6 comments/ 15706 views/ 8 favorites Chords that Bind Ch. 01 By: poeticlicense91 Cecilia woke up with her head spinning. She'd never really had a hangover, but she imagined it would be something like this. Disoriented, and rather cold, she went to roll over and go back to sleep when her wrists tugged and were caught short of the movement by the leather cuffs locked in place. Not fully grasping the situation, she pulled hard on the restraints. The cold links of the chains brushed against Cecilia's bare chest, causing goose bumps to rise, and Cecilia to realize she was missing her clothes. The room began spinning again as Cecilia tried to assimilate her surroundings and situation into something sensible. The padded walls made her think of a mental hospital. Had she been ill? Then why were her clothes missing? Shouldn't there be someone attending to her? She couldn't remember how she'd gotten in this room tied to a strange bed. The last thing she remembered... was darkness. The lack of information and feeling of being asleep for so long made her nauseous. How long had she been out? Who had done this? Legitimate panic was setting in as the doorknob turned. Gerald entered the room after the hidden camera alerted him that Cecilia had awoken and was less than enthused at the chains linked to her wrists. He walked in and decided that it was time to disabuse the girl of any misconceptions. "Hello Cecilia." Cecilia's voice caught in her throat. He knew her name, and obviously intended to keep the chains cuffed to her wrists. Unsure of what the endgame was, she decided to keep silent. The man seemed to wait a moment, to see if she would say anything. His brown eyes seemed guarded, as if he was expecting her to lash out. Fear was coloring Cecilia's hazel eyes, and they became darker as the brown-eyed, brown-haired man with an English-sounding accent walked towards her. He spoke again. "Do I have to explain to you why you're here? Or do you already know?" Cecilia knew she wasn't dead yet. So there had to be a reason... Connecting the dots herself would be too much. She remained silent. The man spoke again. "You belong to me. Until such time as I turn you over to someone else, you are mine. I have some plans for you, and if you are as smart as I'm hoping you are, you'll cooperate with them." Cecilia detected a lilt in his accent. He was Welsh. He kept walking towards her, very slowly, clearly waiting for her to say something. Cecilia pulled at the restraints, willing herself to wake up from this bad dream. Tears were starting to gloss over her eyes, so dilated with fear that they were nearly black. The strange man reached out a hand, threaded his fingers firmly through her hair, and turned her head to look him in the eye. "Do you understand me?" Cecilia momentarily tried to think of something else, even if it was just the strangeness of the man's accent. She couldn't answer. His hand was in her hair so she couldn't even move her head. He was too close. Fully clothed and in control while tears silently ran down her cheeks. Color drained from her face. The man had waited for a reply. She finally gathered the dispersed marbles of her sense and shook her head violently, letting her brown curls get caught and pulled. "NO!" As her fight and flight reaction finally kicked in, Gerald breathed slightly easier. Her silence had been unnerving. This was something he could deal with. He had been waiting for this since he walked into the room. Screams of 'no!' fell on deaf ears and soundproofed walls. Cecilia pulled harder at her wrists, causing the chains to add a ringing to her litany of 'no' now being peppered with "Let me go!" Gerald stood for a minute to see if he could wait out the tantrum. He finally had enough and backhanded her across her pale cheeks. It snapped her out of that state, but immediately started the begging. "Please! Please, let me go. I'm not what you want. Please, I won't tell anyone. Just let me out. Please!" Gerald had always been told actions speak louder than words. He ran his hand across her heaving chest, which was working overtime as Cecilia let her panic completely overwhelm her. Hyperventilating and sobbing as her skin broke out in goose bumps, Gerald pinched her left and then right nipple, causing extra wails to leave her shaking frame. He palmed her breasts. They were generous for such a tiny girl. His hand traveled down. That's when her foot made violent contact with his stomach, successfully knocking the wind out of him. "Bollox!" Gerald stumbled back a few steps, clutching his midsection, and mentally kicking himself (a second time). He should have cuffed her ankles as well. No matter. Cecilia's cries had become unintelligible. With renewed purpose, Gerald grabbed the chains bolted to the foot of the bed, and careful to get outside the range of another kick, seized her tiny ankle, chaining