no seduction. This wasn’t a courtship. It was a necessity. A warning. A recognition. A reawakening.But now that lines had been crossed, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. How could he keep this spellbinding woman who unraveled at his touch in his home without disturbing her? Something would have to give. In the waning daylight, he saw the situation for what it was.And yet the urge to be near her was all-consuming. Almost as if he wanted to own her. He smirked at the idea that it was once his intention to get her out of his system, but now she was embedded. He licked his whiskey-tinged lips.Advancing steps drew John’s attention. “Reich Minister Goebbels’ adjutant sent this for your review, as well."John accepted the leather-bound portfolio and glanced at the title page with a suppressed shudder: Die Bücherverbrennung. It seemed NYC was set to host a grand book-burning at the end of the week.Joseph Goebbels had arrived with grand plans for the children in the wake of Jahr Null. He would continue to rid the city, and the entire North American Reich, of their outdated notions of independence. Left unchecked, society would surely plunge into full-scale degeneracy. But as this newest generation had been bred devoid of distracting sentiment and raised to be efficient and unquestionably loyal Aryans, this task wouldn’t prove insurmountable.“Thank you, Major. I think I’ll be headed home now.”“Very good, sir. We will keep you apprised of any developments on the film and updates on the Fuhrer’s status.”John nodded and offered a weak smile. Metzger clicked his heels and left him to his solitude.
Meghan spent the remainder of the afternoon helping Juliana reorganize the renegade canisters. As they were finishing up, Juliana asked about Bridget.“She’s the permanent housekeeper here. She’s also my cousin.”“Is that how you came to work for Maidenkind?”“Ah, no. She doesn’t exactly know who I work for. I’d like to keep it that way.”Juliana shrugged. “Who am I going to tell?”They fell in step beside each other down the hall. Suddenly the elevator dinged. Meghan walked on while Juliana retreated into the office once more. She kept an ear close to the door.For the last couple of hours she’d been riddled with apprehension over John’s return. Over the abrupt and confounding turn in their relationship practically overnight, along with her latent sly subterfuge involving his temporary maid. The hairs stood up pin-straight every time there was a noise. Were those his footsteps? It was only quarter to five. He had mentioned six o’clock, but how could he be so accurate given Himmler’s shooting? If anything, he should be out longer. But Meghan would have mentioned if he called to say he would be back any later.The laundry service brought over John’s dry-cleaned uniform pants and no longer soiled guest room coverlet at three-thirty. The butcher arrived twenty minutes later. Juliana carefully cracked open the door in time to see a massive cardboard box being rolled into the living room. The men from the appliance store were due hours ago but got jammed in between several other delivery trucks trying to navigate the interminable roadblocks.She shut the door with a soft click. Sequestered in the office, she began to pace with nervous energy. A green clothbound book on the shelf caught her eye. It was situated within an immaculate row of books, organized much the same as Amy’s only comprised of much thicker tomes.Die Insel Heldentum. The title eluded her. Scrawled inside the front cover were a few lines written in an unembellished masculine script: “To my son Thomas on his 13th birthday. Love, Father.” No profusive sentiment, just a simple message set in stark midnight ink.She couldn’t make out any of the text, as it was entirely in German. Some pages were dogeared, hinting that it had been read countless times.The door squeaked open and she clutched her chest, nearly dropping the book.Meghan stuck her head in the door. “All clear.”“I thought you were him." Juliana set the book back on the shelf and followed her out.The sight of a gleaming new television, identical to the model that sat busted up earlier, was rather discombobulating. Meghan started to flip through the channels.The tail end of “The Reich Is Right” was on. It was a popular trivia show that lured eager contestants with anything from collectible beer steins, to professional archery sets, to all-expenses-paid sightseeing tours of Bavaria or mid-range model Volkswagens. Twice a year a children’s version of the show allowed them to compete for a grand prize trip to the newly constructed Hitlerland, the brainchild of a perpetually mourning Goebbels, located in central Pennsylvania’s Amish country. There was no question as to the destiny of the occupants who refused to leave their beloved farms.Immediately after the credits rolled, the 5 o’clock news began with jarring urgency.
“Good evening, citizens of the Reich. Our top story, as you are all aware: She is no more. She of course, being the Statue of Liberty, who for too long towered over our fair city with her absurd notions of freedom, the horrifying words written by a Semite begging non-Aryans to come to these shores. Well, that dream is dead. Long live the Fuhrer.”
The blandly attractive ashy-haired news anchor, not unlike Henry Collins, blathered on while Juliana just gaped at the screen at the images of unfettered violence, bolstered by chants of ‘blood and soil’.“Why didn’t you tell me they destroyed the Statue of Liberty?”“I figured you already knew.”“No, I didn’t think the Nazis would go that far. I mean, eventually I guess, but to see it just erased...” She sighed. “I can’t take much more of this.”She was about to change the channel when the camera panned to a chirpy reporter and a pair of teenage girls huddled beneath a black and white umbrella that swayed in the wind, whipping their braided pigtails about:
“Well, don’t you young ladies look excited!”
“Oh yes, ma’am. The Fuhrer told us this is our time. We would do well not to disappoint him.”“No, indeed!” The reporter pivoted her microphone towards the shorter girl, who seemed primed to speak.
“We will defend the honor of the Reich…”
Juliana sunk onto the couch, her face contorted into commingled nausea and pity.
“Next we’re going to destroy those wretched degenerate paintings. It would be such fun to watch them go up in flames!”

“Yes, we must burn everything that is not pure and Aryan.”

“Thomas Smith should be here. He would be so proud of his father.”
The reporter clutched her coat collar against the wind and nodded with keen camaraderie.“Thomas is my idol!” said girl number two, boiling over with enthusiasm.
“Mine, too! He is such an in–“
Juliana rushed to switch off the TV, but the knob was cumbersome and slipped out of her fingers, and the dreaded word lashed the air. Inspiration. Her fingers fumbled for purchase. “Oh, come on!”Meghan brushed them aside and the screen went blank in a flash.Juliana pounded the top of the set, fresh tears emerging as they always would. “How dare they! They have no idea who he was!”Meghan led her to the couch. “All the kids look up to him nowadays.”“He wasn’t some mythological being – he was a boy. Good-natured and smarter than I’ll ever be...”“Wait, you knew him?”“I first entered the Reich last year after fleeing the Pons. I barely made it to the Embassy. The Smiths were generous. They made me into a pet project of sorts, and I let them. Helen did her best to try to welcome me into the fold, even though it felt, and still feels, like another planet. She let me sit in on one of her garden club meetings. It was surreal, being around women like that.”“But you knew Thomas Smith?” She said this with some degree of awe, as if she’d just unearthed an ancient artifact.“Well, I had to pass that awful Auxiliary Citizenship Test. Thomas used to tutor me twice a week after school. The poor kid didn’t realize how excruciating it was having to sit there and figure out how to memorize all those soulless, backwards lies.” Juliana wiped at the wetness in her eye. “And Thomas was this… angelic boy who could have made a very fine history teacher in another world. But here all he could teach were lies. Kept in the dark for his entire very short life. And he didn’t even realize it.”Meghan handed her a handkerchief and Juliana wiped at her nose, heaving back sudden sobs. “These kids have been raised to become weapons, and they don't know it! I mean, this so-called education…every other passage in their textbooks quotes Mein Kampf…”“You mean Mein Crap.” Meghan rolled her Rs. It did nothing to dispel Juliana’s despondency.“How did you stomach it all those years?”“Like rancid castor oil. It was a wretched time. Even more so when your classmates actually fell for the bullshit.”If Die Nebenwelt were ever to run at full capacity, there would be no way to stop the Nazis from infiltrating other worlds. It only took one bad seed to metastasize into a monster. She could envision wayward young Nazis gambling their lives away to prove their dedication to quashing democracy. Just one suicide mission after another. “Oh God, it’s never going to end!” Juliana started to shake.Meghan rushed to her side. “That’s not true.”“Are you kidding? This –” she gestured at the TV “– is way beyond us now. Now they want to burn great works of art most of us won’t ever get to see. They won’t be satisfied until they’ve taken down every little reminder of America. No, we’re too late. These kids only live to serve the State.” She slumped her shoulders. “We tried, but you’ve got to know when to quit. Because it’s pointless, you know?” She sniffled.Meghan threw up her hands. “Are you even listening to yourself? How could fighting in our loved ones’ names ever be pointless?”“Even they would think it would be idiotic to continue.”“You truly believe that?”“I honestly don’t know what more can I do in a place like this.”In a Nazi lair. Flipping through Aryan Woman Magazine, not recognizing herself in any of the mannequin-like models that graced the pages. Sleeping in the guest room, that is, if he granted her permission to sleep. Playing John Smith's concubine.“You’ve been more helpful than you give yourself credit for. And you’ve been very brave. Right from the start.”“Brave.” Juliana scoffed. “The others thought I was a liability.”“Not everyone is fanatical as Gary and Susan were. The world is down two lunatics.”“Gary’s dead?”“You think that hot-headed prick was going to survive for very long?”Juliana allowed herself a small smirk. “He was such an asshole to me.”“Didn’t he shoot you?”“Yep, right here.” She yanked off her sweater and tugged the sleeve of her dress to reveal a slightly raised pink scar. “I’m lucky it didn’t get infected.”“You didn’t deserve that.”“So much hatred towards each other, even though we were all supposed to be opposed to the same thing.”“The Nazis are no exception.”Juliana glanced at Meghan’s dainty silver watch. “We never got to view as many films as we should have. How can you be sure the ones I gave you will make any difference whatsoever?”Meghan plopped down next to her. “Pretend you’re trying to follow a recipe and you’re short an item or two. What then?”Juliana looked away and smiled. “I wouldn’t be the best person to ask. I had a cookbook once, but I barely looked at the thing.”
She truly couldn’t be bothered. Culinary skills eluded her. She opened a can, spooned some substance that barely budged into a pot, and inevitably the smoke alarm would go off. That’s when John would step in, either resurrecting her disaster or fashioning a new menu from scratch. Like the time he disappeared for twenty minutes then kicked her out of the kitchen, donned her own apron and cooked a perfect set of medium-rare steaks piled high with mushrooms.

"Bon appetite, mademoiselle. I suspected you might appreciate it less charbroiled and more gently seared. Some mashed potatoes. And I know how much you like asparagus."

"I'll be more careful with the Chef Boyardee next time."
"They'll never
be
a next time."Juliana furrowed her eyebrows. Meghan, unaware of her mental detour, laughed and tapped her knee. “Sometimes you just have to improvise.”Her joviality broke Juliana’s concentration. She bunched up the sodden handkerchief, noticing its delicate pastel embroidery for the first time. “Where did you get this? It’s so pretty. It looks handmade.”“No, my mother got it from Macy’s, way back before Gerhardt’s took over. You can have it if you want.”“No, I couldn’t.”Meghan pressed it into her hand. “Keep it. My mom was a big proponent of sharing. I have a whole drawerful at home anyway.”“Thank you,” Juliana replied, thoroughly touched. And almost as equally bewildered because she’d seen a near exact replica before. Just not here.Meghan lit a cigarette from a pack laying on the coffee table. She took a drag and passed it to Juliana. They took turns as if they were old friends hanging out on an ordinary rainy afternoon.“So, is the idea to distribute the films like they’re doing with The Grasshopper now?”“Generally.”Juliana tapped out some built up ash. “Do you plan on telling them where they came from?”“Well, if word got out of that, you’d be in a load of trouble with the Nazis.”“I’m being returned to my cell tomorrow, according to Smith. So that ship’s already long gone.” Juliana took a mournful drag.Meghan nodded. “We’ll think of something. And you, in the meantime, need to up your game against Smith.”“No!” Juliana smashed the cigarette into the tray, even though it was only halfway smoked. “I told you that’s not an option for me.”“What other choice do you have in your position?”Juliana put her head in her hands. Words eluded her, except, “What’ll Liam think?”“Do you care for him?”“I care about what happens to him. After all we’ve been through, I would definitely consider him a friend. Beyond that, I hardly know the man. It’s just that he’d probably get the wrong idea if he knew I’d gotten involved with Smith in any way. He’d lose faith in the whole thing.”Liam the black-market smuggler. Trafficker of uppers, downers, and every drug in between, purveyor of falsified documents and an ungodly assortment of counterfeit wares, would be privy to all of that and more. Juliana was certain he had more than a little to do with Himmler’s shooting. She hoped he wouldn’t play the hero, seeking her out and exposing his whereabouts.She owed so much to him, especially for believing in the integrity of the films and following her into the unknown. Once a rebel soldier, always a rebel soldier. A man with nothing left to lose, Liam would fight again in a heartbeat. It was also plain as day he was interested in getting better acquainted with her. He’d already given with her a nickname– Santa Fe. But for some reason it didn’t seem to suit her. Juliana wasn’t a funny kind of girl.
Dirty little slut.

