You can see him from the corner of your eye from where you stand in the kitchen and it's all you can do to keep your eyes on your task as you prepare his steak dinner. It's like this every night and you swear he does it on purpose. It's as if the moment he hears you in the kitchen he deliberately makes his way into the dining room and sits exactly where he knows you can see him. Each night he sets his guns on the table and begins to clean them while he waits for his meal.
Tonight is the same story, and you find yourself stealing glances into the other room despite your better judgment. Oddly enough you find yourself admiring the intense care he uses as he gently sets the weapons onto the table. It's funny, but you swear he has more love for those guns than any person in the camp. He picks up a shotgun, one you've seen used many times before, and you can't deny that there is something in the way his hand moves along the long wooden barrel that enthralls you. He slowly smoothes a cloth up and down the barrel as he polishes the wood; his fingers catch your eye. It surely isn't the first time you've noticed his slender hands, but it's the first time you allow yourself to stare. You watch his long fingers work at the wood and it isn't until his eyes glance in your direction that you even remember your task. His eyes meet yours and you immediately spin around and busy yourself with his meal.
Usually you're much more alert, why on earth would you allow yourself to get caught staring so blatantly at him? Your ears strain to listen for any sign of movement from the other room, any sign that he is displeased with your careless actions, but you hear nothing. You quickly peek into the dining room to find that he's still in his chair, still holding his gun, but you can't ignore the small smirk on his lips. You curse yourself. Now he's laughing at you, laughing at your stupid actions.
You force yourself to focus on preparing the meal and, after a long while, forget that he is even in the house. That is until you catch him standing in the doorway.
"Oh! Herr Kommandant, pardon me, I did not see you there."
He leans against the doorframe of the kitchen, but when he gives no reply you clear your throat and continue your work. You curse yourself over the fact that you are acutely aware of his stare, the way he watches your movements, the way his uniform-clad body looks leaning against the door.
You turn to face him.
"Would you like biscuits with your meal, sir?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replies with a small downward nod of his head; the small title makes you hesitate for a moment.
You know why he says things like that, why he has the nerve to act respectful… he delights in mocking you and loves to watch you stammer.
As you pull the frozen biscuits from the freezer you become aware that he has moved from the doorway. He's standing behind you now, but not uncomfortably close- there's still plenty of room between the two of you for you to move about the kitchen.
"I saw you watching me, Helen."
You stop. You knew this was coming, you knew he had seen you. You know you should turn and face him, but fear keeps your feet rooted to the tile floor. Amon Goeth was not a man who took even the most simplest of things lightly. Your mind races with what to say, what excuses to give, but every thought stops when you feel the heat of his body against your back.
"Well?" he whispers, and you startle with the closeness of his voice.
"I, I am-"
"You are what, Helen? There is no excuse for it," he says, and you feel his hot breath on your cheek. "I am not angry, if that is what you think." He pauses and you can feel his eyes lingering on your skin. "Every night you watch me, why?"
The truth runs through your mind… because I want you. I want to touch you, I want to kiss you, I want to fuck you. But none of it escapes your lips.
"I think I know why," he says quietly. You feel his fingers rest against your shoulder as his eyes study your face. He has always been quick to deliver a sharp slap across your cheek, but in this moment you realize that never once has he touched you gently. He moves his fingers lightly down your arm, "I know why you watch me, Helen."
You dare not speak as his other hand reaches up and brushes along your cheek. Your body is thrumming with his touch and you curse yourself for it.
"You wish to touch me, don't you?"
YES, your mind screams as the hand now tickling at your forearm lifts higher. His fingers gently caress your stomach, then your breasts, as they pass. He rests his hand against your collarbone, dangerously close to your neck.
You can feel his body pressing against you and it feels as though you are surrounded by him. His arms encircle you, holding you gently captive against him. There is no anger, none of his usual impulsive actions, but you are acutely aware of the way his hand rests at the base of your throat. You know that under his gentle caress lies a threat.
"Hm? It is true, is it not? I see how you look at me, I see what lies behind your eyes. I know what you want," his fingers play against the skin of your neck. "You would like it, you know."
Your breath quickens, whether from arousal or fear you don't know and you don't much care. Half of your body is screaming for you to run, the other half screaming at you to-
"Stay, Helen. Stay with me," he says, and for a moment you don't quite understand his words. He continues, "I know you've been talking to Schindler."
"You didn't think I knew, did you?"
You swallow thickly as the hand against your cheek begins to lightly brush across your lips. There is something deeply possessive about the way his hands move over you, one at your throat and the other against your mouth.
"I could give you what you really want."
Suddenly his hips move forward and you gasp when you feel his hard cock pressing aggressively against your body.
"Answer me," he says, and something deep in his voice pulls you from the reverie his wandering hands have lulled you in to. There is danger lurking, and you have allowed yourself to be lured into his trap, allowed yourself to become his prey.