her to the bed, and removing any slack. The other foot was much easier after that. He returned to the top of the bed, Cecilia now fully immobilized by the tension in the chains, and spread open in the most compromising of positions. The man seemed to renew his intended course of palming her whole body. She shook her head and pleaded "no". The lack of slack in her bonds made her appear to be vibrating like a bowstring as she continued her fruitless struggling. The man's fingers were again trailing down her stomach and she could do nothing as he dipped into her most intimate folds, squirming as discomfort and tightness made itself known to her. Gerald was surprised how tight she was. Just his one finger was feeling snug. When he started inserting another she yelped again. This was going to have to wait. If he wasn't much mistaken, he had stumbled upon quite a find indeed. Rather than force this exploration he decided it was time to correct her behavior. Cecilia was breathing hard when the strange man turned back to her, holding a riding crop in his hand. "I know you don't know the rules yet sweetling, but did you really think that kicking me was a good idea? Hmmm?" Cecilia didn't answer, but kept sobbing. "For that little outburst I'm giving you twelve with the crop." Cecilia had no time to gather herself. The leather tip of the crop smacked painfully against her right breast. She howled and renewed her struggles. "One," the man said. "Are you going to be good and count them?" "No! Stop." Gerald didn't seem surprised. He gave a sigh, "In that case, an extra two for being willfully disobedient." "No!" "Too late to cooperate now. You will obey the first time, because there are no second chances." Smack! "Two." "Three." Gerry was alternating strokes on each breast, creating read patches on Cecilia's chest that throbbed and ached. Her sobbing only lifted her chest higher for each of the strikes, and she tried to stifle them. Smack! "Four." Smack! "Five." Smack! "Six. You would've been halfway through." Gerry scolded her. Smack! Smack! "Seven and eight." The next two came in quick succession again, on the soft underside of her breasts. "Nine and ten." The quickness of the strikes was causing Cecilia to screech and arch her back in pain. SMACK! SMACK! The eleventh and twelfth landed directly on her nipples, and Cecilia began crying again. SMACK! SMACK! Gerry intoned the last two, again directly on her ruddy tips and dropped the crop, letting it clatter to the floor, leaving it there, and leaving Cecilia to exhaust her tears. As much as she wanted to be away from the man who had obviously abducted her, and had abused her immediately, Cecilia panicked more when left the room, leaving her chained down to the bed. He wasn't done with her, not by a long shot. She had no idea where she was; let alone how to get out of the room. Her breasts were tender and tingling with heat from the crop. He had touched her in ways that made her shudder and blush with humiliation. Her mother's voice came to her: the only thing that could make her more upset. "Keep dressing like that! You're just asking men to take advantage of you! Those are slutty clothes... you're just asking for it!" Cecilia didn't know how much longer she could keep crying. She hadn't asked for this. She didn't dress like a slut, but every time she wore anything even vaguely flattering her mother alluded to her ending up like this. And now here she was, years since she had spoken to her mother, in the most compromising situation imaginable and for the first time in her life, her mom had been right about something. The irony intensified the misery she was feeling. She didn't know how long she lay there with the worst of memory reels playing in her head when the door opened again. Gerry brought a harness gag and posture collar with him this time. He had barely been gone a quarter of an hour, just wanting to let the situation sink in. Cecilia had more fire in her than he would have suspected. The unrelenting nature of these new aids should help hammer home the message. There was another practical reason; the room was soundproofed, but he needed to give her the rules without interruption or having to shout over her. When he walked in the begging started again. "Please let me go! Leave me alone! Please!" Gerald shook his head. He gruffly said, "No. And I've had enough outbursts. You're going to listen to me." Cecilia resumed her yelling and pleading. Gerald unfastened the cuffs that fastened her to the bed. She tried to take punch at him, but even she knew it was a pathetic attempt. Her aim went wide and he caught her wrist as it just brushed his cheek barely making an impact at all. Pulling her arm behind her, he unlatched the other hand and neatly had her hands bound and crossed at the small of her back. She was sitting upright, with her still red chest thrust