Greedy little bitch.
She bit her lip.
Filthy submissive plaything.
John uttered these so-called pet names with a raw possessiveness that astounded her. He meant every demeaning word. And it should have bothered her that she wanted to hear more.The bondage. His punishing hands. His ingenuity. That primal, alchemical connection had always been hovering between them just waiting for the perfect moment to manifest. A sweltering anxiety wrapped around her skin.Meghan stubbed out her cigarette. “Like I said, I’ll leave your name out of the equation so no one will suspect.”Juliana tried to ignore the random wave of lust that surged through her. Meghan appeared blissfully oblivious to her burgeoning distress. “Thank you.”“No, thank you.”Juliana stood and stretched. “I’m just going to go freshen up.”Meghan bounced to attention. “Sure, let me take out the toiletries for you.”When they got inside, Juliana noticed her lackluster, flyaway hair in the mirror.The bag Meghan brought back earlier was on the bottom shelf in the linen closet. She set out assorted items on the vanity. “There’s some deodorant, a toothbrush, lipstick. Ooh, Yves Saint Laurent…” She twisted off the cap to reveal a rich mulberry shade.“Why would I need makeup?”“You don’t,” Meghan said. “If Smith requested it, you’d be wearing it. It’s part of the standard kit for extended stays.”“Sorry, did you say extended stays?”Juliana then caught a glimpse of the first set of lingerie, hand-washed of any evidence of misdeeds and coyly folded inside its lavish bag. How like a stranger she felt while the immodest bra was fastened around her chest. How amazed she was that it molded to her breasts so effortlessly. How terrified she was of snagging the stockings.They were the finest articles of clothing she’d ever laid eyes upon. Not that she cared much for fashion outside wanting to look pretty but respectable, like any normal girl. She usually preferred what was comfortable. For the first time she pondered the unusual shade of blue. It could easily be the sky over the San Francisco Bay at dusk, the black lace overlay suggesting a sultry night to come. She wore them for him.Meghan handed her a fresh towel and washcloth. “How’s your, your... ?” She motioned to her rear.“Getting used to it.” Juliana itched for privacy above all else at that moment.Meghan slouched against the sink. “He went about this whole thing the wrong way. Being the Reichsmarschall is in no way an excuse. But like I told you before, it can be a good distraction. Try to think of it like that.”“I’ll do my best.” Hoping the maid would finally take a hint, Juliana’s fingers rose to the top button of her dress.“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”After Meghan left, Juliana perched herself on the vanity seat, dragging her finger across a gunky strand of hair.She found John’s comb and sighed. She then spent several minutes raking it through her snarls only to throw it on the floor in disgust.“Fucking hopeless.”
During the ride home, John stared straight ahead so that the destruction lay outside his field of vision, but some things still managed to creep through the corner of his eye. He was grateful for well-placed rivulets of rain distorting the view, blurring the colors of the bobbing umbrellas and coats of hunched over pedestrians making their way home from work, some rising when the wind made it a struggle to hold on.“Corporal Andrews?”“Yes, Reichsmarshall?”“When you look out this window, what do you see?”“Sir, I –”“Be honest.”The young officer looked around helplessly.“On my daughter’s lives, I promise nothing will happen to you. Just simple human curiosity.”They had stalled at a red light, partially obscured by swaying windshield wipers. Andrews glanced at the rearview mirror. “It’s all gone. Just…gone.”John tapped his briefcase. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”Andrews’ shoulders relaxed somewhat. “It’ll take some getting used to, sir.”“That it will, Corporal.”“But a change for the better, surely?”“Better than before?”John’s eyes met Andrews’ own, round and watery blue, in challenge. To his surprise, he never flinched. “I would like to think so, sir.”John was ready to bring their clandestine conversation to a close.
“I could have refused.”“Refused what, sir?”John’s face turned ashen as he realized his blunder. He grunted. “I asked if you’d seen the news.’”The changing light dragged Andrews’ attention away. “Of course, sir. I always keep abreast of the latest headlines. Especially after last night.”“Yes. We must have faith the Führer will recover.”The exchange eventually petered out. Before he knew it, the town car picked up speed and dropped him at his building. He accepted the evening edition of the Greater Reich Herald from the doorman, who propped an umbrella over his head as he stepped onto the sidewalk. The shorter man was forced to stretch a bit once John reached his full height, but John remained ignorant of his discomfort.He turned his face to the left and indulged in the cool, powdery mist rushing against his cheek as the wind scattered leaves at his feet. It lent a dash of exhilaration to his semi-inebriated state. Eventually he realized he was getting soaked and walked on, offering the doorman some respite.A sobering thought crossed his mind as he entered the elevator: What if, despite his warnings, Juliana had managed to disobey him and travel?
Juliana had never been so excited to see a toothbrush. She turned on the faucet and started to brush. It was a luxury she had taken for granted over the past day and a half.
Ding!
Meghan rushed towards the elevator. “I took the liberty of starting a fire, sir,” she said as soon as John acknowledged her presence.“How thoughtful of you." But at the sound of rushing water he immediately turned away and left her holding his heavy, dripping coat.Juliana was rinsing her mouth when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with electricity.Clack. Clack. Clack.She spun around in a daze, her mouth already parched despite just downing half a glass of water.Clack. Clack.CLACK. CLACK.Her thoughts disintegrated the louder the sound grew.The door creaked harshly.Before he was fully inside the room the air filled with the aroma of leather and smoke. The pale yellow walls were instantly overcome by shadows. Words stuck to the roof of her mouth, Juliana stood trembling before the Reichsmarschall. He hadn’t yet removed his hat. Raindrops clung to the brim.“Good evening, Miss Crain.”“Hello, John.” She hoped he couldn’t hear her teeth chattering, even though to her it felt like a hundred degrees.He gave her a cocky, crooked smile. “Have we forgotten something?”“Um…”He closed the door as far as it would go and stepped forwards. “Shall I remind you?”She chided herself for being so absent-minded as she sunk onto the pristine white bath rug.For the longest time she remained still as he did nothing but stare down at her with his hands folded in front of him.As soon as he saw her on her knees, his palms tingled. Everything did. He felt more alive, more empowered – and not so very tired as he once was.“Lower.”Juliana scrunched her face.He pressed down upon her shoulders until her heels met her rear. She hissed, but the pain was immediately eclipsed by the thrill of what might happen next. She fairly salivated as she took in his boots.John slid his hand into his trouser pocket and rattled something. Juliana instinctively looked up into eyes that had seen more of her than any other man.Her breath hitched and she had a vague notion she might just faint. His eyes were shielded by the patent-sheened brim of his cap. He held out his palm.Juliana’s thighs quivered and she clenched them together. Aftershocks reverberated upwards. He cleared his throat, impatient as usual. She hiked up her skirt.His gaze shifted to her smooth thigh, the slices of ribbon that held up her stocking. His pretty bruised-up peach. Watching her slide the key out, he felt like a balloon perched on a needle, desperately trying not to stroke his finger across her flesh.No one will ever make her kneel but me.
His pulse quickened at the notion.After a small eternity she dropped the key into his hand, which retreated as if scalded.“Thank you.” He shoved it in his coat pocket. “I want you to stay like that until I return.”She nodded. “Yes, John.”“At last. You’re learning.” He walked away, leaving the door wide open.John entered the office and marveled at its transformation. The crates had been reloaded in stacks that stretched the entire circumference of the room. He immediately unlocked the drawer where he kept his one personal film and placed the latest beside them for viewing on his own after Juliana left the penthouse.Whenever that would be.He went into his bedroom and sunk onto the bed, smoothing down the covers. He wanted to curl up into a ball and shut his eyes and wake up in a different life. That other world. His muscles ached, especially his shoulder. After a few moments of self-pitying reverie, he changed into more comfortable at-home clothes.Before he left the bedroom, he dabbed a bit of cologne on his neck. A creature of consistency, the fragrance wasn’t much different from that of his aftershave. It sat untouched on his dresser for many months because Helen claimed it made her sneeze. Perhaps because it was more intense than she was used to. Or, perhaps it was because it was meant to be worn around somebody else.Afterwards, John wandered down the hallway towards his daughters’ bedrooms and shut the doors with a heaving sigh. It would be less painful this way. One day they’d be back. One day. He had to believe.He found Juliana, disheveled but lovely, still on her knees.She was rendered speechless at the unexpected casual image he presented and fought not to stare at his rugged, toned forearms. John had changed into dark grey pants and a navy short-sleeved pullover. She'd only seen him dress so casually once - the first time they met. It was almost as if she were looking at an entirely different man.For his part he noticed that the buttons on her dress were partially undone. He swallowed his impatient lust. “I must say, you do follow through on your word. A commendable trait in a submissive.”She bowed her head on instinct upon hearing that wicked, wonderful word.His scent saturated her senses. Just then she wanted to reach for him, clasp him to her breast. Revel in the friction of her lips against his. The little signals of otherworldly connection were stronger than she’d ever felt for anyone at that moment.
He stroked her hair. He couldn’t quite get his fingers through it, but it was still a tempting reminder of her wildness that clearly loved to be tamed. “Stand up for me.”Juliana was taken aback when he offered her his hand. She was lashed by lightning the moment her fingers connected with his hand. He tugged her up gently and spun her around until she faced the mirror. His eyes met hers while he traced the hem of her dress.“May I?”“May you? No, you may not.” She squared her shoulders.“I may not have a look at your marks?”“Oh.”“What did you think I meant?” He smiled disarmingly.She shook herself. “Nothing. It just hurts.”“I’m well aware that it must.” He watched her lift the skirt and pull down her panties to reveal his own creation. He tried to quell his reaction.
Bran muffins.

Drywall.

Expense reports.
Juliana nervously watched his mouth drop open as he examined her, waiting for him to touch her sore spots, but he just stood there motionless. Occasionally his jaw would twitch but that was about it. Before she knew it, he was smoothing her dress into place with the care of a sculptor covering an unfinished masterpiece.“Do you need any pain medication?”“No, it’s not unbearable or anything.”“Good. Because that’s nothing.” He grasped her by the elbow. “Come.”Rather than recoil, she allowed him to lead her into the office. He shut the door. Pensive, he took a seat on the couch and motioned for her to sit next to him. She hesitated. He seemed almost hurt at her reluctance. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”“I’m not what you’re looking for," she said before acquiescing.“This isn’t…" He sighed. "This is not how it’s normally done.”“It?”“Yes, it.”She stayed silent but he could tell she was listening intently.“For an absolute novice you seemed to take to everything quite well. I didn’t expect that.”“What difference would it have made to you if I didn’t?”“A great deal,” John said, with surprising sincerity. He simultaneously had his hunter’s eyes trained on her, rooting around in her brain for truths she’d rather not admit.“You’re the last person I expected would give a flying shit how the woman might feel.”“Don’t rest your opinions of others on assumptions. What you don’t know about the world, and people like me, is considerable.”“Well, I received quite the education. You certainly saw to that.”John looked mortified. Then he saw a faint glint of challenge in her eyes. The air pressure changed.“You’ve been a surprisingly obedient pupil considering. It takes a special woman…an insatiably curious woman…to want such things. Unless that last time was an act. Was it?”Denial was futile at this point. He would see right through her.
She shook her head.
A tiny weight seemed to vanish from her chest.A two-second smile transformed John's face before returning to its habitual straight set. "I didn't think so."“But I had no idea what I was doing.""I most emphatically beg to differ.""I've never done anything like this before."
"Oh, I believe you.""You just said you thought I knew what I was doing.""That's because," he inched closer to Juliana, "you're a natural submissive."She was stunned into silence and became still as a statue as full comprehension dawned on her.
John leaned back and crossed his legs. Her eyes locked on his thigh, its muscles ready to burst through the thinner pantleg. Before he caught her ogling him, she spoke up.“Meghan and I had a talk of sorts.”“Oh? What about?”“She explained certain things to me.” She stared at her hands.“I see. And what did she have to say?”“Pretty much the same thing as you. That it’s normal to…respond as I have. Even though all you seemed to want to do was hurt me.” There was obvious anger in her voice.“Is that what you think is going on here?”She scoffed. “Isn’t it though?”His eyes sharpened and glanced towards the door. “It’s not the hired help’s place to advise you on anything.”Juliana shook her head. “No, she saw…I mean…” This was tortuous. “I had some difficulty walking.”“Well, that’s perfectly understandable. Oh and, if you’re worried that she heard us, you shouldn’t be. I sent her on an errand after breakfast ended. So this,” he motioned between them, “remains between us.”“Not everything.”He narrowed his eyes and clenched a fist. “Did you tell her about those, those…” He ran his hand through his hair. “Tell me you didn’t.”“Are you crazy?”“At this point I’m not altogether sure I’m not.”“Of course I didn’t say anything! I’ve barely gotten used to the idea myself.”"Because if that ever got out...""It won't, okay?"He nodded. “Look, I realize what I’ve done with you, what we did together... It wasn’t the right way to go about this at all. Just know that I’m truly not a sadist.”Juliana burst out laughing.“No, no, hear me out. I never wished to harm you.”“Yeah, right! You wanted me dead!”“Perhaps, in the beginning. Before I got to know you a little. Saw how you were with my children. With Thomas…”“You knew that about me already.”“And?”“And, as you said, you only found me ‘useful’ while it suited your purposes. And when you’ve had your fill of me, I’ll be dumped right back into that little hole they threw me in after being electroshocked, awaiting a more permanent solution.”“I had them halve the voltage for you.”“Oh, because you truly aren’t a sadist, right?”He folded his hands and tapped his thumbs together. “You put me in a tough position.”“You put yourself there years ago.”He shrugged. “Touché.”They both stared straight ahead. John rose and paced the small space for a few moments. She looked up when he nudged her in the leg with his knee. “Did you really like what we did…after that thing with the bottle?”After a moment of consideration, she nodded shyly.“You know that I would have stopped if it seemed like you really weren’t into it, don’t you?”“I do now.”“Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”Juliana’s eyes shot to his. He couldn’t quite tell if he read hope in them. Or – dare he even consider the flimsy possibility – disappointment.
“I suppose you’ll be getting rid of me tonight.”“On the contrary. I’m going to need you to become my assistant of sorts.”“Assistant?” She couldn’t have heard right. Had he gone and lost his mind? Or was he toying with her? Another kinky game. She was too exhausted to try to tell the difference.He rubbed his neck and gestured at the crates of unviewed canisters. “As it so happens, I’ll need to get through all these films sooner rather than later.” He gazed at her. “And you’re going to help me categorize them.”“Really?”A soft but rapid knock interrupted them. John opened the door a crack, as if to obscure his stash of pirate booty. Meghan wore a smile of deceptive serenity. “Dinner is ready when you are, sir.”John turned to Juliana. “What do you say, Miss Crain?’“As long as ricin isn’t on the menu...”He gave her an exasperated look before telling Meghan, “We’ll be right there.” He shut the door rather hard and leaned against it. “You need to knock that off right now.”“What, not trusting Nazis?”“Let’s go. Before it gets cold.”“Aye aye, captain.”He frowned as her sarcastic quip missed its aim entirely, his mind failing to conjure up a jolly captain of the sea as she’d intended.
Juliana followed him into the dining room, where he pulled out a chair for her. She balked at the gesture. The pillow was still there. John said nothing, tapping his fingers against the ebony wood. Juliana sighed and sunk onto the seat. He waited until she was well situated to push the chair in.She turned her face away lest he noticed the flash of heat burning her cheeks. John seated himself across from her, not close enough to touch but perfectly positioned to observe. She sat up straighter but kept her eyes averted, willing herself not to grimace. His gaze couldn’t help but linger on Juliana’s face. Her injuries did nothing to diminish the allure of her innocent, exotic features.“Juliana.” She sucked in her breath and met his eyes. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”Before she could respond, Meghan swooped in, pausing the potentially excruciating conversation. “What would you like to drink, sir?”“Whiskey, on the rocks.” He looked at Juliana. She shrugged. “Make that two.” John turned away in dismissal.Meghan nodded. “Right away, sir.”John nodded at the basket of warm rolls in front of them. They smelled divine. He reached for one and broke off a piece. “Go ahead.”Juliana took one out and set it on her plate.They ate, with only the ticking of the clock and the persistent patter of rain for ambiance. A few minutes after the drinks were brought over, large bowls of glistening greens and creamed potatoes were placed next to the vase of roses they both pretended didn’t exist. Finally, two sizzling bone-in New York strips manifested, making Juliana’s mouth water.
The heartland of the Reich was not one to part with its precious store of beef. Juliana had only had it a couple times in her life, and it was always one of the cheaper cuts. The meat always required a great deal of tenderizing before it was remotely edible. Often it was best not to bother.Meghan brushed her hands on her apron and turned to leave.“Oh, Meghan?”She froze for a second. “Yes, Reichsmarschall?”John gave her a semblance of a smile. “I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for me. You’re dismissed.”She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “But the dishes, sir –”“Never mind that. Miss Crain can do them.” Juliana dropped her fork and glared at him.“Am I to report again tomorrow, sir?” Meghan asked hopefully.John tore through his steak, which glinted beneath the chandelier, as did the flavorful pink juices that dribbled onto the plate as he examined his fork. “I will have to let you know. Again, I must commend you on your excellent service. And discretion. Next time I’ll be sure to ask for you.”Juliana’s eyes shot to Meghan, who maintained her most professional posture. “It was both a pleasure and a privilege, sir.” She inclined her head. “Remember, we are always just a phone call away should the need ever arise again.” His eyebrows peaked at the purposefully ironic saying.
She then turned to Juliana. For a few flickering seconds, the women were suspended in their own secret world, woven together by a tattered common thread. A budding friendship in the darkest of times that unfortunately wasn’t to last. Also invited to their private goodbye, wishes for safety, strength, and survival. Finally, the exhilarating shared discovery.“See you soon,” Juliana wanted to say, all the while fearing for her own mortality. Instead, she bowed her head and offered a polite ‘thank you.'Meghan smiled. “It was a pleasure, miss.”And then she was gone.
Unsurprisingly, Juliana found she much preferred this extravagant meal to prison ‘cuisine’: mushy canned vegetables, stale bread, and lumps of stringy meat smothered in a watery greyish-brown paste. In contrast, the meat before her was cooked to perfection, served with delectable sides of sautéed mushrooms and asparagus, which happened to be one of her favorite vegetables. If they could get it in the JPS.“I see you can have a healthy appetite when you want to apply yourself.”Juliana sipped her drink. “How could I say no to all this?”“You’ve had steak before, haven’t you?”
He speared and sliced through his with the precision of a seasoned executioner. Which, of course, he was.She wished she could reply with who hasn’t? but it really was a big deal. The steak was heavenly. It felt like velvet in her mouth. So tender and juicy. “Only a few times.” She looked down. “I grew up eating a lot of Spam.”John wiped his mouth. “I did, too, during the war.” He didn’t elaborate on which side he was on; Juliana knew full well Nazis would never feed their soldiers reconstituted tinned ‘meat’. “What else did you eat in San Francisco?”Was he for real, asking about such a mundane thing? Perhaps he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Oh you know, the usual.”She didn’t want to talk about her poverty. Her affinity for Japanese food. It felt too intimate. She would visit little street food vendors, enjoying soups made with seaweed, soybeans, and enoki mushrooms in a fragrant broth. Delicate, raw fish sliced with an expert hand. She dialed down the color for him. “Lots of fish. Sushi. Rice.” He just chewed and listened. But then her fondness for home crept in. “There were these soba noodles grown on a farm just north of Sacramento…”
She was twisting some around a set of chopsticks while Shakuhachi music permeated the serene atmosphere. In the near distance, a sudden crash. Shouts to call an ambulance.
“What else?”Her thoughts disintegrated at his interruption. She dabbed at her lips, half out of herself. “Um... Lots of tea. Oolong, sencha. Sake. Have you ever tried it? Sake, that is.”“I can’t say I have. Describe it for me.”Where was he going with this?“You can have it hot or cold. I prefer it cold.”“Do you find it bitter or sweet?”She sat up a little taller. “Well, there are different kinds. The one I like is called Nigori, which is milk sake. It’s on the sweeter side.”“Not too strong I imagine. Not like this.” He swirled his glass and took a generous sip.“No. Total opposite ends of the spectrum.”John cocked his head to the side. “Who says whiskey can’t be sweet?” The chandelier lighting caused his irises to sparkle with warmth.Fumbling for words, Juliana brushed her hair behind her ear. “Well, yes that’s – ah!”Some errant hairs stuck to the sticky edge of her bandage.John was momentarily mesmerized.
“I told you there were too many.”
Just a voice. Hers. Then the intrusion evaporated just as mysteriously as it was born.Juliana attempted to pry the adhesive off but only ended up getting more hairs trapped. She flicked her eyes up and found John’s seat empty.He quickly pulled out the chair next to hers and inspected her hair. “Let me see what's going on. Hold still.”
No matter what, it wouldn’t budge. Meanwhile, she was being positively assaulted by his heady cologne. It helped to calm her somewhat, though it should be doing anything but.“You know, for someone so adept at organization, you are also no stranger to making a mess.” She bit her tongue. He tutted. “I’ll be right back.”As soon as Juliana saw the scissors in his hand, she squirmed. “Don’t cut too much off, please.”She realized it was a dumb thing to say because the Nazis could shave her bald whenever they felt like it.“I wouldn’t dream of it.”They were each a little perturbed at his reply, each hoping the other didn’t notice but acutely aware it was impossible for them not to.With a few deft snips, the trapped hairs were released. Juliana rubbed her upper arm. John left again to return the scissors.When he returned to the table he pulled out her chair, leading her back to the bathroom by the elbow.“Kneel here. Face the tub.”“What’s going on?”“Your filthy hair needs some attention. Now kneel.”“I…okay.”He unbuckled his wristwatch and set it on the vanity. “Give me your hand. Your good one.”She eyed him warily but obeyed. He held it palm-up under the running water.“How’s this?” His eyes scanned her face, bathing her with more heat than that which caressed her hand.“Maybe a little warmer.”He turned the dial to the left a tiny bit. “How about now?”Her nipples tightened as steam billowed around them. “Warmer.”John recalled wanting the same that morning, turning the dial farther and farther. Juliana couldn't tear her eyes from the way the muscles in his naked forearm flexed as he continued to twist the dial.
“Tell me when to stop.”A few seconds later, the temperature was perfect. “Now. Stop.”“Lean over the side.”As the water ran, he gently bunched her hair in hands.
“Good submissives get rewarded. And you’ve been exemplary today.”“I have?”“Mmm hmm.”Juliana startled as he tipped a glass of water, slightly hotter than warm, over the back of her head and proceeded to thoroughly wet her hair before applying the shampoo. John inhaled deeply. Some clever chemists had managed to bottle Tahiti.He swished and swirled with sensual determination, creating fragrant bubbles, intermittently massaging and scratching her scalp. She melted into his long fingers, his strangely gentle ministrations. His body covered hers, trapping her against the cool porcelain.
“Are you enjoying this, Juliana?”Her spine tingled at the reminder of the icy strokes on her behind. "I am.”His cock spasmed and he grit his teeth. He began to scrub harder, leaving an island of fragrant bubbles streaming down the side of her neck. He needed to regain the upper hand.“Just like you’ve been enjoying withholding information about Mr. Tagomi?”Her stomach tightened. “I haven’t.”“You have. I’d hate to tell you this, but your friend Mr. Abendsen will spill his guts in no time with the right encouragement. And now I know where I can find the remainder of the films.”“What did you threaten him with?”“What all men prize most. Their women. Well, one woman in particular.”“Fucking bastard.”He laughed and slowed his movements. “I’ve heard far better insults.”“I guess I’ll have to be more creative next time.”“I’m counting on it.”“You mean, before you destroy me? You hinted as much on the phone.”“You’re twisting my words.”“Everything you say is twisted. Everything you do!”John filled a glass tumbler with cool water and dumped it on her head without warning. She sputtered a little. “Come now. I think you and twisted could make the very best of friends.”He continued rinsing the suds from her hair as she fumed in silence, squinting her eyes against the onslaught. Finally, he shut off the tap. After gently wringing out her thick tresses with his hands, he sought out his watch. Juliana sat up prematurely. Wet spots exploded on her sheer dress, nude dots against the black.“You’re getting soaked.”She blushed as she accepted a towel from him.John left and returned moments later. “You can change into this.” He handed her a neatly folded pair of what appeared to be flannel pajamas. Deep green and black. His.“Thanks.”“You’re welcome.” He patted the vanity seat. Her eyes widened. He guided her to sit then knelt to lift her dress. She clutched the fabric and watched him toy with one of the garters. He released the clasps and rolled the stockings down with dampened fingers. After a short deliberation he threw them in the trash and stood."Come into the living room when you’re through.”After he’d quit the room Juliana held up the pajama top, judging it far too large. There were no matching bottoms.
Fifteen minutes later, a newly bathed Juliana slowly walked up to the couch where her captor sat in contemplative repose, a refilled drink in hand. A fire was blazing in the corner. He grabbed for the towel she was carrying.“Allow me.”She turned and her swinging locks peppered his face with fine water droplets. He didn't seem to mind.
“You don’t have to. I’m perfectly capable of drying my own hair.”He wanted to escape to that magical oasis that was all her, into the thickets of lush rainforest and birdsong. This he would allow himself. Nothing more. “But I want to.”She felt propelled by a magnetic pull and took a seat, facing away from him. He proceeded to squeeze out her hair, which reached almost to the dip in her waist. It began to curl softly at the ends and shimmered with golden highlights in the firelight.After a time, John inquired, “Has it always been long?”"Always. Except for that time I defected.”He nodded. “Such a shame to see it go.”“I wouldn’t think it was something someone of your stature would bother to notice.”“It’s my job to notice things exactly like the length, color, and texture of a woman’s hair. Logically, an accurate description would help in tracking down a fugitive such as yourself.”She bristled and tried to wiggle away, so he pulled her back by her shoulders. He wasn't about to let her escape again.
“And how well did you notice me?”“Nazis aren’t exactly invisible.”He set the towel on the coffee table. A stray water droplet sparkled behind her ear and he caught it with his thumb before he could kiss it away.
The heat was infusing the space with an almost surreal spell. He leaned closer. “How well?”She swallowed. “Please don’t make me answer that.”"I think you just did."Her heartbeat thudded faster. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you do those things to me.”“Maybe not. But it bears repeating, Juliana – you have nothing to ashamed of.”
I'm not, she thought.Silence stretched out while electric flames crackled in tune with muted thunder.
Eventually John sighed. “I have to return you tomorrow.”She felt her spirit sink. "I understand.”How serious was Goebbels about following through on his threat of public humiliation? He was always coming up with something spectacularly violent to announce to der Volk. Regardless, John didn't expect he'd let her survive. He should be livid that she had allowed him to capture her in the first place. He should thrash her, really.