Just like you always do.
"Answer me," he says again, and this time it sounds much more like a growl. The fingers running along your neck are suddenly wrapped around your throat. You can still breathe, but they send a strong warning.
You haven't spoken this entire time, and your thoughts have been only of his hands on you. Hardly knowing what to say now, you do as usual and give him what he desires.
"I will stay, Kommandant. I will stay."
You hear it before you feel it. The low growl echoes through the ear his lips are pressed against and you tense. He spins you around and shoves you harshly against the fridge.
His words are like ice but you know they are true. You won't stay. You must leave.
He raises his hand and the sharp impact against your cheek sends you to the floor. When your eyes open you see nothing but his heavy boots as he towers over you. You cover your head with your hands and wait for another blow but none comes. You hear movement but after waiting a few moments your eyes open and he is gone.
Hesitantly you pull yourself to your feet but see no sign of him. Moments pass in shock and you awkwardly walk back over to the stove, not knowing what to do except to salvage what is left of his burnt dinner. You scrape the burnt edges off the pot as you try to ignore the stinging in your cheek.
An hour passes, maybe even two, before he returns back to the house. He walks through the door in his uniform and hat, pistol in his hand, and you know that at least one poor soul has suffered tonight because of your carelessness. He says nothing to you as he sits down at the table once more, his guns still scattered across the table cloth. You hastily reheat his dinner and bring it to him, quickly walking to the other side of the room, desperate not to anger him further.
You watch nervously as he stares at his plate. You knew from the moment he walked in the door that he was still furious, evidenced by the tension in his shoulders as he hunches over the table.
"Why is this burnt?" he asks.
Your heart speeds and you know what is coming, you can feel it building, like watching a tidal wave draw near before it comes crashing ashore.
"I'm sorry sir."
Suddenly he is shouting, "Are you determined to be useless to me?"
"I- no, sir."
He slams his hand down upon the table and it makes you jump, "Why must you leave? I will not allow it."
Immediately he is on his feet and his chair falls back against the floor with a loud crash. Although you know it is the stupidest thing you will ever do- you run.
As soon as you do you regret it, because you immediately hear the harsh thump of his boots behind you. You take off and the sound gets louder as you run up the stairs and into the nearest room. You turn to slam the door but his body stops you as he throws himself in the doorway. Before you even know what to do his hands are on your body. He grabs your upper arms tightly and you fight against him, pounding your hands against his chest. You rip his arms away from your body but it is useless, he is much stronger and quickly overpowers you.
You hadn't even realized you were in a bedroom until you are shoved backwards onto the bed. He pins your arms above your head with one of his hands and uses the other to drag your skirt down. You realize what is happening and panic, he has never punished you like this before.
You try to kick your legs out but he moves so that he is sitting on top of your hips, pinning the lower half of your body against the mattress. Somehow despite your struggling he manages to unbuckle his belt and pull his uniform pants and undergarments down to his knees. The lust you had for him is nowhere to be found, despite the fact that you're currently staring at his half hard cock.
Whether it's the shock or the fear you don't know, but your body shuts down as he moves between your legs. Even though you have stopped struggling, he roughly grabs your thighs and spreads them apart. You feel his erection at your entrance and it isn't until his free hand moves to cover your mouth that your brain begins to function again. You scream against his skin as he thrusts harshly inside of you.
With eyes wide you can feel nothing aside from him filling you. He is much bigger than you had expected and you can feel him stretching you painfully from the inside out. Tears escape your eyes and run down his hand still covering your mouth. His breathing is just as harsh as yours as his hips begin to move in short staccato movements.
You gasp every time he fills you, and he doesn't waste any time before he's pounding into you. In the back of your mind you've somehow realized his hat is still on his head. Even as he fucks you he still looks presentable.
"You won't leave, will you, Helen?" he says over the harsh sounds of skin slapping skin. He is no longer holding your hands down above your head, he knows you won't disobey him.
Somewhere in your mind you know it best to shake your head.
"Tell me! Say it!" he shouts as his hips roughly fuck you into submission.
"I won't, I won't leave," you say and realize that at some point you started sobbing.
"Say it again."
"I won't leave."
"I won't leave!"
A sharp slap stings once more across your cheek, "You fucking, bitch."
His thrusts quicken and you thank God when you see his jaw clench and realize he is about to come, that this is almost over. He grunts with every move, sounding more like an animal than a human being. A bead of sweat runs down his neck and his hair is stuck to his forehead. He leans down and whispers in your ear and it takes a few moments before you understand.
"Mine, mine, mine, mine."
He quickly plunges deeply inside you two final times before he comes, and the force of it drives your body up the bed. He breathes into your ear and his trembling arms are barely able to hold himself up. After a few moments he pulls himself out of you and reaches to adjust his pants.
"You'll fucking stay with me," he says before he exists the room.