forward. He came behind her with the stiff leather collar. She opened her mouth to bite him, and was rewarded with another slap to the face. The unyielding collar forced her head up, and dug uncomfortably into her shoulders and chin if she attempted to look anywhere but straight ahead. "For trying to bite me, and for your shouting, I'm also using this." The various connected straps of leather dangling from his hand confused Cecilia. She had no experience with anything like this before. Gerry chuckled. "Open that mouth o' yours." Cecilia tightened her jaw shut. She tried and failed to shake her head. Gerry closed his fingers shut around her nose, effectively cutting off her air. She tried to pry loose, throwing her body weight left and right, but lost the battle, taking a gasp of air as Gerry forced a leather phallus into her mouth, buckling the straps in place, and tightening the harness around her head. He left her feet shackled to the bedframe, deciding he could speak to her like this. She made quite a picture with her punished tits, upright carriage, and widely splayed legs, offering him a peak of something he was pretty certain no one had yet tasted. Anger was radiating off of Cecilia, who seemed to at least register the fact that he was not letting her go, and that she was not escaping. "These are your rules. Follow 'em and you'll find things will go much better for you. Don't try my patience. What I gave you earlier was light 'cause you didn't know the rules. Yeh aren't going to have that 'scuse anymore." Anger was coloring his speech, revealing more of the Welsh in his accent that he usually tried to cover. Gerald was sitting directly in front of her, and she couldn't turn her head away. She didn't want to look at him. She would look anywhere that wasn't at her captor. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard around the phallic gag that had been rudely forced between her teeth. "Open your eyes!" the man demanded. She opened them, but looked down at her poor punished breasts. "Look. At. Me!" The man hissed at her, seeming to punctuate his own anger with each word. She didn't dare avoid his eyes again. They were deep-set and demanding. She could see where he'd had stitches over one eye. His jaw was not perfectly angled, but his mouth was a thin, serious line, about to tell her his demands. "You do not speak unless spoken to. Keep that blathering nonsense up, and you'll get very intimate with that gag indeed. When you do speak you call me 'Master'. You do what I say, when I say it, and none of this cute rebelliousness. I don't have time for it. When I ask you anything, you answer HONESTLY. You do not try to escape. You do not deny me anything." It was a short list. It only demanded her abject humiliation, body, thoughts and voice. Cecilia's eyes widened, and then her brows furrowed, trying to stare him down. If looks could kill Gerry knew he'd be dead. He didn't much care. He had a list of questions that needed answers. He pulled a copy of James' letter out of his pocket and asked her, "Do you like music?" Gerry watched her struggle to answer, smirked and tapped her in a patronizing way on the nose. "Nod or shake that pretty little head of yours." Cecilia nodded, almost imperceptibly, fighting the constraints of the leather collar. "Do you like classical music?" Another strained nod. "Good." Gerry placed a check mark on the letter. He'd researched Asthon's tastes; they ran deep and wide, but classical was the thrust of the man's musical interests. "Do you like art?" Affirmation came in a muffled word and a nod. Another check mark was added to the list. James' requests seemed to be met already. "Did you like school?" Cecilia again tried to kill him with a stare, furrowed her brow and made to shake her head. "Hmmm... did you do well in school?" A nod of sorts answered him. Gerry was forced to put a question mark on the item about liking to learn. "Have you had any lovers?" Cecilia blushed furiously, turning almost as red as her chest. She didn't answer and tried to turn away again. Gerry stood up, hooked his finger through the ring at the front of her collar, and forced her to look in his eyes. This was important. "Answer me." More tears. She squeezed her eyes shut again and shook her head, moaning against her gag as the collar bit into her collarbone. Gerald roughly released her. Cecilia wanted to curl up in a ball and die. For all that her mother had called her a slut, and said she flaunted her curves inappropriately, she had never had a lover. Far from being proud that she remained a virgin as her mother had insisted, Cecilia was distraught. It seemed the opportunity to ever take a lover was now being taken away from her. She had been too scared to have a relationship, haunted by her conservative upbringing, and now it would be too late. The man she was now supposed to think of as 