She startled when his hand drifted over the jagged scars on her left shoulder. She wondered if he could feel them through the shirt. “Does it hurt?”“Sometimes, when the weather’s like this. But it's not so bad that I can't ignore it.”“Ignore the pain?”She offered him her profile. “That’s how I get through the day.""You shutter it away."
She smiled a little. “That tends to work, more often than not."Thunder continued to tremble with only the controlled roar of gaslit flames and occasional flashes of lightning to see much of anything, save the now familiar shape of each other’s body. He honed in on her parted lips.She turned away. "But sometimes it's just...relentless.”He jerked to attention when she suddenly grabbed his hand and placed it atop her thigh.“That’s why I’d like to continue where we left off.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Only seconds before he realized what she was about, John became entranced by Juliana's bare foot arching off the floor, stimulated by the fragile musculature of a delicate ankle. He watched the flickering silhouette of light as it traipsed up her calf, rounded her knee, up and up, where it tiptoed inside the borrowed flannel, the one he saved for the chilliest of nights.The sly temptress forced an impression into her thigh with the towel-damp pads of his fingertips. A staggering desperation bade her to drag his hand towards her hip, but she quelled it.Then he squeezed her, brief as the blink of an eye.“Like this?” he asked, nuzzling her shoulder.Nerves screwed tight, she tilted her head back, bathing her neck in the blistering heat.“Yes, Reichsmarschall.”Those honey-smooth syllables burrowed through his temples. His trapped hand began to tingle.She shivered at the exhalation of breath against her ear as he leaned in.“I warned you not to call me that.”His nails dug into her skin. The act took less than a second. Any longer and her composure would disintegrate like forgotten celluloid.Undeterred, she swiveled to face him. Her unbound hair shaded her face like a sable curtain blocking the sun. When she lifted her eyes, it reminded John of Vermeer’s obscene Girl with a Pearl Earring.“I know. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”Two water droplets fell down her neck and converged near her collarbone. A faint grunt proved he was fair game in this little experiment; that term had a better ring to it to her than suicide mission.“I’m not clairvoyant, so you’re going to have to help me out. What is it you want?”He released his hand to skim the gentle curve of her hip.“Let me rephrase that. What is it that you desire?”In the muted glow, his incandescent eyes took on the properties of a fast-acting paralytic. His measured perusal scorched more than their proximity to the fireplace.
She began to turn away, but he tugged her back by her chin.“Tell me.”Juliana’s mouth was as reliable as her brain, like a car petering out in the middle of nowhere, knowing she still was being pursued, and with great speed. His light, woodsy cologne teased her nostrils and derailed her thoughts even more.A voice crawled from within the scattered wreckage of her concentration:
Use him like he used you.
She squared her shoulders and sharpened her gaze.“Fuck the films.”John’s eyebrows shot up. “Fuck the films?”“That’s right.”He fingered a stray lock, twining the slippery end around his finger.“My, my. What other demented ideas are swimming around inside that head of yours? If only I had the time, I’d pry them out of you.”She reached up and stroked over the downy hair of his forearm then glided her finger along his fine leather watch band. “It’s still early.”“I have work to do.”“That didn’t stop you before.”He maneuvered away from her touch. “Not tonight.”“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you the embodiment of the American Reich? And since, according to you, I am property of the Reich with no rights of my own, I am automatically yours. Isn’t that right?”He shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”“Then what’s the problem?”His expression softened somewhat. “However much I’d like to, as you say, continue, you need to heal.” He traced just above the abrasion on her forehead. “Everywhere.”She closed the space between them until she was mere inches from his face. “I feel just fine.”
She reached out and trailed her fingers over his chest then ventured lower, satisfied with how firm he was. Any other man his age would kill to be in such impeccable shape. His muscles tensed when they settled on his belt buckle.“All good things, Miss Crain…” He grabbed her wrist.“Haven’t I already proven how patient I can be?”Her pulse, as frantic as the rain beating on the windows.“Your body says otherwise.”She allowed herself to relax into the role, if only to keep her swirling head in the game.
“I’m ready for my next lesson, John.”John loosened his grip. “They’ll be no more of those.”Juliana cocked her head. She pictured bloodthirsty Lebensborn stalking Tagomi. Trudy’s pale body face-down in the dirt. The emptiness her life had become, clinging to hope as she clawed her way out of yet another calamity. The lies his children soaked up. His kind allowed all of it.
“What if I want more?”He shook his head and sighed. “You aren't ready for more.”
With what he had in mind, she wouldn't be for at least a week.

His disappointment was palpable. Rather than keep pressing her point, she decided to seize this opening and be more direct, leaving no room for confusion on her part.In all of three seconds, she grabbed his glass of whiskey from the coffee table and downed a full shot’s worth. It singed her throat and poured through her system with molten energy.Thus emboldened, she straddled his lap and ran a hand through his neatly trimmed curls. Her breath caught; the firelight made the scattered silver hairs twinkle like Christmas tinsel. For some reason she found it endearing. An endearing, evil, egotistical stain on humanity.The ends of her hair dampened his chest. She lay her face flush against his cheek, kissing along the rough line of his jaw until she reached his ear.“I disagree.”
Then she clamped down on his cartilage with the fury of vengeful woman on borrowed time.He grit his teeth but endured the assault, almost like he welcomed it.She proceeded to suckle and bite and stretch his earlobe between her teeth. Her effervescent laughter tickled his throat, incongruous with the ambiance and mild torture.
He drew in a deep shuddering breath and caught it: that rarefied hint of otherworldly, intoxicating perfume, its spices and dangerous blooms amplified by the heat.He tunneled his fingers through her hair.“Finish it.”Juliana smirked. “As you wish, sir,” she said in a low voice and tipped the glass back. She kept her eyes trained on him as she gulped it down.John allowed the deliberate lapse in address. He took the tumbler out of her hands and set it on the side table. He scrutinized her before giving her hair a quick tug. Her pale eyes glazed over, a demon seductress in the form of an angel. He brought his mouth to hers.The kiss was tentative at first. Before long, specks of ember came together to create a raging bonfire.Juliana basked in the burn of whiskey, crushed cinnamon candy and John’s blind stupidity.She pulled back and whispered, “You're right. It can be sweet."John touched her liquor-tinged lips, red as ripe pomegranates ready to be split open and devoured. He wordlessly pushed one finger inside; she ran her tongue along the tip. He tasted like soapy coconut.“But you don't want sweet,” he said. He added another. "Isn't that true?"His other hand roamed lazily over her chest and cupped her breast, plucking the nipple through the pocket. Her teeth scraped against his knuckles as she bobbed her head and moaned in agreement.John closed his eyes while she worked his fingers into some sort of frenzy. He took them out a couple minutes later and wiped the moisture on the sofa. Sliding a single finger down her breastbone, he yanked out the first button of the pajama top.“Undo the rest.”Though Juliana took her time following his directive, he didn’t mind in the slightest. He loved watching her undress. He visibly brightened when the now familiar blue and black lace panties also revealed themselves.“Well, what do we have here?”She shrugged. “It’s the only clean pair I’ve got.”Soon, she wouldn’t have any.“Those can stay on.”John positioned her forearms one atop the other on her lower back. Her shoulders straightened into a serene pose.
“Keep your arms like that.” He tipped her chin up. “Perfect.”Juliana smiled to herself.
He pushed the shirt wide and bared the tops of her breasts.“Stay just like that.”As he moved to her thighs, John noticed the questioning wrinkle between her brows.“What is it?”“Aren’t you going to...?” She indicated her arm.“Tie you? Not this time. Unless you think I’ll need to. Will I?”She shook her head slowly. “No, John.”He lashed her from top to bottom with eyes hazy with restrained lust, then he dipped his finger into the leftover sliver of whiskey and rubbed it onto the sensitive bud. Then he closed his lips over it.“Who does this belong to?” he murmured as he sucked away the sweetness.She let out a quiet moan at the subtle pain.“What was that?”He repeated the action a bit harder, eliciting a whimper that stirred him to no end. Her vulnerability was, as ever, breathtaking to behold.
“You… you, John.”“And what about…?”Her eyes fluttered when she felt his hand drift lower, finding her panties. He grazed over her center with a sort of reverence.“Yours, John.”“That’s right.”He lowered her onto the cushions. He ran a hand over her thigh, intermittently kneading her muscles. “Has anyone ever told you what exquisite legs you have?”She looked away, flush with embarrassment at the random compliment. “Maybe. I really don’t remember.”A corner of his lips curled up. “Well, I’m telling you now.”
He knelt before her and pushed her legs apart, kissing from her knees to the softest part of her thigh before engorging on the spot.She let out a strangled cry just as a flash of lighting penetrated the stark space.He grinned into her flesh as he witnessed the inevitable transformation. The wrists beneath her made her breasts more prominent. Everything about her was radiating some sort of otherworldly glow. She was his again, to rip into. To devour, for as long as she could withstand it.“More?”She rooted for words, mesmerized by John’s eager mouth hovering just above her tender skin.“Please.”He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Pray, continue.”“John, please…”“That’s it, Juliana.” He kissed the goose-pimpling flesh. “Beg."Her mind had turned itself off, for self-perseverance, for dignity, she didn’t know. Her entire world was light and dark and the sensation of falling and hoping for a rough landing.A twilight tempest ambushed the windows. The wind howled, wails distorted due to altitude. Muffled, monotonous groans of thunder clashed with the crackling staccato of artificial flames.The expression of her eyes would haunt him for days.“Please make it hurt."
John's fingertips hovered over her skin. “Ah, there are so many ways I can accommodate you.” He kissed and licked the area around the bite mark. “So many, many ways,” he murmured against her quivering flesh. "Tell me what you want."The pain of his nails scratching right over her blossoming bruise was oddly comforting, given everything else she’d endured since crossing back into the Reich.“I want..." Her mind was an empty room.

He bit in a slightly higher, though equally unprotected area, just as merciless. "Go on."“I don’t know!” It came out in a frustrated growl.He smirked as he watched her struggle and squirm. “That's disappointing. I mean, a resourceful girl like you must have some notion of how I could make you come faster and harder than last time.”
She gasped.“I love that no one’s ever done this to you.” He moved to the other thigh and bit down again. “No one’s ever showed you the kinds of things you were truly made for.”John climbed over her body. Her mouth watered when she noticed the tent in his pants.He cupped a breast and flicked his thumb over a pebble-hard nipple. “If you only knew the places I’d take you...”He caught her bottom lip between his teeth then kissed the corner of her mouth. “When you’re all healed up, I want tie you again. Properly.”Again? Properly?She wanted to ask him just when he planned on getting the opportunity, seeing as this was their last night together. Her questions careened to a halt when he captured the other nipple between his teeth and held it, prolonging the pain. She arched her back and writhed against him, opening her mouth like a flower seeking life-sustaining light.He sat back and brought her body with him, freeing her arms in the process.