'master' left the room abruptly. With nothing else to do, Cecilia dissolved into more tears. Gerry had barely been able to contain his excitement. A virgin. It was better than he thought. Her value increased almost exponentially with her maidenhood intact. Mr. Ashton would have to be pleased with this. But it complicated things in some ways. He was going to have to adjust his training regimen drastically if he wanted to keep her innocence. The effect would probably be more compelling though. Bloody hell, if she had just shown some kind of submissive tendencies he could phone Ashton right now. But as it was she was a wild, frightened thing plotting his death as she fought her restraints and showed zero sign of being aroused by bondage or punishment. He gathered a light lunch for Cecilia and decided to observe her before he determined the next steps. Cecilia didn't know when she last ate, or even how long she had been out. But her throat was dry and raw from her yells, crying, and the four-inch phallus that had been invading her mouth for what seemed like hours. She knew she had to be dehydrated, just from the crying alone. Her stomach rumbled and somehow the seriousness of her predicament was settling in. The 'master' didn't have to feed her, or take care of her. He hadn't said he would. She was already weak and disoriented. Cecilia now understood how in control he was. Crying wasn't going to help her. The abductor had proven immune to her tears. She needed to look for an opportunity and escape while she had strength and wits left. She resolved to observe closely and see what she could exploit. Her neck felt almost bruised by the cruel posture collar, and she wanted the humiliating gag removed. Gerald noticed a somewhat calmer Cecilia. She had to be exhausted from fighting him so hard. He carried in a tray of chicken noodle soup, a reheated roll, and bottle of water. He saw her attention pique at the smell of food. He set down the tray and sat in front of Cecilia. His gruff voice made her jump. "If I remove that gag to feed you, will you behave?" Behave? He wasn't even going to let her feed herself. He was going to spoon-feed her soup like a child! Behave? She would dig his eyes out with the spoon...! Which, she reasoned, was probably why she was being denied the use of her hands. Hunger gnawed at her outrage. She was not able to deny wanting food. It was going to require her to cooperate. She hated it. She had no choice. She bowed her body from the waist in affirmation, trying to ease the pressure the posture collar exerted every time she was forced to answer the man's questions. Cecilia was rewarded with a "Good girl" from Gerry. He took his own painfully slow time removing the head harness. He eyed her, daring her to throw another tantrum. Cecilia licked her lips and said nothing. Gerry nodded approval. "What do you say?" She pretended to look confused, but Cecilia knew what he wanted to hear. She wouldn't say it. Exasperated, Gerry gave her the answer, "Say 'Thank you Master.'" Cecilia rolled her eyes and mumbled "thank you". "Master" Gerry urged, annoyed by the unspoken sass. "Master" Cecilia repeated. Mary Mother of God! She was going to be work. Gerry was having seconds thoughts about the initial confidence he had had in being able to sell her to Ashton. Even as a virgin, that level of attitude was a turn-off. "Put it all together!" His irritation was visible on his face, and Cecilia had thought that she was setting herself up for more trouble. The man called 'master' got a look in his eye that seemed to usher unpleasantness for her. She choked on the words, but bit out a "Thank you, Master". Gerry set to spooning chicken soup and feeding Cecilia, who was momentarily distracted by food. He pulled out a clipboard and started asking her questions. Favourite music? Favourite food? Favourite wine? Cecilia answered between swallows. Pop and acoustic were her first answers. Gerald furrowed his brows at that. Tacos seemed to be what she was currently craving and the man seemed mollified by the answers. Wine? She didn't know! She barely drank wine. The first answer that came to mind was 'red'. So that's what she said. The man called master sighed at that answer and tore off chunks of bread, dipped them in broth and fed her pieces. More questions: Favorite school subject, what had she studied at university? What were her favourite books, artists, movies? He fired the questions so quickly she didn't have time to fabricate answers. He did however; frequently remind her to complete each answer with 'master', which she left out as often as possible. The man called master gave her sips of water and made her answer more questions, this time of an invasive nature. "Have you ever been touched by a man?" No. "Have you ever been in any way involved with a woman?" No. "Have you ever taken a cock in your mouth?" Cecilia