“Touch me.”“Where?” she asked, delirious.“Wherever your hands take you.”
Juliana snuck her arms through his and raked her nails up his back. Since they were so short, she had to apply more pressure. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his backside. John growled and began grinding into her. When she let out a moan he sunk his teeth into her bared shoulder.
She threw her head back and surrendered to the trancelike ecstasy.
John rocked into her slow but hard, just how she told him she wanted to be fucked while writhing on his desk that morning.He leaned down and blew against the shell of her ear. “I’m going to wreck you, little bird.”His eyes flashed with something real, indisputable, and well beyond intimate.“How?”“By taking you apart, piece by filthy piece.”
She shoved his shirt up and tore at the base of his spine. “Then what?”“If I were you…” He began to kiss up her neck. “… I wouldn’t want to find out.”At that moment the cuckoo clock came alive and jolted them apart.“I hate that fucking thing,” John muttered into the crook of her neck.
After a few minutes, their minds settled down. If anything was going to kill the mood, it was the ridiculous clock. Another thing to monitor him, to kill whatever joy he could muster out of life. He peeled his body off and slumped onto the couch.Juliana lay sprawled out, spent and boneless. “Throw it out.”“It’s not that simple,” he said, tucking his shirt into his trousers.She rose onto her elbows and pushed her sticky hair out of her face. “Is it bolted it to the wall or something?”John wiped beads of perspiration from his neck with a handkerchief. “It might as well be. It’s not to be moved except for routine maintenance or repair. Which is quite an imposition and expense.”Juliana sat up and laughed. “It’s just a clock.”He reached for his cigarette case. “It’s more than that, unfortunately. It was housewarming gift from Margarete Himmler, a creation of Hitler’s personal clockmaker.”She started to button up the top. “Seriously?”“It’s their way of bringing the Fatherland to us.”“They couldn’t be any more welcoming, could they?”He lit another cigarette then passed it to her. They each jumped at the subtle jolt of pleasure when skin brushed against skin. John turned away.“Himmler also has a nasty habit of dropping by unannounced.”Juliana took a long, shuddering drag to stave off the resurfacing paranoia that held her in a vice grip ever since defecting to the Reich. Dusting the vents in her apartment, darting her eyes about to scout for cameras and recording devices. All of a sudden she felt crushingly naïve.“Are you saying he could just show up out of the blue?”He released some smoke and nodded. “Once at the breakfast table. Helen had to drop everything and serve him.”“Isn’t that what maids are for?”He shrugged. “A mother’s role.”“Huh.”He took a strong drag and scowled. “I had to give up my seat at the head of the table. My own fucking seat.”“Well at least with him wounded that won’t be happening anytime soon.”He frowned. “We can’t rule out Goebbels.”The color drained from her face. “Goebbels?”How could anyone live like this?“He arrived in New York just this morning to…assess the situation.”And Lord knows what else.She scrambled to the opposite end of the couch. “And you still did all this, knowing full well he could just saunter in whenever he pleased?”His lips quirked. “Some things can’t be sufficiently planned for.” He tapped out the ash and chuckled.She crossed her arms. “How is that funny?”“Because it’s just not possible.”“What’s not possible?”“He can’t saunter. His foot is…how can I put it? Not quite right.”John tried not to look at the wet patch decorating the strip of fabric peeking through her delectable legs, which she inadvertently revealed while trying to get comfortable on the slippery couch. Or her fingers drifting down to explore her new bruises before realizing where she was and snatching a plush pillow to cover them.“Great. Thanks for the heads-up.”John stood and regarded her. He cocked his head to the side as if something else amused him.“Here’s where I remind you, my darling fugitive, that you’re still under house arrest. And no clock is going to prevent me from enforcing punishment should you err.”To her chagrin, he bent and plucked the cigarette from her hands, driving it into the ashtray with renewed focus.“I’ve been granted permission by the Reich Minister to keep you under my watch for another night and to deal with you as I see fit. And I’m going to take full advantage of your skill set.”“What are you talking about?”“Why, your exceptional administrative skills. The ones you honed while working for Mr. Tagomi.”At the mention of her kind friend, her stomach clenched. “I was only there for a month. And I didn’t get to type much because he already had a secretary. It was more like passing out beverages during meetings and things like that. Special assignments.”He leaned an elbow against the back of the couch. “Which I assume required spying?”She glared at him.“Don’t you worry. That won’t be necessary. Or tolerated.”The lines of his face spelled less than savory consequences. His eyes brushed over her dispassionately, as if ten minutes ago was a mirage of memory. As if she was more an identification number to be tracked than a human being whose pulse thrummed at his touch. For a moment she questioned her own sanity.His tugging on her hand brought her out of her terrifying stupor. “Come on. We’re behind as it is.”“And whose fault is that?”He uttered no response and led her to the office.
John held up the base of what was once an intact 18 karat swastika lamp. Juliana picked up its matching misshapen lampshade. “Don’t tell me. You’re out of glue.”He took it out of her hands and tossed it aside. “This can be replaced. There are many like it.” He shrugged. “I’ll just say the maid knocked it over while she was cleaning.”“You mean like she broke the bathroom door?”“If you hadn’t run away like that, you’d still be able to close it.”He set the lamp on the floor and made his way to the desk. She followed, steaming.“Can’t you ever take the blame for anything?”“Sure I can. After all, I am the one who brought you here. Allowed you to slowly drive me mad with your rampant trickery. Should I inform them that you made me trash the place?”She folded her arms. “Maybe you should. It’s not like they’d care to know the truth. Hell, they’d commend you on your particular…methods of persuasion.”He ignored the comment, mainly because he couldn’t afford to pull another all-night session. His body ached and his shoulder pain would only get worse if he slept on his couch again.“I must say you accomplished quite a lot in such a short span of time. However did you manage?”She picked up his Montblanc and twirled it. “Oh, you know. I just waved my magic wand and pointed where I wanted everything to go. The films sealed themselves inside their own canisters and hopped into these perfect stacks. Oh, wait. Isn’t witchcraft frowned upon here? Might as well get that stake ready for me.”He grabbed onto the back of the chair waiting for a minor tremor to pass. “Be careful where you wave that word around, too.”“Gosh, I was only kidding.”John stood statue still for a few moments, letting his eyes wander vacant and alert until they came upon the row of books lining the wall. He went to it and picked up Thomas’ book, tapping his fingers on it to get her attention.“Did you put this here, or did it levitate here all on its own?”“Maybe it was the ghost of Führers past.”He didn’t offer a retort, instead cradling the book in his hands as if weighing its substance for merit.She walked up to him, cringing at her morbid curiosity. “What’s it about?”John twisted it to read the spine, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know the title and contents by heart. Thomas sped through it at least five times that semester and proudly informed his family at dinner he received an A+ on his book report. The next day, he was pulled out of school early and rewarded with a father-son trip to the Aryan History Museum.
“Don’t tell your mother, Thomas. She’d have my head.”
“Brotherhood and solidarity. One man is powerless against a mighty band with a shared history and unbreakable bond. It’s as it should be.”“Individuality is suicide.”John stopped dead with a film in his hand. “Exactly. Then again, you’re no stranger to our ways.”“A man is only as strong as the people around him.”“You remembered the eulogy?”She pivoted away and rubbed her arms.“I couldn’t wipe any part of that day from my memory if I tried. I would have rather been sucked into a sinkhole than attend another one of those disturbing quasi-funerals.”“Oh.”“You expected a different response? You’re very eloquent, I’ll give you that. Everyone around just ate up your act. But what kind of way was that to honor another man?” She leaned against the desk and sneered. “You were talking about yourself the entire time.”“Enough. You’ve made your point.”John unlocked the top drawer of his desk and wrenched it open. Juliana scanned its contents razor-fast before he extracted a thick file embossed with glossy black Reich insignia. He rifled through it and fished out a letter-sized notepad then beckoned her closer, but not before twisting the key home.
“Here.”He started flipping through the pages. Three-quarters of them were blank. He opened it to the first page and revealed a detailed chart, written in pencil in his unmistakable handwriting.“I’ve broken down the content into several categories. Your task is to jot down the name of the canister here.” He pointed to the first column and skimmed the rest, left to right. “These rows are for the categories.” He handed her the notepad. “Any questions?”“Seems pretty straightforward.”“Familiarize yourself with it. We’ll delve right into it when I return.”
He wasn’t kidding.
war and politics
religion
domestic life
counterculture
industry
faux science
miscellaneous corruption
Semitic
pacifist
communist

The last column was for notes. The same precise, faded scrawl, though it was a tad sloppier at the end, as if he’d been too exhausted to care. Peculiar little doodles running in the left margin. Stars, bells. A turtle on a rock.“Very professional,” she mused.When she looked up from deciphering his scribbles, she found herself alone. She shivered and tucked her legs underneath herself for warmth. Perhaps this was another subtle punishment. She could never tell with him. Turtles and violence. A dangerous and unintentionally humorous enigma. She wondered if Goebbels’ appreciation of artistic merit extended to perfectly shaded patriotic symbols.John returned carrying a sturdy camping lantern, assessing the landscape as if descending into a mine, intent on collecting precious ore. He set it down near the notepad.“You’re going to need better lighting if you want to be able to see much of anything.” He took the Montblanc away and handed her a pencil. “It’s saves time in case you make a mistake.”“Got it. And you’re right. It is a lot.”By now it was rounding nine o’clock. He brought two more stacks of films onto the desk and chose one at random.“The serial number is…you ready?” She nodded. “AR-036211.” He pried open the lid. “Jackson County Fair, June 21, 1960…”
Hardly a word had been exchanged, aside from the odd comment here and there.Overall, Juliana was disappointed at the content in the remainder of the films. It was just trivial things like commercials for dish soap and children’s toys. Ordinary, everyday people going about their lives. Perhaps the clothing and hairstyles evolved, but nothing so drastic as to bat an eye. Now she understood why John might shirk his duties; no film manifested anything of any substance or significance.Technology-wise, there was footage of commuter trains, American model cars, and rocket ship launches. From what she’d seen, the Allied-won world wasn’t as advanced as this one. At least compared to that of the GNR.She was about to lose hope and doodle herself when the music set in.The title had read, The Judy Garland Show, Live taping, 3/8/63. Only, she wasn’t the one singing this time.A suave man in a tuxedo introduced a group of dancers “with their interpretation of ‘The Nitty Gritty.’”Six dancers ran to the stage, three men in lose black tuxedos and three girls with bows perking up their blonde bouffants. They had to be in their twenties.

“Do you know that some folks know about it, some don'tSome will learn to shout it, some won'tBut sooner or later baby, here's a dittySay you're gonna have to get right down to the real nitty gritty…”
The moves were on the sweet side of vulgar. John homed in on their legs – slender, shapely, milky-smooth – as the full skirts brushed their bare knees. He wanted to caress them all. Each dancer surrendered to the sassy lyrics and up-tempo beat with their own version of choreography. They were barely in-synch. Never once did they so much as touch hands. The very opposite of a rigid waltz.John, grateful she couldn’t read the lust in his eyes, cleared his throat. “Culture has certainly devolved. The man in the front looks like he’s trying to emulate an orangutan.”“Uh huh.”John whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes at her tapping the pencil to the beat and mouthing the words. “Double beatin', keep repeatin’.”
She whispered the lyrics as if she knew them by heart.In fact, this hadn’t been the first time she watched the clip. But he couldn’t know that.John did a double take at her.Juliana blinked. “Come on, it’s got a decent beat.”It was soulful… Clearly African-influenced.“Decent isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe it.”
He ignored her scowl.
“They play garbage like this in the Neutral Zone.” He sighed. “And to think, this could have been us.”“Yeah, I know. People genuinely enjoying themselves, despite whoever’s voice that is. What a travesty.”“The travesty is that decadence thrived at all. You can tell a lot about a society by how far its culture has degraded itself. It’s like the 1920’s all over again.”“The 20s sounded like a fun time, from what I’ve heard.”“Well, you’ve been misinformed.”The dancers ran off stage and the screen faded to black.“Lem grew up in Harlem. He told me it was a real riot.”John stopped removing the reel and regarded her calmly. “Do you like to dance, Juliana?”“What?”“Answer the question.”She shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”“Where would you go dancing?”“A bar usually.”“In the Neutral Zone, where you can get away with such debauchery. The Grand Palace.” He slunk closer. “With a stranger. Am I getting warm?”“Sometimes.”“Sometimes. Hmm.” He ran his hand along the side of the desk. “And was one of these strangers you sometimes danced with Wyatt Price?”She stiffened. “Possibly.”“Yes or no?”
“Once. John, where are you going with this?”“Are you in a relationship with Wyatt Price?”“What?”“I know your penchant for stealing hearts. Don’t deny it.” He moved to within inches of her. She didn’t flinch. “But you needn’t be in a formal relationship if your only intent is to fuck.”Her cheeks burned at his insinuation. “Jesus!”“So…have you?”“No, we haven’t.”“But you would, if given the opportunity.”“How is that any of your fucking business?”“You make it my business when you hang around miscreants like that. When you became the de facto leader of the Resistance. Ask yourself, Juliana, where has that ever gotten you?”He walked behind the chair and slid his hands over her shoulders.“You know, when you leave here, they’ll be no music in your cell. No bodies swaying together. Only silence." He leaned into her ear. “Except for the sounds of your followers being tortured.”Juliana tried to jerk away, but he tightened his hold. “How do you suppose one dances without music?”She reflected upon Meghan’s words, forcing herself not to stutter. “Imagination.”“Exactly. I think that’s why we get along so well.” He walked back to the projector and loaded another reel.Inside, her mind was spinning like a top.

San Francisco, Japanese Pacific States, 7:30 pm

Tagomi stood on Tamiko’s front porch, flanked by two guards. When Tamiko opened the door, she startled.Sensing her discomfort, he explained, “For our protection.”His mouth dropped open a little as he skimmed the length of her dress, a shimmery azure jacquard with a cowl neck and matching elbow length jacket.“Is it too much? I can go change.”He smiled and shook his head. “Ereganto. Perfect.”She beamed. “All right then.” She locked the door.He would have to speak to her about installing a deadbolt. He placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her towards the black Toyota Century, the official car of the Imperial government. When they were settled, a guard shut the door. Their driver pulled away, the guards following only seconds behind in a separate vehicle.The sky whizzed by and she marveled, as she always did, at the way stripes of coral and lavender blended like watercolors.
“Where are you taking me, Tagomi-san?”“Benihana. They serve in the Teppanyaki style.”Her eyes lit up. “Nante gochisō! I confess, I’m excited to try it. Then again, I’m just happy to be out somewhere new. I haven’t been on many dates since Mr. Watanabe passed. I’d never imagined I’d ever go anywhere so exclusive.” She fingered the hem of her dress. “I guess I am glad I wore this outfit.”“As am I, utsukushi josei.”He reached for her hand and squeezed it, rubbing his thumb over a pearlescent pink nail. He watched her blush and return to the window. They sat and gazed as cherry trees became traffic lights.An expansive aquarium greeted them upon entering the elegant, understated establishment. A waiter bowed to them and led them to a table in a corner nook next to a six-paneled Ogata Kōrin screen that featured tall irises with vivid indigo petals.“If it wouldn’t get me kicked out, I would love to touch it. Just once. It’s so full of life. Don’t you think?”Tagomi had been so enamored by Tamiko’s appreciation that he failed to really look at it. He squinted. “It looks…familiar.”“You’ve seen his work before? Up close like this? I can only imagine how many the Emperor owns.”He tore his eyes from the screen and began to scan the menu. The words made sense.The memories they evoked did not.“Please excuse me.”“Are you alright?”He nodded quickly. “Yes, yes. Please, order what you like.”He left the table, went to the bathroom and locked the door. He removed his glasses and splashed cold water on his face. He hastened to loosen his tie, which felt unusually constrictive.Car horns. Soft laughter. A sour taste in his mouth. He splashed more water on his face and braced himself against the sink.It was happening again.A few minutes later, Tagomi pulled himself together and returned to the table. A waiter was in the process of pouring glasses of plum wine.When he left, Tamiko touched his hand. “Your hand is like ice.” She pushed a glass towards him. "Here, try this.”“Arigato.”They ordered okonomiyaki and yakisoba as starters. Tagomi tried to get swept up in Tamiko’s wide-eyed wonderment when the chef prepared their Matsutaka beef in front of them, but he kept looking back at the screen. As if it was trying to warn him about something.Halfway through the final course, Tamiko regarded him with concern. “You seem so far away tonight. Is something on your mind?”He smiled kindly. “Work-related,” he lied. “An evolving situation.”“Ah. I won’t press you.”He chewed the meat, which wasn’t as succulent to him as she claimed it to be. But he couldn’t spoil her evening. However empathetic she was, there was no way she could comprehend the reason for his distraction. Few people could.Just then, an image passed through his mind that left him utterly breathless. He set down his chopsticks more forcefully than he planned to. She jumped.“What is it?”“Impatient.”He gazed at her, hoping she would read the uncommon intensity in his eyes as flirtation instead of fear.
During the last hour, John made several comments about how the Nazis were clearly superior, as the Allies provided no justification for their supposed victory. Juliana rolled her eyes so often her eyeballs began to ache.She yawned. Even John’s eyes had begun to glaze over with weariness.“Why don’t you go make us a pot of coffee? I’ll show you where to find everything.”She stretched her arms out and pushed the baggy sleeves past her wrists. “If you don’t mind me handling your property.”He scoffed. “What remains of it.”She pushed back from the desk. His gaze lingered on the length of her legs. To feel them again would be heaven. And madness.When he felt confident she wouldn’t burn the apartment down, he returned to the office and immediately unlocked the drawer containing the two newest films. He set up the one taken from the farmhouse and perched on the edge of the desk.It was one of the few that came equipped with Hawthorne’s unmistakable blathering. He’d hacked and pasted together words to poorly recreate the would-be front pages of the Chicago Daily Tribune and San Francisco Chronicle. But John didn’t find it the least bit funny.
“Victory in Japan is celebrated as grateful crowds give cheer!”
John groaned. He was about to shut off the projector when he saw the spritely young girl Hawthorne had warned him about. It was unmistakable how like her she was; the fledgling patriot.An eerie sound broke through the silence and the screen flickered no more. The room was enveloped in near blackness. John heard a crash in the distance. His stomach dropped.She wouldn’t dare.He grabbed the lantern and bolted, leaving the door wide open, and stalked down the hallway.
“Juliana?”“In here.”John crept past the dining room and paused at the entryway to the kitchen. He raised the lantern, which highlighted a miniature disaster.She was huddled next to the sink carefully picking up shards of two broken cups. Coffee had splattered onto frost white cabinets and dripped onto the pristine linoleum.He set the lantern on the counter and stooped down next to her trembling form.John lifted her hands, handling them as though made of porcelain. He breathed a sigh of relief that her bandage escaped unscathed.Juliana’s breath came in rapid bursts. “The lights went out so fast. I tried to aim for the sink, but I missed.”“Clearly.” He held her hands up to the light, trying to make out if there were any fresh cuts. "Did you get anything on you?”She gave the sleep shirt a cursory pat down. “I don’t think so, no.”She went back to searching for remnants. He was relieved that it was the cups that smashed and not the entire pot, or it would have scalded her, requiring the inconvenient attention of a medic.“I’ll see to that.” John indicated her bare feet. “You shouldn’t be in here like this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”In a daze, she began to back away. It hadn’t occurred to her she would require further protection. As usual, she was wrong. It seemed the entire place was littered with potential booby traps.“Hold on.” He rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out several white pillar candles. “You’re going to need these for when you set up the next reel for me.”“Are you sure that –”John looked up at her, reigning in his burgeoning impatience. “They’re working on getting the power back right now, so I suggest you do as I ask. And quickly. We have to get through as many films as possible.”She accepted three candles and a box of matches but couldn’t make herself move. John looked up from his task, already perturbed at her lingering.“Well?Juliana quit the room without a backwards glance. Crossing the tiles barefoot now had the biting effect of stepping on snow, despite the fact that the fire had been spared.She edged past the dustless shelves, set in a jagged maze only a National Socialist could love. It held been deliberately, dispassionately curated with opulent crystal statues and other classical décor.
The modernity of the penthouse was almost funereal in its absence of color. Meghan was right about the roses. She’d hardly ever seen such a color in the Reich outside of nature, which Aryans also adored.If the Smith penthouse was a study in polished austerity, the dusty, dingy Neutral Zone gave new meaning to the phrase ‘lived in’. There wasn’t much by way of clothing stores. After survival and sustenance, it was an afterthought; the unspoken rule was to blend in with the backdrop and arm yourself like an amateur soldier. You certainly had to become one.Juliana couldn’t remember the last time she owned anything that couldn’t be purchased second or third hand. She carefully hand-washed her more delicate items. Most times clothes that didn’t fit would require alteration. Though she already knew how to sew, Caroline taught her to knit.She also had to make do with a primitive washing machine with a perpetually busted crank mechanism. While wringing out her sodden clothes yet again, she’d remember the laundromat in her Long Island dorm where she need only flash her building ID to gain access to the washers and dryers, thus eliminating the need to watch hers like a hawk so no one could walk off with what few articles she possessed.For a moment she peered out the window. Not for the second time, she wondered what New Yorkers perusing the wares of department stores and zooming around Manhattan on the monorail would think if they found out their beloved Reichsmarschall found comfort in between the thighs of the most wanted woman in the Reich. The same man who dreamt about her face and form but couldn’t place why. The closet sexual deviant who kept her hidden in the home he'd shared with a wife who'd given up on him. All Juliana had to do was tell one person, and he would be the one pursued, degraded, torn limb from limb.
Back in the office, she lit the candles and set up the projector. She went to load a new film when she noticed a desk drawer left ajar. Without hesitating, she soundlessly shut the office door and locked it.So, he’d finally gotten his hands on Hawthorne’s experimental reel. John would of course brush it off as propaganda, which indeed it was. With one eye on the door, she took out the lone canister. For a few seconds she disparaged because the lid failed to budge. Almost as if it was reluctant to be viewed. But soon enough she was able to pry it off and set it atop the abandoned notepad with anxious fingers.
Christmas ’62.
She stared at the reel as if it were capable of sentience. In their own way, the films were. They spoke to her. They yelled. They enlightened.After a few seconds of cautious deliberation, she determined it was worth the risk of further punishment to see what the mystery film contained. Why hide it?She sat down in the chair previously occupied by John. With a whirr, the screen lit up.
The electricity was back. That didn’t take long, she mused.It commenced with a bit of shaky camerawork, a gorgeous view of snowy city streets as well as the New York skyline. Wreaths and garlands adorned the storefronts below. Though shaded in greys like every other film, Juliana could picture vibrant reds, greens and crinkly metallics.Next came a close-up of a miniature manger scene. A man’s hand invaded the screen and started fussing with a pair of lambs situated by a makeshift water bowl. It gleefully made one prance around the other, knocking down the Three Wise Men and an unsuspecting shepherd in the process.Wobbly figurines righted, the camera panned to the left, landing on a gargantuan evergreen bulging with strings of beads, dancing lights, and enough ornaments to empty out the entire holiday section of a department store. Piles of presents of all shapes and sizes encircled a much grander manger scene. The camera then veered to the right.The hand propping up Juliana’s cheek fell to her lap as mute shock settled in.Kneeling off to the side, looking slightly pained as she struggled to free her hair from a branch and a bell-shaped ornament, there she was, down to the dimpled chin, a small beribboned box on her lap.She closed her eyes, echoing words aloud from across an uncharted universe:
“I told you there were too many.”
It was like being socked with ten fists at once.Whoever was filming set down the camera, which captured the ensuing scene in stunning detail. She was rendered frozen, just like the icicles hanging from the city rooftops.The man, clad in a sweater that accentuated athletic shoulders, sprinted towards the tree and couched besides this Juliana. He turned and revealed the all too familiar angular features. The man shoved what were probably some fallen evergreen needles aside as he crawled towards the minor calamity.Juliana, in the neutral chill of the office, began to feel unusually warm. Not only that, but she was plunged into an olfactory mess: the sharp aroma of pine sap, glazed ham, anise cookies. Then something else hit her. Something earthy, primal, and distinct.
Her heartbeat sped up as the man bent to assist her celluloid replica. She watched helplessly as he tickled her neck and was rewarded with a giggle, followed by what looked like a wince. A wayward tendril sprung free and fell to frame her face.A rash of heat bathed Juliana’s neck. She was tempted to snatch the film out and bash it against the wall. John was right. Nothing good could come of this. But she was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away.The mystery man took the box and set it aside as he worked on releasing her hair that had gotten snagged. Her eyes melted into the intriguing tableau as layers of memory were peeled back. It was that pleasure in anticipation she couldn’t get enough of. She’d felt it several times before. All her life.All her other life.
John carefully balanced one cup of fresh coffee in each hand. When he reached the office, he noticed the telltale light leaking into the floor.“Damn it. Let me in, Juliana!”
Her gut clenched and she hurried to switch off the projector.Without warning, the door creaked open. John set the steaming cups on the desk so fast their contents nearly splashed all over the work surface. “You really should have waited until I–”In his haste to seek her out he'd forgotten to lock the drawer.The first thing he saw upon turning around was the massive fir, whatever wasn’t gaudily festooned from top to bottom with elves and reindeer and drummer boys. A gossamer-winged angel, flanked by half a dozen cherubs, crowned the monstrosity.He knew heaven to be as mythical as pagan gods. Any expression of devotion to religion was considered deception against the Führer. He alone should be looked to for guidance, dutifully worshiped and revered. There should be a swastika atop that tree. Anything else was verboten.And yet the longer he looked at it, the less he cared for the lie. A strangely pleasant tingle zipped through his spine.
This film was an anomaly.But it was more than that.His eyes were fastened on the woman who snapped open the lid of a jewelry box with an expression of contagious joy. He glanced between the Juliana rushing towards the projector and the one lighting up the screen. Her anxious fingers fumbled with the switch.“Wait!”The man started to kiss down her neck.Suddenly John was there again beside this woman; so close he could name every note in her Fleur de Boehme.The woman laughingly shoved him away and pointed at the camera. The man turned. For a moment John became lost in his own eyes smiling at him in mockery.But above all else, pure contentment.Juliana stood rooted to the spot. Before they knew it, the screen went white; as did John’s face.Memories roared through him in every shade of sentiment, rendering coherent speech next to impossible. His heart hammered in his ears.The film stirred something in him both unadulterated and all-consuming, harking back to the time he crushed the perfect rose petals in his hand. Images began to resurface like unearthing a forgotten time capsule. In that moment everything he’d previously denied made perfect sense.John approached her. As he drew closer, the hairs on his neck stood on end, as if she were a live wire coming to jolt him out of his stupor. Their eyes connected at once.

“Do you want to tell me what that was?”Her lips began to quiver at his nearness. She couldn't help but gaze at his own sensual mouth. Meanwhile, John was inching towards hysteria."Answer me."

Juliana attempted to take a step back, but John captured her wrists and yanked her forwards. The intensity in his gaze nearly ripped the breath right out of her.
She shook her head and blinked against the threat of tears. "I don't know."His eyes continued to burn into hers while he tightened his hold. "Please!"
She gasped at the desperation in his voice and spat out the first word she could think of. “Propaganda?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John furrowed his brows. “What did you say?”Juliana sucked in her chest. “Pro-Christian propaganda.” She continued in a rush. “It’s illegal in the Reich to celebrate holidays like Christmas.”He whipped his head around and swept his eyes across the vacant screen. When he turned back, his expression was pure chaos. “Is this your idea of a joke?”She shook her head rapidly. “No, of course not!”“Then why –”He paused, stricken by the way the muted candlelight captured her silhouette in a fine halo. He fought against the bewildering influx of alien emotions, unremitting in its assault. A palpable need to kiss her warred against the urge to throttle away her insolence, composure collapsing by the minute. It took everything in him not to give in to the sway of free-floating nostalgia and focus on this reality.The buzzing in his head rendered his voice ragged and unsteady. “My rope has all but snapped, Juliana. I suggest you tell me where this came from…or you can’t begin to imagine the consequences.”She struggled to wrench free. “I can’t!”His nostrils flared. “Stop lying to me.”The beginning of tears shined in her eyes. “I swear I don’t know anything.”
But he was too delirious with distress and confusion to care. “It was Tagomi, wasn’t it?”“Let go of me,” she hissed. The words fell shaky and clipped as she peered up at him.
John bowed his head over her hands and tried to collect himself. He let his thumbs graze her palms before relaxing his hold on her wrists. His legs sagged onto the couch, a once exquisite marble statue crumbling from the weight of the intangible. He clutched the stiff leather, chest heaving, unable to contain the trepidation rattling his heart.“This can’t be happening again. It just… ” His head shot up and leveled a glare at her. “Why you? Why not Helen? Where is she?”
Juliana hugged herself to ward off the creeping chill. “I can’t tell you that.”He scoffed. “As convenient a reply as ever.”“When is the truth ever convenient?”“The truth is that I’m only in love with my wife,” John said, jaw wound up with tension. “We,” he indicated with a wave between them, “are not together.”“Unless I’m missing something, John, I’m not with Nori Tagomi either. Am I?”He raked his hands through his hair and gestured at the screen, his countenance hovering somewhere between disbelief and futility. “How the fuck I’m supposed to get used to this?”“You find a way.” She slid onto the couch and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, but he just flicked it away.
“No.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Just tell me who’s responsible so I can make this all go away.”She threw up her hands. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m not friends with everyone in the Resistance. I know you’ll never believe me after everything, but – John, you can’t just make this go away. There’s got to be a reason for someone to -”“Stop. Just stop.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have no choice but to watch this thing in its entirety.”Juliana leapt up to restart the projector, but he halted her. “Not now. I’ll do it when I’m ready. Until then, I just want to sit.”She crinkled her brow and resumed her seat. “Alright then.”She sought out the splintered portrait of him with Thomas on the wall. Where was John’s family in all this? Could they possibly be on the same plane of existence as this latest gift? From the precious glimpses she was offered, she couldn’t say. There was really no way of knowing.John’s rasping voice broke through her contemplation. “How long have you known?”“About what?”
He pivoted his body towards her. His misty gaze spoke of anguish, wonder and want. “Everything. You and I. These,” he hesitated, “events from the past.”She swallowed. “It all came together for me early this morning.”He arched a questioning brow. “Any particular part of the morning?”Her eyes darted to her bare feet. “When you were standing in front of the television.”A soaking-wet Aryan god surrounded by shining splinters of glass.His eyes widened the slightest bit. “You mean after I almost broke my neck trying to stop you from leaving?” He draped an arm over the back of the couch and crossed his legs, channeling the inquisitive Obergruppenfuhrer, poised to soak up every word. “Go on.”She folded her hands on her lap. “The violence shattered my concentration. Not long after, all these memories slammed into me like a tidal wave.”He flexed his fingers, a natural response to recognition, no matter how hard he wanted to fight it. But all he could say in response was, “I see.”Juliana inclined her head. “Why did you stop me?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well have you escaping as you’re property….”“Of the Reich,” she finished.John’s lips curled up as if amused. “Ten points on the board for you.”
“Nothing more?”
He scoured her form. “What other reason could there possibly be?”Juliana lowered her eyes and wrestled to cover her bare legs with the baggy flannel. Her hair was almost dry and lay in a sweet-scented mass over one shoulder, baring her neck.John suppressed a sigh and directed his attentions elsewhere. He rapidly scanned the piles of unopened canisters strewn about the room.
“There’s been a change of plans. Your services for this evening are are no longer required.”Juliana blinked in bewilderment at the abrupt formal shift. “Are you sure? There’s still so much to go through. We just made coffee, too.”“Thank you for your assistance with the coffee and everything else. I can see now why Tagomi retained you. But I’ll take over from here.”“I don’t understand.”John glanced at his watch. “We both have an early start tomorrow. And I seem to recall something about dishes…”Juliana’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”“After you’re done in the kitchen, might I recommend resting up for whatever lies ahead.” His lips thinned. “Have no doubt, it won’t be pleasant.”
Words dried up in her throat at the forbidding reminder.
“In the meantime, I have to plan for my meeting.” He looked at her pointedly. “Alone.”She had a notion the room might be veering sideways, unsure of her footing in the physical space with him. Mere hours ago his hands roamed her body. He tore at her skin with his teeth. Now he treated her with an almost robotic detachment. What was she even doing here?
“And now I’ll say goodnight.” He swept a hand towards the door. “You can sleep in the guest room again. Surely you know the way by now.”Positively stupefied, Juliana whirled around and went to leave. She thought better of it as soon as her hand was on the doorknob. She spun back around.
“Catching glimpses of yourself like that can be really jarring. It’s not something you become accustomed to overnight. But sooner or later you’ll come to accept it.”John clenched his fist. “I don’t have to accept a damn thing.”Her hand tightened on the knob with sudden ire. “What more proof do you need?”“I said good night,” he snapped. He closed his eyes. “That was rude of me. I’ll come wake you when it’s time to leave. Alright, Jul-"He turned just in time to see the door slam.

The tang of Spic and Span filled Juliana’s nostrils upon entering the kitchen. She flicked on the light above the sink. Dishes from the succulent steak dinner were stacked beneath soiled cutlery. She shoved her sleeves past her elbows and squirt bright green Palmolive soap onto a sponge. She scrubbed at the caked on bits of beef. When she’d set those aside to dry, she came upon the knives. One had blood running across the length of it.
While the water washed the food particles away she wondered again why she hadn’t killed John Smith when she had ample opportunity to do so. Juliana ran her finger down the blade. It should be so easy. She could take him now, when he was absorbed in his work. She could seduce him. She could keep the knife under her pillow.
She rested against the sink, debating the pros and cons. John was fast. Faster than even her. He was also unpredictable. Trained in weaponry. Cold and ruthless when he wanted to be, which was often. He’d see though her seductive façade soon enough. So what if he’d proved himself to be more than a fascist robot. The man deserved to die. The sooner he was rid of the better. But perhaps someone else had a better shot. The element of surprise. The precious advantage of distance. Liam had already been named, but if he couldn’t do it, surely someone else could rid the world of this monster.
When her task was complete - a blissfully solitary one at that - her eyes began to wander about the room. Everything was stoic and immaculate; some with stomach-turning enhancements. All the handles and knobs- faucet, cabinetry, and stove - were swastika-shaped. There was a lone fridge magnet that read, ‘Happy families are the best foundation of our people.’ It featured a flaxen-haired mother presenting her husband, seated at the head of the table, with a succulent roast. Four children gathered around the table smiled adoringly while clutching their utensils. A painting of Hitler decorated the wall.
“Of course,” Juliana mused. Every room in this house was sickening.
Her gaze landed on the knife block. She stroked the row of steak knives. The butcher’s knife, a classic. She could disorient him by jamming the honing rod through his eye. There were so many options. She rummaged through one of the drawers. A meat thermometer might be easier to hide than a honing rod…Maybe she didn’t need to kill him after all. If she could make the attack brutal enough, she might be able to escape. She dropped the meat thermometer back into the drawer and slammed it shut. There just had to be a way out.
But not this way.
Letting out a yawn of pure exhaustion, Juliana slid beneath the plush duvet, gathering it close and curling up on her side. She focused on the steady patter of rain in an attempt to slow her breathing enough to lull her to sleep, ignoring the blare of freshly bruised skin against the fabric.
Questions thrashed around her brain the second she closed her eyes. What if the clock hadn’t interfered? What did John want to do to her, and why wouldn’t she want to know what it was? What was he thinking right now? Who was insane enough to bring the film straight to the Nazis? And, most niggling of all, how could she ever – in any universe – fall in love with John Smith?There was no denying this was the man of her memories. The film solidified his significance as one of those individuals always meant to orbit her unnatural, consistent sun. If that were true, what would possess any version of herself to care for him in such a way? To smile and laugh with him. To feel…If the Resistance ever got their hands on the film, she’d be relegated to traitor once more. She’d become a laughingstock amongst the old guard and drive away the newest recruits. The entire movement would fall apart. How would they know any different if they struggled to believe in a single film? To them, the idea of beating the Nazis would be as plausible as raising the dead.
Everything she’d done, every brush with death, every murder at her own hands would have been for nothing. Hitler’s promise of a thousand-year Reich wouldn’t seem so far-fetched after all.
As for John Smith, it would spell instant personal and professional disaster, all his secrets laid bare for the world to see. If she didn’t kill him, eventually someone would. It was only a matter of time.
She punched the pillow, fighting back tears of vexation over this latest quagmire. Forget John’s loyalties. Whatever happened to hers? She’d mislead Tagomi without a second thought, assuring him she’d be safe when, in actuality, she was clueless as to both of their fates. Perhaps the Reichsmarschall was right. Just what had optimism brought her so far?
In his mausoleum of a home, tucked into one of his beds, his very own nightshirt covering her body. Spent; destined to die. No longer his to control.
After an hour or so her mind collapsed under the weight of fear and self-hatred.