quailed at the words, and shook her head. Once she had finished the meal the inquisition seemed to end. The man called Master unbuckled her collar, released her wrists from behind her back and secured her to the bedframe once more. He turned out the lights and left without another word. Gerry was floored. At her age, Cecilia was a virgin in every imaginable way. He didn't think that was possible, and yet her blushes confirmed her shyness. Cecilia had allowed herself to be fed, but he didn't think it went beyond needing to eat. He had more thinking to do. He was almost disappointed. If he wanted to sell her for what she was worth, he couldn't sample her at all. And she was beautiful, especially when she was being good and not fighting. Once she had calmed the green in her hazel eyes shone brightly, and if he could persuade her to ditch the toneless voice she adopted to answer his questions, he was sure even her American accent could be charming. He went to sleep wondering how he was supposed to train her, and how he was supposed to maintain control when she made him so hard. Chords that Bind Ch. 02 Cecilia thought she had just fallen asleep when she was awakened by the sound of the door opening. Her eyes were puffy and red from the tears she had shed during the night. She lay on the bed for ages, unable to sleep, or curl up in a comfortable position, or calm the din of her mind. Alone and in the dark, all the terrible thoughts and accusations of her childhood played over and over, as they were wont to on some troubled nights. But never had it been so hard to push the recollections away, and now the man called master was back. Somehow she drifted into a slumber, but it was so light the doorknob turning was enough to shake her out of her limited rest. Cecilia vowed to herself that she would refuse to cooperate. Gerry had coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. He was going to feed her quickly. He had decided that Cecilia's training would require a less hands-on approach than he would have liked; she was beautiful and her innocence brought out something in him that only raw and untrained slaves could rouse, but this... this was business. He needed her to respond to Ashton's brand of stimuli, not his own, and since he couldn't have her without depreciating her value, he thought it best to stick to the things that, his research told him, Ashton preferred. Cross referencing social media profiles and his account information had turned up a list of fetishes and habits that Mr. Ashton searched for in his slaves, and preferences he had in his personal life. The concert pianist and conductor had dedicated his life to music, and his tastes were astounding. They gave Gerry a very concrete place to begin Cecilia's training. "I've got breakfast for you." Gerry said to a very sullen looking Cecilia. She said nothing. Gerry released the tension in her bonds, allowing her to sit up. The blank stare that Gerry received was already growing old to his mind. "Well?" he prompted her, "What do you say girl?" Silence. Cecilia acted as though the white padded wall was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. "I've got food for you. So what's the least you can do huh? Maybe show some gratitude?" Cecilia blinked at him. With deliberate slowness Gerald set down the tray. He unclipped the restraints on his slave-in-training's limbs, and had her across his lap. SMACK. Cecilia's face was redder than her bum, but not for long. With no warm up, and zero notice, Cecilia was having her first spanking since grade school. SMACK! WHACK! At first, Cecilia tried to do nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of the stoics and Zen masters. She could hold back her discomfort. This was only a few smacks administered to her bottom after all. She could refrain from calling out. That is, until the man called master unleashed his full strength. The blow landed squarely where her thighs met her pert little ass, and without meaning to, Cecilia yelped. "Agghh!" Gerry repeated the spank, catching her again in vocalized distress. Something between a scream and a whimper escaped her lips. Her bottom was lobster red now, but Gerry continued. "STOP! Stop! Please!" Cecilia caved and started to beg in earnest. "I thought you lost your voice," Gerry said calmly, as if spanking her over his knee took no more effort than knitting a jumper. She was squirming valiantly, but pinned her legs between his own. The smacks continued. "I brought you breakfast, and you didn't say 'thank you'. I was worried you'd shouted yourself mute!" The assault on her bottom continued. Cecilia knew what he wanted. It was simpler to give in. "Thank you for breakfast." She said hoarsely. Gerry wasn't wrong about her screaming and crying. Her voice was almost raspy from her vocal exertions. Gerry's hand was starting to sting. SMACK. SMACK! He