Early August 1963, New York City, USA

Two puny fans sputtered noisily. Juliana lay on her stomach with a pillow pressed over her head to block out the cacophony of city life in the midst of yet another heat wave. And she thought July 4th weekend was bad! The bottom of her nightgown was plastered to the back of her thighs. She rolled over with a sigh. She was under the delusion that nylon was an all-season material. She rose and stood in front of one of the fans and lifted the short hem until the tiny beads of sweat dissipated.Padding into her kitchenette, she squinted at the sun streaming through the window like a spotlight. She poured herself some orange juice and was about to take out bread for toast when her buzzer rang. She rushed over to the intercom.
“Hello?”“Hey, it’s me.”“Oh! Come on up.”
John had taken the day off three weeks earlier so that they could spend the day together. He just so happened to chose one of the most sweltering weeks of the year to do it.
She released the chain on the door, which required a bit of jiggling to slide it all the way through. She spied through the peephole expectantly and felt the familiar frisson of delight as John rounded the stairwell. A quick glance in the mirror revealed a mussed up top knot. She frantically rearranged the bobby pins and opened the door before he could knock.Eyes like a gilded forest raked over her from top to toe and back. “Good morning, my fair gypsy.” He tossed a copy of The New York Times on the coffee table, along with a bag of fresh croissants.
“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” she said with a sleepy smile. His breath wafted over her as he gathered her to his chest. “Didn’t you know? It’s too hot for cinnamon.”His finger connected the constellation of flowers stitched into the lacy panel above her breasts. “It’s never too hot for cinnamon.”
He angled his mouth against hers, building up the intensity of his kiss at a maddening pace. When he stopped it left her trapped in a purgatory of want.John smirked. “Too hot for just about everything else, though.”Juliana pulled back with a slight grimace. “Sorry. I only just woke up and didn’t get to brush. Orange juice doesn’t exactly go with peppermint.”John brushed a stray tendril aside. “But orange and spice is ten times as nice.”She rolled her eyes. “If you say so. Want some? OJ that is.”
He tugged at the collar of his light green button-down.
I’ve got to find her another fan. Or another place to live. “Couldn’t say no to that.”She smiled in genuine pleasure. “Be right back.”Returning with the glass of juice she noticed he’d moved to her shabby white couch. He gratefully accepted and took a sip as he scanned the headlines.
“I thought we were going to a matinée," she said. "The Great Escape, wasn’t it?”He didn’t look up from his paper. “Change of plans.”“Why? Are you afraid it will give you flashbacks?”“Not really. I wasn’t a POW. And I’ve got no qualms about seeing Nazis get their comeuppance.”
“Is it sold out?”“Oh, I’ve got tickets. We’re just not going today.”Juliana crossed her arms. “So what is today?”“Go get dressed and find out.”“Get dressed for what?”“Walking.”How vague. “Where are you taking me?”He turned and sniffed. “You can wonder while you’re in the shower.”She sniffed her armpit. “Am I that gross?”He grinned. “Since when did a little sweat ever bother me?”
“Right.” She turned away before he could see the blush creeping across her cheeks.John ran his eyes over her form. “Hey, come here for a second.”
She was no longer so self-conscious around him now. They no longer hid anything from each other it seemed. Except for the hardbound copy of The Feminine Mystique Trudy sent Juliana for her birthday that year, currently sandwiched between her mattress and box spring.Juliana rustled the newspaper, trying to distract him. “Anything new about the President in there?”
John tossed the paper on the table. “Yes, of course. There’s always something new about JFK. What is it with you women and that guy?”“That guy is the leader of the free world.”“Well, this guy,” he jabbed at his chest, “is your boyfriend. Therefore, I should rank somewhat higher in your thoughts.”Juliana toed her ankle with her other foot. “But you do.”“Sometimes I wonder.”“We’re just not used to someone so handsome.”John made a stricken face. “Am I not handsome?”He tickled her sides and stomach, and she erupted in laughter while trying to wiggle away.He nuzzled her navel. “Admit it.”“I never said you’re not. John, stop! It’s way too hot for this.”He grabbed the back of her thigh and squeezed. She hissed when his fingers slipped inside her cotton panties.The merriment vanished. “Have you been having those dreams again, Juliana?”“It’s probably the heat.”“Yes, let’s keep blaming the heat. Well then, might I suggest you not wear these at all. In fact, don’t wear one single stitch of clothing in bed until after Labor Day. Can you do that?”“You mean sleep in the nude…alone?”“You won’t always be alone,” he said, yanking her onto his lap. “We should get you some new bedsheets, too.”Her face lit up. “Really?”“Pick out a few sets, different colors. Anything you like.”She clasped her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to do that.”“Oh, but I insist.”“Well, they are having a huge sale at Ma-”He leaned in just then, hovering over her ear. “After you finish making the bed with your pristine new sheets, I’m going to make you come all over them.” He tapped a finger against her clit.
“Again. And again.”Juliana jerked against his featherlight caresses. And smiled.He skimmed the silky fabric at the side of her breast with the back of his fingers. “Maybe a cool shower today, hmm?”
She nodded in a delicious haze of sensation. “That sounds…nice.” She fanned herself with a Woolworth circular and squinted against the light streaming through south-facing windows. “The sun is pretty relentless here. It makes me wish I lived on the first floor, or even in the basement. With the rats.”
John cupped her weight, intermittently allowing his fingers to drift over a taut nipple. “Didn’t I warn you about New York summers?”
He caught the dusky bud between his first two fingers, clamping down like a miniature vice. She emitted a high-pitched moan, if there ever was such a thing.
He pinched and released it through the flimsy nylon, adoring the sight of her biting her lip and crunching the circular in her fist.He continued the miniature torture for a few more minutes before reluctantly releasing her. “I’ll give you half an hour." His voice dropped a register. "Don’t make me wait.”
Forcing herself to regain her bearings, Juliana made her way down the narrow hallway, debating whether or not to comply.
Lately John had been getting a kick out of not letting her come - sometimes for hours. She found it as infuriating as it was invigorating. His outward show of impatience tended to mask his genuine arousal over her acts of bratty noncompliance. It was a little game that whisked them away from their often stressful lives, just for a little while. On particularly trying days the game was a foregone conclusion. Today this might just be one of them.
Due to the untimely heat, compliance won out. They stood before the entrance to the BMT Line at the corner of West 55th Street and 7th Avenue, flanked by a pretzel cart and an onslaught of pedestrian traffic, August heat baking the sidewalks.
Juliana sighed. “Time to plunge straight into the depths of hell.”John squeezed her hand. “It’s only the subway.”“They said it’s supposed to get up to 91 today.” She stepped aside to allow a huddle of teenagers to pass. “How hot is it down there anyway?”“Ever been to Death Valley?”As for the underground platform, John wasn’t too off the mark. Luckily, they didn’t have to suffer for too long. Something akin to air conditioning made the hour-long ride somewhat bearable, as did John’s detailing of Walnut the turtle’s grand escape and Juliana’s upcoming ballet class.
She wasn’t sure she should continue. She was probably the oldest student in attendance. But dancing made her feel free. It was a far gentler atmosphere than that of the Blue Velvet Lounge. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to John, trying to banish the thought of having to work the following evening.
At last, the train skidded into its final stop, Stillwell Avenue. The smells hit them first upon exiting: the briny ocean breeze; the perspiration of the populace slathered in suntan oil; the mouthwatering aroma of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs, cotton candy, and shish kebabs.
Juliana smoothed down her new striped dress. It was a coastal tribute in shades of aqua, seafoam, cerulean and cloud white, cinched at the waist with a thin belt from which a loose cotton skirt flowed down to her knees.John fanned himself with his fedora. “Be right back.”
A few minutes later he returned with two Italian sausages, piled high with peppers and onions, a bottle of Sprite for her and an RC Cola for him. “Sustenance.”They found an empty picnic table situated away from the crowd. Juliana gazed warmly at the continuous flow of people decorating the boardwalk.
“This kind of reminds me of the Embarcadero.”John looked up from twisting off the cap of his soda. “Oh?”“Yeah. We always walked it, but Christmas was absolutely the best time of year.”
He licked his lips after taking a swig of cola. “Did you have a white Christmas like we do in New York?”She giggled. “More like a wet Christmas. I remember going to Union Square to gaze at the window displays. Whenever it rained, the pavement would shimmer from the lights reflected in the glass. It was magical, in its own way.”She stared off into the distance. “When my mother wasn’t working, we used to drive along the marina to see the boats and houses decked out in lights. Firehouses used to have competitions for the best decorations. We’d wave to the carolers riding the street cars down Hyde Street.”
John became imbued with a serene warmth that spread down to his limbs whenever she became animated as she was now. Her voice was like a balm to his soul.“There was this blind singer who stood on the corner of Powell Street. I always used to put a couple coins into his tin cup, which was part of my meager allowance. He took requests. My mom would have to hold onto it so I had something left for the carnival atop the Emporium. Even though I wanted to give him everything I had.”“You would,” John replied with a faint smile of his own.“Then one time I took Trudy to Grant Street to see the giant tree inside The City of Paris, which had this grand stained glass dome. It was always tough finding a seat inside to get out of the chill and have some hot chocolate.”“Those are some vivid memories.”
She nodded, mouth too full of sausage and peppers to speak.
John took a long gulp of soda and set it down with a contented Ahh. He crossed over to her side of the table.
“How about now? Anything to write home about?”She inclined her head. “This is home now. With you.” She reached up to wipe hot sauce from the corner of his mouth. “And your boxes upon boxes of ornaments.”He stretched his arm behind her. “There’s more where that came from.”“Please tell me you’re joking.”“You’ll just have to see for yourself, won’t you? That is, if you still want to be with me.”A look of concern crossed her face. “Why would you say that?”“Because,” he sighed. “I’m not getting any younger. Don’t you ever feel like I’m, I don’t know, holding you back?”“Not in a million years would I change a thing.”She cringed inside, though, thinking about her job. It was becoming more tedious the longer she worked there. It was either that or… what? She was nowhere near ready to be a mother. Did she even want that for herself? John never mentioned anything about parenthood, of course. But it was something he’d want. What man wouldn’t want to be a father?John suddenly sprung up and pulled her from the bench. “Come on, come on. Much to see.”While he dumped their food containers in the trash Juliana reapplied her lipstick. “I only knew about Coney Island from postcards that my aunt Charlotte used to send. Her husband was a carny. A little more old-fashioned than this in some respects. It was the 40s after all.”
The Riegelmann Boardwalk consisted of wide wooden planks in a chevron design stretching over two and a half miles, separated from the sand by long metal railings. Beyond that, the immensity of the Atlantic Ocean. Coney Island had a distinct nautical theme woven throughout.
A spectacle of mermaids in clamshell tops, anchors, and pirate ships; crabs and conch shells and, fittingly, the New York Aquarium.
Over time, the landscape evolved. Scarcely a year ago the space-themed Astroland USA opened its doors, joining the terrifying 262-foot-high Parachute Jump as well as roller coasters the Thunderbolt, the Tornado, and the star of the show, the Cyclone.
John bowed to her and waved an arm before him in mock chivalry. “Where to first, milady?”
So much for walking. Their adventure began with bumper cars and a hall of mirrors, attractions that wouldn’t cause them to lose their lunch before braving the roller coasters. Next, they marveled at the feats of Hadja Ben Ali, the ‘Human Volcano,’ master fire-breather.Then they stopped in to visit the World In Wax Musee. Tableaus of notorious gangsters of the 30s and 40s, as well as rather graphic depictions of crimes throughout history such as the Gravel Pit murder, reeled John in. Juliana couldn’t get away fast enough.
John found her waiting on a bench. “I’m sorry I took so long. But my god, the realism!”“Yeah, realism. Glad you enjoyed it though.” Juliana couldn’t help but be reminded of her mugging ordeal. A lone woman walking home in the wee hours of the morning. What the hell was she thinking?
As a peace offering, John bought Juliana a bag of pastel-hued saltwater taffy that she stashed in her purse.
“I hope this doesn’t get stuck to the lining,” she said while unwrapping a sticky candy. “That always happens for some reason.”
Strolling lazily along the T-shaped pier, the couple wandered past a sand castle competition, which drew a crowd of older kids and teens. A few feet away, a hot dog-eating contest was gearing up.
Juliana pointed at the group of competitors seated at a long table being outfitted with enormous bibs. “I’d like to see you win that.”
John rubbed his flat stomach through his linen shirt. “Does that look like my kind of thing?”“I don’t know. What is your kind of thing?”He gave her an enigmatic look and walked on, finally wandering into an arcade. He was like a twelve-year-old with boundless energy trapped inside the body of a stoic Greek god.
After glancing around, he stopped in front of the Davy Crockett Moving Target Rifle Gallery.“Three balls for five cents.” Juliana grimaced. “You’re not seriously going to shoot at Indians?”
“Of course not. I just want to win you a prize or two. And you know I’ve got good aim.”Juliana smirked. More like impeccable.“Do you mind?”She glanced to the side surreptitiously. “Not in the slightest. I’ll just be over there by…” She looked around the area. “The Skee Ball.”“Alright then. Wish me luck.”She kissed him on his sun-kissed cheekbone, inhaling his light woodsy cologne. “Luck.”He quirked his eyebrows and slipped a coin into the slot.
John really didn’t need any. He was, as usual, a bastion of poise, focus, and determination. His tenacity in playing nearly every game of skill and winning Juliana the biggest prizes he could predictably overrode her pleas to stop at a six-inch lobster and pink seahorse.
“John, I’m way too old for toys!”In a span of an hour he’d amassed a small bounty: said lobster and seahorse, as well as a framed picture of a dolphin, a sea princess doll, and, his most notable acquisition so far, a hand-painted Siamese cat carved out of wood.
Guess Your Age was in the bag; the attendant had guessed thirty-nine. It earned him a stuffed pirate. He’d whacked the mallet and got that thing all the way to the top in one effortless movement.Juliana didn’t mind this show of strength, but she did balk at the fuzzy orangutan he walked away with. John dropped its looped arms around her neck and admired it from afar, as if he’d just bestowed an Olympic medal upon her.
“This is the last one, right?”He gave her a mock pleading look. “Would you mind so terribly humoring me once more?”She shaded her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. “Fine, but this time I’ll choose.”
She scanned the multitude of food purveyors, rides, women with straw hats and swimsuits, and rows upon rows of souvenir shops. “There,” she pointed. “Deep Sea Darts. Will that satisfy you?”He nudged her arm. “You know you get just as much pleasure out of my success as I do.”She was heading for a pounding headache from all the popping balloons and general cacophony. Juliana untangled herself from the stuffed primate and passed it back to John. “I’m going to find the ladies’ room, then maybe get something to eat. Do you want anything?”He cradled the orangutan against his hip as he handed some nickels to the attendant. “I’m good for now. Don’t stay away too long.” He kissed her hand and watched her glide through the throng of people, native Brooklynites and tourists alike, just as she had the first time he laid eyes on her in that smoky lounge.