still wasn't stopping. Cecilia had hoped he wouldn't notice that she left off 'master', but he had. The heat in her bum was painful, a stinging sensation that lingered long after the impact of the man's hand. She gave him another inch. "Thank you. Master." She said gasping through another series of spanks. She had thought he would stop. Instead it slowed, easing in intensity. Cecilia was wiggling now, squirming hard against his strong arm and legs that held her in place. Sweat misted over her as she began to fight. What else could he want? A last spank landed. HARD, making Cecilia moan at the injustice of it all. Gerry ceased the spanking, believing he left an impression. Punishment was on his terms once she disobeyed. She had zero control in the situation if she refused to obey first and without question. He lifted her up and plopped her on the bed. "Let's try this again," he sighed. "I've brought you breakfast." "Thank you Master." Cecilia said as tonelessly as she dared. Her bottom was tender, and despite herself she tried to rub the stinging sensation away. Gerry took the opportunity to roughly insert his fingers into her untried sex. He was disappointed. She had barely started to get wet. There was some promise there, but she was not innately aroused by punishment: yet. That was the point of training, he knew, but he had rather hoped Cecilia was already wired for administered pain. This was something he could work with though. His invasive fingers had caught Cecilia off guard, but she soon regained enough clarity to start pushing his hand away as she backed herself into the corner of the bed. Gerry let it go. Once he fed her, he could start working on teaching her body everything it secretly wanted to know. Instead of dealing with more exhibitions in defiance and having to punish her, Gerald handcuffed the blushing girl. "Maybe you'll earn the use of your hands at some point. Until then, I'll be feeing you. So I'd act grateful if I was you." The throbbing in her bottom forced Cecilia to quietly respond, "Yes Master". Having fed her, and allowed her basic morning ablutions, Gerald locked Cecilia tautly back to the bedframe. She seemed to sense a sinister purpose and started to repeat her earlier refrain of "No. No. NO! no. no. No." Gerry wasn't interested in protests and the harness gag made an unwelcome appearance. Using his fingers, Gerald started at her neck, tracing his fingertips down her throat and over her collarbone. He traced between her breasts. She was shaking her head back and forth, over and over as if this protest was not already long lost. Her breathing was spiraling. It was enough to be disconcerting to Gerry. He checked her pussy again. Not even a little wet. This direct approach didn't seem to be working. "It's time for a different tactic," he thought. He brought out some silk ties, and swapped her chains for the softer silk. Binding both wrists together and over her head, he forced the slightest of arches into her upper body. Her ankles were treated likewise. The silkiness over her sensitive ankles raised goosebumps, and encouraged Gerry. The spread of her legs was uncompromised, but there was no satisfying clink of chains to give air to Cecilia's silent protests. A black velvet blindfold went over her eyes, and Gerald made a final concession to sensuality with a big ball gag, replacing the intimidating harness. Without her eyes, mouth, or the tinkling chain, to sound protests, Ceclia was completely at the strange man's mercy. She waited. Listening hard, she tried to figure out if he was still in the room. Had she heard him leave? She couldn't recall. How long had it been? What was that? Delicate, but assured chords, from what was clearly a magnificent piano, met the resonance and tension in the notes that began the 3rd movement of Rachmaninoff's Cello Sonata. A bow pulled over a cello with fluidity and grace, perfectly matching the expertise of the pianist. Cecilia didn't know this music. And to be perfectly honest, Gerry didn't either. He did know that it was a recording of Mr. Ashton playing the piano with some uppity cellist, and that was good enough for him. It was a place to start training Cecilia's musical tastes as well as conditioning her body. Cecilia jumped... As much as she could, so securely bound. Something incredibly soft was brushing her face. She leaned into it. It felt so good; different from the leather and rubber prying her mouth open. The softness had an expensive fragrance. Perfume or cologne, and in the darkness she was bound to, Cecilia floated on the jasmine and sandalwood, leaning into the soft touch. It traveled further. Down her neck, following the same trail the man's fingers had started, but it was almost welcome. The cello and piano continued a gentle but building sound. Cecilia latched onto the touch and sound, the only senses left to her. Her