The restroom was, as expected, crowded with puddles all over the floor from women in swimsuits and dripping hair rinsing sand from themselves. After extricating herself with some careful maneuvering, Juliana rushed to get in line at Grandmother’s Predictions. She figured it wouldn’t take too long since it was fairly short.
Trudy was a sucker for all things astrological and her enthusiasm had rubbed off over the years. Juliana deemed it harmless entertainment, but she clutched her nickel as suffused with excitement as everyone else in line. She couldn’t wait to share her fortune with her sister. It was probably ridiculous, but she didn’t care.
When her turn finally came, she dropped her coin in and waited. What Does Grandma Say? the wooden booth read in faded gold letters. Inside an automaton, an elderly figure attired in a black lace Victorian-style gown and several pieces of vintage jewelry, titled her head in greeting. An artificial candle flickered to her left.
Juliana startled when the figure creaked into jerky motion, waving her hands over the cards set before her. Finally the machine spat out a piece of paper with near microscopic script. She shared a conspiratorial smile with a girl of about fifteen with shoulder-length brown hair, so like Trudy.She stood off to the side and scanned the paper. The fortune read as expected for the most part. She was about to stuff it in her purse when the hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle. An odd line caught her attention. She stopped walking and reread the text from top to bottom. It still made little sense, so she brushed it off. It was only a simple carnival relic. Thousands of people before her had probably received the very same results.Rejoining the bustling throngs of people, she almost collided with a portrait sketching station where the artist was currently overemphasizing a woman’s beehive hairdo.
“I’m so sorry!” she cried and rushed off before the grouchy cartoonist could respond. She checked her slim silver watch. It wouldn’t be long before John would start tearing through the park yelling out her name. She ran to join the line of the nearest food vendor.
“Next!”Juliana smiled sweetly at the careworn face of the young attendant. Beads of sweat stuck to his brow, despite the fact that there was a humongous freezer before him. She, too, knew the struggle of toiling in a cramped space, catering to demanding customers, feet aching by the end of every endless shift.
“Hello there, miss. What can I get for you today?”“Hi. I’d just like an ice cream cone.”The sandy-haired teen perked up the instant she spoke, a blush creeping up to the tips of his long lashes. “Wha- which flavor, Miss?”“Hmm….” She scanned the list of choices posted to parcel board in red plastic letters:
*Mint Chocolate SPACE Chip**VENUSian Vanilla**MOONrocky Road**NEPTUNEan Neapolitan**STARberries and Cream*
“Waaaahhhhh!!!” A little boy of about three with blond hair and a Yankees cap started jumping up and down.“Miss?”Juliana felt a tug on her skirt. “Why don’t you surprise me?”“Really?”She was about to rest her beaded clutch on the counter but thought better of it when she noticed a splatter of hot fudge. “Sure, why not?”A shy smile lit up his face and he stood taller. “How many scoops?”The toddler started spinning around and nearly knocked into her legs. “Ralph, Jr!” his frazzled mother shouted. “We are turning around and leaving if you keep misbehaving.”The child stomped and continued to shriek.
Juliana plugged an ear. “Two, please.”“You behave this instant!”“Wahhhhh!!!”“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” asked the young server.“Be quiet!” The mother was fuming.Juliana leaned into the counter. "Two scoops, of your favorite flavor."He crinkled his face in confusion. “Mine?”Juliana rummaged through her purse for coins. “Yeah. Why not?”“Coming right up.”The boy bounced into action, his slim but muscular arm carving out the ice cream and pressing it into the cone in no time flat.
“Any sprinkles, miss?”“No thank you.”She paid and he handed her the cone. “Have a wonderful day, miss.”Juliana nodded with a sweet smile. “You, too.”
He stared after her in a slight daze. The woman with the nightmare child banged against the counter. “What is this? We don’t have all day.”“Wahhhh!!!”Juliana felt bad for him, but what could she do?
She looked around for Deep Sea Darts, near the center of the park, searching for a lone six-foot-tall man in a fedora named John. Good luck with that, she grumbled to herself. There had to be around 50 of them swarming around. And he was probably nowhere near where she left him.Just then something soft tapped her on the shoulder from behind.
“Ahem.”Juliana spun around and nearly stumbled back in shock. “Oh no. That is not coming home with us.”
“But he was very much looking forward to it.” He shifted the plush creature atop his wide shoulders.
“How did you manage to win that…thing so fast?”“Perseverance.” John’s triumph evaporated, however, when he saw what she was holding. And what she was doing with it. “You’re evil incarnate, you know that?”
She shrugged, oblivious to the reason behind his annoyance. “I was in such a hurry to get away from a screeching toddler that I couldn’t think straight. I just told the boy at the counter to surprise me.”
She neglected to mention the silly fortune. John would think her so immature if she showed him.
“Perhaps I should arrest him for allowing a beautiful grown woman to purchase ice cream in a damn cone.”She laughed. And licked. “You’re crazy. He was such a sweetheart. I bet he’s a real heartbreaker around all the girls.”John narrowed his eyes. “No doubt he was eager to see you sample his choice. Double offense.”“I highly doubt he gave me a second glance with that rowdy line behind me.” Of course, she knew that wasn’t true. But why push the issue over an innocent exchange?John steered them through the crowd as sternly as he could with a grinning purple octopus draped over his shoulders. “The nerve of him. Really.”“Jealousy’s not a good look on you, John.”
He only huffed, dodging a plate of apple and powdered sugar-laden funnel cake with a fragrance that sweetened the salty air.“It’s only a cone. But…” She batted her lashes. “If you’d prefer, I can just shove everything down my throat as fast as I can.” It was stated so nonchalantly.John whipped his head down. His trousers began to grow uncomfortably tight. She peered up at him, eyes gleaming with devilish delight as she swirled her tongue around the creamy treat. Suddenly, this latest prize didn’t seem so burdensome. He discretely positioned one of its lanky polka-dotted arms in front of his bulge.“It wouldn’t do for you to get a stomachache. Take as long as you need.”
“How very generous of you. I think I’ll do just that.”They walked past an old fashioned photo booth. John gulped with some agony as she proceeded to lap at its sweetness. He chanced a brief glance. “What flavor did you end up getting?”“Cosmic Coconut. It’s truly out of this world.”Even worse, she smelled like it. It was mere hours ago that he surprised her in the shower and helped her suds up with her tropical-scented shampoo. His eyes turned molten with lust at the unfortunate unlocked memory.“Is it now?”The blazing sun set her hair alight with hints of gold and copper. Cars on the Cyclone whizzed by and whipped her silky strands along with the briny wind, coaxing forth alluring tousled waves. She tongued the ridge at the top of the cone where it met the melting white mess.
“It really is.”John groaned, thankful it was impossible for anyone to hear their highly inappropriate exchange. Juliana appeared oblivious, focused on protecting her hand from the approaching stickiness.He grabbed a few napkins from a clam bar. “Here.”
She titled her head back and gaped at the 150-foot-tall Wonder Wheel. “Oh, John, can we go? I’ve always wanted to ride it.”He cleared his throat. “Ride?”“You know what I mean.”“I can absolutely accompany you. That is if you beg nicely.”She paused from wrapping a napkin around the bottom of the cone and looked around furtively. “Here? Now? You can’t be serious.”
His gently curving lips revealed several unspoken assurances.
She ducked her head. “We can’t.”“Well then, we might as well head back to the subway. That way we can beat the rush when the park closes.”“But it feels like we only just got here.”He assessed her as a serpent does a potential meal. “It’s too bad we can’t make the most of our excursion.”Her face flushed with hot arousal. He always found some way to weave something sexual into even the most innocent of dates. She cocked her head to the side and fluttered her lashes, falling into her familiar role.“John, I’d be so, so grateful if you took me on the Wonder Wheel.” Her eyes met his while she ltook her time lapping up the rapidly melting dessert. “So very, very grateful.”John raised a brow. His gaze locked with hers. “Are you wet for me?”She only looked down at her Keds.
“That’s my girl.”
They trailed after the line of patrons, John’s arms laden with prizes. It took surprisingly little time to reach the front. A freckle-faced attendant held up his hand.
“Sorry, folks. We don’t allow food on the ride.”Juliana’s shoulders slumped. “Really?”“Those are the rules.”
She was about to toss her cone in a trash can when John stepped forward. He set down some of the animals and whipped out his police badge. The young man, who couldn’t be a day past twenty, hesitated. John cleared his throat and raised a brow. The attendant took his tickets and unfastened the rope.“If you’ll just move to the left here, sir.”John gathered his goods and tipped his head. “Good man. Be assured I’ll remember you should anything…unfortunate…arise in the future.”He ignored the way the attendant’s face blanched and guided Juliana towards one of the white detached cars situated on the perimeter of the ride. He plopped down on the seat opposite hers, unloading the various winnings and setting his hat atop the octopus’s head.
Juliana stretched out her arms and laughed. “You’re so far away.”“I’m not going anywhere.”The ride began to move. Juliana peered down at the ever-expanding pictorial view of the park. The fading sun lent a pinkish hue to low-hanging clouds perching on the gently rippling ocean. Below, a jumble of beachgoers in bikinis and board shorts busied themselves with packing up umbrellas and coolers. The stripe-topped Steeplechase Carousel bobbed along to a whimsical calliope tune. Couples of every race strolled along the boardwalk, children running ahead of them. It was a living postcard in miniature she wished she could send back home to her mother.“May I?”She turned to John. “Sorry, what were you saying? I was just enjoying the view.”“As was I.” He leaned forward and wrenched the cone from her.
“Hey! You could have just asked me.”“You’ll get it back really soon. I’d just like to try it. I’ve never had… What’s this called again?”She settled back into the seat and folded her arms. “Cosmic Coconut, you thief.”John cuddled up to the octopus. “Thief? Madam, you wound me.”
He stared right into her as he licked. “Mmm. I could just devour this.”Juliana startled when he bit into the cone, snapping off a wafer-thin piece before returning it to her, ice cream dribbling down the side. Then, as the Wheel was just about to reach its summit, he sunk onto his knees on the creaky metal floor.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “What the hell are you doing?”He flipped up her dress to reveal a silky slip and the tops of stockings held up with a light blue garter belt. “What does it look like I’m doing?”She started to push the material back down. “No, this isn’t right. We’re in public.”“Don’t turn bashful on me now. This isn’t new territory for us.”Her eyes darted everywhere. “That was in a dark, empty theater at ten o’clock on a Thursday night. There are literally thousands of people down there, not to mention the people on the other cars.”“No one will see anything,” he assured her.
He didn’t chose a white stationary car situated solely so they’d be able to see more of the park. The red and blue cars in the center swayed back and forth on the winding green rails. It wouldn’t do to have an accident for what he had planned on a whim. It was her own fault, really.“But they’ll see right up my dress!”He parted her legs. “But…but…”
He kissed the inside of her knee. “All will be well. Just trust me.”“Trust you?”John sharpened his gaze. He wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Release the cone.”She shook head, lust bubbling to the surface from the thrill of a novel risk. Some part of her wanted them to get caught. “Not a chance.”He bent his head and bit down on her inner thigh, just enough to break her.
She jumped. “Damn it.” He smirked. “Fine, just take it and get it over with.”“For that lack of enthusiasm, this is going to last twice as long.” He placed the material into her free hand. “Hold it up a little higher. That’s it.”She watched in fascination as he nudged her panties aside with one hand and licked the cone with the other. Nothing could possibly prepare her for what she felt next.
The Wheel started to descend at the very moment his tongue struck her clit. Juliana screamed out at the frigid contact. It wasn’t quite pain the felt, but it was a shock to her system nonetheless. Gradually, the unnamable feeling dissipated from the heat of his mouth. John groaned into her delicate flesh and she threw her head back, thighs quivering already.The red and blue cars swayed beneath them. Juliana hoped everyone was as immersed in the passing scenery as she’d been. When the Wheel reached ground level again she was tempted to push John away. It was beginning to be too much. She watched in horror as he licked the ice cream and dove in once more.
“Oh fuck.”
Her eyes burst open as she was assaulted by another abrupt temperature change. He sucked and slurped at her as they circled skyward. She spread her legs wider and yanked him close by his dark curls.
John wet two fingers and pushed them inside her one at a time. He pressed the cone into her hand. The ice cream ran everywhere. “Finish it,” he demanded.He splayed a hand over her stomach and watched her eyes roll back after she took a bite. He pumped at her faster. Sticky cream dribbled down her fingers onto her dress.
“You’re making such a mess, you filthy little whore.”“What did you just call me?”John’s head shot up. “A filthy little whore. Do you have a problem with that?”“N-no, but…” He just pumped faster and she groaned.
“Eat up now. Don’t be wasteful.”After several agonizing minutes, John leapt up and sat next to her, pulling her onto his lap. Gathering her close, he reached beneath her dress and plunged his fingers inside her again. He pushed the cone into her face, smearing it all over.
“See what happens when you don’t listen?”Juliana was too euphoric to care what he did to her at this point. Beneath her hooded gaze she caught a glimpse of the octopus, which seemed to be ogling her with its cartoon eyes. The surrealness of the situation, coupled with an expert squeeze of her nipple through her dress, finally drove her over the edge. Writhing and moaning uncontrollably, she almost threw the cone over the side.

Not long after, they both exited the ride, John carrying not only a plethora of prizes, but a rather impressive hard-on that wouldn’t abate, obscured behind the giant octopus. Awash in a carnal haze, Juliana struggled to hold onto the seahorse, the Siamese cat, orangutan, her clutch, and the demolished cone. Her cheeks were flushed; her mouth and chin smudged with saccharine cream and Revlon Jungle Peach.Instead of following the rest of the riders out, John turned back and handed the puzzled attendant two more tickets. He began to protest but John merely flashed his badge, adding a wink for good measure.
“I’ll remember this. I’ll remember you.”“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Have a nice ride.”John flashed him a wicked smile. “We certainly will.”To her chagrin, he chose a red car. As the Wheel began to rise, it teetered back and forth. John stood tall and steady as a statue, heedless of the other passengers’ sensibilities, and loosened his belt. The metal belt buckle made a satisfying clink.
“Now where were we, my darling gypsy?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Mid October 1963, New York City, Greater Nazi Reich

John sipped his lukewarm coffee, relishing how the bite of bitterness echoed his mental state. A cigarette reclined in the ashtray strangling the air. He hadn’t picked up smoking until his time in the Signal Corps. It was his favorite vice, one of the few things that could quell the anxiety that bubbled up at every opportunity. By now, his lungs should be suitably charred, his throat a reliable smokestack. It simply never occurred to him to stop.He’d only trudged through about thirty films. Goebbels would be less than thrilled he’d fallen so behind. Anything Hitler loved, the Reich Minister also adored by pathetic default. As such, the High Castle films would be on the agenda in perpetuity.The mish-mashed content scarcely registered. Despite the dual stimulants propping open his eyes, it was difficult to concentrate on what all amounted to pure insignificance. It was just a blur of more of the same: advertisements for coffee and laundry detergent and something called pantyhose. Frame upon frame of beauty pageants, parades, and family picnics.John erased the embarrassing doodles and scribble-overs he made on the chart. Gathering his notes together, he tucked them inside his briefcase and snapped it shut. He narrowed his eyes at the canister containing the disturbing holiday reel.His first instinct was to feed it to the fireplace. He fingered the cool metal.
Then he couldn’t remove the lid fast enough.Before he knew it, he was transported to an infectiously jovial atmosphere where everything seemed to glimmer and dance with life. So authentic was it he could almost feel the warmth emanating from the kitchen, could almost taste the spiked eggnog with its ideal ratio of nutmeg to cinnamon. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the manger scene catastrophe. When was the last time he’d seen one of those?His altered existence made it so that he’d forgotten Christmas was his favorite holiday as a child. Had he been permitted to in this world he would have made it as memorable as possible for his children - just not to the degree his overenthusiastic counterpart had.He took a drag of the cigarette and leaned closer as the camera zoomed in on Juliana’s profile. Her incandescent smile, her lustrous hair… tangled in the branches of the tree.

“I told you there were too many.”

“Don’t blame the poor tree for wanting to get closer to you.”
John smashed the cigarette into oblivion. As the imagery disappeared, another scene manifested in his mind. He shut his eyes and fell back into the chair, yielding to the relentless spell:
“You, my dear, have tree sap all over your fingers. And as much as I love the smell of fresh Douglas Fir…”
“What?” Juliana sniffed a few strands. “Holy crap, it’s everywhere!”

He pulled her to her feet and plucked stray needles from her blouse. “Go check on dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Are you sure you trust me? I mean, I might drop the ham or scald myself on the cookie sheet.”

He pulled her towards him. “Into the bath with you.” He flicked the ends of her hair. “And try not to get stuck on anything else.”

He bent to kiss her forehead but then thought better of it and headed for the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and walked away.

Not ten minutes later, John, clad in a Santa hat, was massaging her scalp and humming along to the next song on the record player.

“Join in if you know it.”

Juliana giggled. “I’d rather not. I’m a worse singer than you’ll ever be."

“Suit yourself.”
With that, he launched into a jubilant, if awkwardly off-key, rendition of a Perry Como tune while sudsing up her hair.
“I wish it could be Christmas forever.I wish that glow would never fade awayWith friends and loved ones near us'Round the Christmas tree so tallWe hear the church bells ringingDear Lord, bless us one and all.
I know I'd be content now and forever.If those Christmas lights would sparkle every day.There'd be candy canes and mistletoeChildren singing carols we knowIf love and peace on earth would always stayI know it could be Christmas every day.”
Juliana broke out in a fit of giggles. “You truly missed your other calling, John.”He plunged the rinsing glass under the bubbles and dumped it over her head, causing her to sputter and swear.“La la la la la la la la la la…”
“John!”

He continued as if he’d never heard her.
“I wish it could be Christmas forever…”
The cuckoo clock struck in the distance. Vaguely woozy, John wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands and dragged them down his face. His heart felt uncomfortably full, as if he were pining for some lost love. He could even smell the soap bubbles. The utter absurdity of it all was enough to send him hurtling towards the liquor cabinet.He glanced at his watch. Eleven on the dot. He dropped the film into its tin, slammed on the lid, and threw it into the drawer, locking it. Rounding the desk, he snuffed out the candles, shrouding the room in darkness.Back in his bedroom, he yanked his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. It seemed like he’d been living in his clothes for days instead of mere hours.He longed for the freedom of a naked night. He hadn’t slept in the nude since before Thomas was born; quite possibly the greatest sleep of his life. Gradually, fatherhood and increasingly more demanding assignments piled on. Then came the ordeal of hiding Thomas’s illness and barely coping with his death, followed by the ever-expanding chasm that prompted Helen to seek affection elsewhere.If Patton hadn’t surrendered, if the threat of starvation hadn’t revisited his small family every night, he could have refused the dreadful red armband with its sinister promise. Had Hitler himself not bestowed upon him the prestigious task of retrieving the High Castle films, he never would have encountered Juliana Crain. Then again, she never would have gotten involved with the Resistance at all if her sister hadn’t foisted a film on her. A chain reaction of disasters had upended both their lives and showed no signs of desisting.As he sorted through a stack of immaculately pressed pajamas, John considered the possibility that he might have been unfaithful to Helen in more than one world. Was he always destined to cheat? Was this man the same hot dog-chomping buffoon, or a different incarnation altogether?Why would this particular film be sent to him now? Were there more like it being trafficked? Who could know how camera-happy this John was. Judging by his extravagant holiday decor, nostalgia might very well rank high on his list of priorities. Such a man would be eager to document every significant moment in his life, every holiday, in excruciating detail.John attempted to sleep but was hindered by the thought of such absurdities intruding on his already hectic and harrowing life, along with the the knowledge he’d have to contend with deplorable Goebbels in the morning. To make matters worse, Helen’s sophisticated powdery musk lingered on the pillowcase. He shoved the covers down, donned his robe, and stalked back into the office.This room had evolved into a sort of den of neutrality for him, his very own world in which to battle encroaching nightmares. A couch, he reasoned, didn’t contain enough surface area on which to spread out and remind himself just how lonely he was. Still, more often than not, he awoke to a stiff back that required some careful maneuvering to merely rise to a sitting position.Not only that, he couldn’t help picturing Juliana lying there in all her nubile nudity, misty sunlight filtered through the curtains, highlighting beads of sweat borne out of twisted abandon.Defiant and withholding, battle wounds scraped haphazardly around her face, she turned her ignorant nose up at Die Nebenwelt’s potential capabilities - ones he wouldn’t mind taking advantage of as soon as the opportunity arose. What kind of a man would prefer to spend the evening corrupting a such a woman instead of tearing the Reich apart searching for his family?She hadn’t shared in life’s joys and trials with him. This wasn’t love. She didn’t deserve expensive clothes and sumptuous meals. She deserved a firing squad. To be wiped from the earth lest she and her kind upend everything he’d toiled so hard to build. That the entire system made his very insides turn was besides the point.So why couldn’t he separate himself from her?How could he love her in one world and loathe her in another? No, loathe was too strong a word. He didn’t loathe her at all. If that were the case, she’d already be dead, her body reduced to a heap of ashes. When she returned to headquarters she wouldn’t last long. In under twelve hours, she’d be executed, a blood red stamp proudly denoting her demise on the cover page of her dossier.
Yet the pull he felt towards her inside, especially now she’d crossed the threshold of his home at his command, was acute and, at times, obscene.A rational man wouldn’t be slipping inside the guest room with nary a stray creak in the floor to reveal his presence. A man who cared more about his family wouldn’t have had such vivid memories about what transpired on and around an unassuming arm chair. And what an astonishing thing she’d proved to be, from shy initiative to indecent admiration. She hadn’t held back. In fact, she had to be pulled back.And he would have be, too, if he touched her again like that. Juliana, fetching in his borrowed pajama top, shifted beneath the down comforter before stretching it taut against her body as if in a fit of unconscious frustration.
“Sorry about the ice cream,” she mumbled. “Never do it...again.”
John bent towards the bed. “Never do what exactly?”
Her eyes flew open. In the few remaining moments of dim awareness, she tried to grasp at snippets of memory before they vanished into obscurity:

The Ferris wheel. A Victorian era fortune teller encased in a glass box. The sweltering sunshine and salt-tinged air.

The delectable taste of freedom. And other things.
She registered exactly where she was the moment she spotted John’s figure looming over the bed. He cocked an eyebrow. She fumbled to string together a coherent reply.“John, I…” Her eyes drifted down from his usual calm yet predatory countenance to his striped pajamas, buttoned to the neck. Pushing back sleep-ruffled hair, she propped herself up on an elbow. “What time is it?”“It's just after midnight.”
John strode to the window and nudged the stiff drapery aside. He braced an arm against the ledge and peered into the starless night.
“I take it you watched it.”His shoulders twitched, despite his clear effort to stifle a reaction.
“I know it’s shocking, John. But-”He traced his finger along the glass. “It doesn’t matter.”She shook her head, dumbfounded. “Of course it does. Why else would someone risk their life to bring it here, straight to you? Why do you refuse to see that?”He whipped his head around. “Leave it alone!"
Juliana reared back as if slapped.
“Just please leave it alone.” He pushed away from the window, seeming to hesitate before wearily perching on the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed.
Silence stretched between them, heavy rain having morphed into mist. Juliana contemplated John, who intermittently massaged his shoulder through the robe. Expensive. Perhaps Egyptian cotton. He could afford it. Blood was spilled so that he might enjoy a life overflowing with all the amenities the Reich had on offer.
He suddenly cleared his throat. She jumped to attention. “In the JPS, you studied horticulture.”
She blinked in confusion. “Now you want to talk about my education?”
John twisted to face her, his angular features as ominously breathtaking as the halls of a haunted castle. “It would help.”“Help what?”His fingers drummed against the mattress. “Tell me about what you learned about. Go on.”She smoothed the coverlet. “Well, I wouldn’t call it horticulture. I studied Ikebana, which is an art, not a science. Basically, you arrange flowers in order to evoke certain emotions and meanings.”“I-ke-bana.” He rolled the word around his mouth while winding his belt around his fingertip.
“I enjoyed it.” She began to braid a section of her hair. “It’s not like there were many serious options for gaijin to study. Mostly manual trades and hobby arts. Nothing so lofty as medicine or engineering.”“A trained florist should be just as valued.”She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything special.”“Someone has to bring beauty to the world.”
Otherwise it would be a mass of impersonal skyscrapers housing elegant dungeons. The never-ending propaganda masquerading as an ideal life.“What did you really want to be?”“I never really gave much thought to that. I would much rather have been treated like an equal. The Pons preferred that we gaijin seek out alternative healing methods instead of actual physicians. They were always a last resort. There’d be a line stretching around the bend from a clinic for hours. First come, first served. When all else failed, there was always tea.”“That’s certainly not how citizens are treated in the Reich,” John stated, subtly puffing out his chest.Juliana stopped braiding and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I know full well how the doctors here treat citizens.”John rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Are we going down this route again?”“Sorry. Force of habit.”“Well, some habits just cry out to be broken.”That voice again. It coiled through her bones, seeped into her marrow. It spoke to her, stronger than ever. The voice that told her just what she was. The holy grail of distraction.And yet-
Use him.
She cocked her head. “So my wings being damaged isn’t enough for you?”He shook his head. “They never were.” He turned to face her, eyes sparkling with cryptic mischief. “I assume you’re well aware of the great power you wield over men.”Her eyebrows shot up; she almost smiled. “I'm sorry. What?"“You pull them in, weaving a web of fantastical notions.” He reached out and ghosted a finger over one of the cuts on her face. “A spider in the guise of a rather lovely, fragile bird.”Still under the covers, Juliana scrambled backwards. “I’m not a fucking spider. I don’t trap people.”“You trapped Joe.”“Joe trapped me. Held me at gunpoint. What was I supposed to do?”The mattress squeaked as John crept toward Juliana. While his build wasn’t particularly large, at that moment his shape seemed to expand before her eyes, blocking what little light there was. When he stopped, she was practically pinned against the headboard.
“First you ensnare them with your apparent helplessness. Then, of course, there’s the raging undercurrent of deceit. How can I be sure you haven’t traveled already, armed with certain…information. Such as who delivered that particular film to my place of work.”She glared at him.
“Might Tagomi be hiding any more films of us together?”“Not to my knowledge.”“Not to your knowledge. Hmm. So there is a chance he might?”She shifted to yank out the pillow digging into her back. “Leave Tagomi out of this.”“The very fact that he’s aware Die Nebenwelt even exists…” He slowly shook his head as he tossed the pillow on the floor. “…You know I can’t let anyone hinder our progress.”“It’s a too bad those three teenagers had to suffer such a gruesome death,” she said with a sneer. “But you’re used to dealing with your untermenschen on a much grander scale, aren’t you? A few off-putting odors shouldn’t faze you anymore.”John drew back at that. He sucked in small, shallow breaths, as if still enclosed in that claustrophobic chamber. Gas, he reasoned, was odorless. Blood smelled faintly metallic, but otherwise ordinary. This stench belonged somewhere in a realm beyond Hades, if it could fall that far. He turned away and fumbled around to release the top button of his pajamas.True to the nature of her spellbinding perfume- her very presence - Juliana persisted in tormenting him. “Nothing wrong with charring a few bodies for the sake of progress?”Putrid remnants of muscle and bone popped and sizzled on the tile floor; a trio of dripping dog tags dangling from Mengele’s waxy, inhuman hand.“The sake of the Reich,” John countered with cold, measured syllables. “I was only mandated to witness the results of the initial trial. I won’t be available to witness the remainder of the test runs as I have more pressing things on my agenda.”Juliana smirked as she freed herself from the covers. “You always get results, don’t you, John?”The river rife with bodies bobbed to the surface.John’s jaw ticked. All he wanted to do was forget about the horrors of national socialism. To reach out and stroke her tresses as he’d wanted to in the car that first night. To sooth her as she’d soothed him with her soft words and supple companionship. But she had to go there.She slouched towards him, regarding him with derision. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re one science experiment away from Mengele.”His eyes flashed dangerous. “I would be careful how you speak to me, Juliana.”Despite the stern look he gave her, she slunk further into his space like a cat intent on wrecking the house.“Last night I could have killed you and disappeared… like that.” She snapped her fingers close to his ear.
Starved for something he dare not articulate aloud, John captured her wrist and, relishing her shock, brought it to his mouth.“Yet here you are with the Reichsmarschall,” he murmured, lips nuzzling her fragile skin. “Who is very much alive.”A collusive warmth settled between them in the chilled air; the silence this time suffused with illicit, unwelcome desire.
Steaming hot blood raced through John’s vessels. His temple throbbed.

Forget it all.

Nothing else exists right now.

No one else besides an enemy of the state and a father to all.

They were one and the same here as in the reel that could never see the light of day. Like the ones running though his mind on a loop.

It might just destroy him.

Oh, but it couldn’t be helped.

He released her wrist, intrigued by the contours of her face, her wide seraphic eyes. “Is there something you wish to tell me Juliana?”
“That all depends on what you wish to tell me.”John reached up and grazed his thumb over the earring she forgot she was wearing, leaning in to whisper, “I still own you tonight.”

Late August 1963, New York City, USA

John did a low whistle when he saw her. “Well, hello, Mrs. Kennedy.”Juliana wore a sherbet-hued dress in the style of one donned by the nation’s First Lady on a state trip to India. Both had box pleat-style skirts. However, instead of silk, Juliana’s was an economical poly-chiffon blend. It wasn’t designer, but she couldn’t care less. Neither could John.She adjusted the bow highlighting her nipped-in waist. “I was going for Audrey Hepburn, but I think she’ll do.”John kissed her fingers. “I’d much rather have breakfast at Juliana’s.”A full twenty minutes later than they’d planned, the two were seated at a counter where the chef stood behind a clear glass barrier, slicing and rolling ingredients with laser precision. The chef placed ornate rectangular platters of fresh sushi and soba noodles before them.“Itadakimas,” said Juliana, with a crisp bow the chef returned.Restaurant Nippon had only just opened its doors in Manhattan the week before, the second to last week in August. Knowing it would be next to impossible to procure a reservation without pulling some strings, John made it a reality by calling in a favor.He’d dressed down in a navy polo and dark gray slacks, a lightweight fedora perched on the counter next to an ominous-looking array of seafood, some rolled in rice and seaweed, others perched stark naked atop pre-formed rice.She turned to John and raised a black Kiriko cup. “Kampai.”John appeared decidedly less enthused as he tapped his own intricate sake vessel against hers. “You’re sure this isn’t going to kill me?”She smirked. Only John would be more afraid of raw fish than a bullet hole.“Try one of these rolls first. They’re much less daunting. The reddish one here is tuna.”It was gorgeous presentation, and he had to admit he was starving ever since they decided to forgo breakfast in favor of extra orgasms, sheets bunched up at the foot of her bed, a too-small fan on its last legs sputtering out a weak breeze, not strong enough to drown out the melodious sounds of "Pop Goes the Weasel" blaring from a passing Good Humor truck.“Ladies first.”Her low-heeled pumps tapped against the stool. “Well, if you insist.”“I do insist.”He watched as she skillfully picked up a salmon and cucumber roll with chopsticks and popped it into her mouth.“Mmm.”John’s eyes darted around furtively. He wished she wouldn’t make that noise in public. Though the air was considerably cooler indoors, tiny beads of perspiration caused the baby-fine hairs at the nape of her neck to shimmer. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and curled naturally at the ends from the ceaseless humidity. He reached for his hat and fanned himself discretely.“Hey, you’ve got to try this.”She leaned into him, and he inhaled tropical flowers after a rain shower, sweetened by a liberal dose of baby powder. White opalescent studs shaped like seashells that he’d gifted her from one of the stalls on the Coney Island boardwalk decorated her earlobes.He fumbled for the chopsticks. “I really should ask them for a fork. I’m not going to make it.”The lacquered bamboo utensils kept slipping from his grasp. Juliana laughed and guided his fingers into the correct position. “Try again. I believe in you, John.”“Your faith in my fingers - and my palate - is admirable.”He took a deep breath and maneuvered the wobbly sticks so that they hovered over a plain tuna roll.“Dip it in the soy sauce first.”John grimaced as he almost lost his grip and dropped the roll into the tiny bowl containing the salty concoction. She hungrily watched his lips as they closed around the tightly packed morsel, sliding into his mouth.Tense muscles twitched to action, sluggish at first but gaining in momentum. John nodded slowly, his eyebrows tilting up in wonder.“Hmm.” He chewed a few more times. “Mmm. Mmm hmm…”“Well?”He replied after a few more chews. “Alright, I have to concede to you. That was…”“Crazy good?”“Pleasant.”She shrunk back. “Oh. That bad?”“Pleasant as in I wouldn’t mind tasting some more.”She scanned the brief menu. “For these prices, I think you’d have to try one of everything.”His eyes caught her happiness, the glow that radiated from a well of perfect loveliness which he’d never encountered before. His gaze fed upon her ripe mouth. “It does pay to be open-minded on occasion, don’t you think?”She squeezed her somewhat sticky thighs together. “I quite agree. On occasion.”His heart was in his eyes, as was the fire of one that wants to continually consume. “Your turn, sweetheart. Which one are you going to go for?”She tapped at a delectable piece of eel. “The one that’s cooked.”“Cooked? That’s a punishable offense.” He set down his chopsticks and pulled her towards him, kissing her quickly.The atmosphere was hopelessly serene, the tranquil melodies of a Komabue flute, invoking the essence of centuries old imperial court rituals, as wait staff in silk kimonos bustled about with fine delicacies and tea trays.Seated behind a nearby partition was a party of inebriated businessmen, two Japanese and three American. The Japanese men stepped out from behind, one middle-aged, the other older by some years as evidenced by his heavily wrinkled visage. “"Kyō wa minori ōkattadesu ne?” said the younger of the Japanese.The older man nodded. Indeed, their trip was Japan was fruitful. “Masani sonotōridesu. Very much so."But then he stopped short, almost bumping up against an elaborate wooden panel displaying blooming irises in vibrant hues of green and indigo. He scrambled for his collar.The younger man touched his arm. “Kibun wa daijōbudesuka?”The elder man grimaced but tried his best to retain his natural noble posture, lying about the way he was feeling. IT wasn't like him to complain. “Atsui hidesu. Ijōdesu, Kido-san.”
Mr. Kido scrunched his face. “I agree. We're not used to this summer heat. But I really thing you’ve had too much plum wine, my friend. Obviously not as much as Mr. Haroldson,” he said, jerking his head behind him. The American businessmen roared with hearty drunken laughter.Just then, the man stumbled into a potted Japanese maple. He clutched his chest and squeezed one of its branches until his knuckles turned white. A tremendous wave of lethargy passed through him.

CRASH
John and Juliana whipped their heads around in unison. Forgetting about her purse, Juliana rushed to crouch next to the hunched over man after a couple busboys dragged the tree from him. It was around a hundred pounds, therefore no small feat to lug out of the way.“Somebody call an ambulance!” Juliana yelled. People seemed stuck in a still life. “Kyūkyūsha o yonde kudasai! Isogashī!”
John rushed toward the hostess area, flashed his badge, and quickly dialed for backup. His heart lurched in his chest. The poor man’s head was cradled in the folds of Juliana’s dress. She removed his thick-rimmed glasses, which seemed to frustrate him.He whispered something. She leaned in closer but could only make out strangled syllables. “What was that?”“Michiko," he croaked.“Yes?”
“Watashi no tsuma."
"You want your wife?"The man groaned, his fight slipping away. "Watashi no tsuma...”

Mid October 1963, San Francisco, Japanese Pacific States

"Watashi no tsuma. Michiko. Michiko…”Tagomi awoke from his fitful slumber - a truly unfamiliar occurrence for him - perspiration soaking through his pajamas. He stole a glance to his right where Tamiko lay sound asleep. He clutched the top sheet and took deep breaths to settle his quaking heart and overburdened mind, to make sense of the nonsensical so he could reassure himself he was, in fact, still alive.The oracle was, as ever, insightful. Now he knew for certain the means by which darkness could snuff out the light in this world - and in what dreadful human form it took.