breathing steadied. Gerry saw Ceclia's nipples tighten into peaks as he plied her body with sensual softness. Better. This was significant improvement. The blindfold had proven a useful neutralizer. He played with her breasts, causing the slightest of shudders. Her nipples and breasts felt bruised after yesterday's chastisement. But the soothing softness eased the awareness of discomfort. Gerry drew circles around her stomach, which seemed to tickle her more than anything else. Interesting. He catalogued her ticklishness for later exploration. Journeying further south caused Cecilia to hold her breath, but Gerry bypassed her sex, and moved to her legs, which were rock hard from straining, ready to fight. More shudders and squirms. Cecilia continued to breath though, so Gerry began to rub her feet. An audible groan came from behind the electric blue ball wedged between Cecilia's lips. The massage on her feet was undoing her. The recording of the cello and piano continued to enchant, as the pinnacle of the piece was reached, and maintained with perfect intensity. The music was distracting and lovely. She couldn't help but relax. She loved the softness she was feeling, getting intimate with the sensations and sounds, wanting to know what they were. Suddenly it was his fingers again, peeling her lower lips apart. No. She tried to fight, but nothing was moving. If anything the silk bindings cinched tighter as she tried to close her legs or move her arms. A whole finger slipped inside her. His thumb rolled across... She clenched her thighs. He did it again. And Again. Cecilia was arching her back, unable to move his attention as the strange man called master began stimulating her. Much better. Ceclia was getting wet, and though she did not approve, not every movement she made was argumentative. When Gerry found her clit, she reacted very differently. Gerry made to repeat the cycle again, starting with her cheeks and neck, moving down, and trying to somehow mimic the recording with the soft sensations. Cecilia had stopped fighting, seeming both confused and resigned. Gerry monitored the slightest shifts in her breathing, noticing shallower inhales and deeper exhales. As the cellist expertly plied the bow, Gerry imagined his touch creating resonance across Cecilia's body. He was definitely hard again. Moving the rabbit pelt up her legs, he fingered her sex again. His questing fingers were firmer, circling her clit more, until Cecilia finally moved her hips to meet his hand. She was wet now. The movement had ended, but Gerry had set it to repeat, and Ashton's piano again tastefully met the cello. Gerry began a third tour of Cecilia's body, taking slower and slower movements. He spent longer motions around her tits. Cecilia's muscles were fatiguing. She was getting nowhere with pulling at the bindings, but the softness... The softness was the first nice thing she felt since she had woken yesterday to this nightmare. The 'master's' movements were following a pattern, and Cecilia's blindness forced her to zero in on the music and the touch. They were good. In the midst of this bizarre new reality, she was able to hear something otherworldly, that she had never heard before. His fingers were prying at her sex again. He really was taking his time. 'Stay still' she told herself. But a long finger dipped inside her again, as tiny circles on her clit made colors blink before her darkened eyes. This was good too. It was too much though. It... It wasn't quite time. Another pass along her body and Gerry was sure he would have her right where he wanted her. She was aroused in earnest now, and her limbs had given up the fight. Her breathing had attained a recognizable rhythm, very different from the one the piano was keeping, but the sensuality of the music was finally being internalized by Gerry's little slave to be. Her back was arched again, and he gambled by toying with her nipples, rolling them gently, and then sweeping the scrap of fur over the sensitive mounds. He wanted to check her pussy again, but stuck to the pattern, hoping that building the anticipation would increase the end result. He was taking too long. Her sex was tingling all over. When Master pulled on her nipples and then soothed away the sharpness, Cecilia had felt butterflies. She arched her back, giving into the pleasurable feelings, unable to change what was happening, the mildest of frenzies building as the recorded music hit it's apex as the master's fingers started circling her clit again, and not stopping. It was relentless, and Cecilia's mind began to fight as her body utterly surrendered, pulling her hips toward the source of pleasure. Every sinew in her body tightened, and she felt sensitivity in her pussy that hurt. It wasn't stopping. She panicked, 'What's happening?!' And suddenly colors burst in front of her eyes as she fell over the brink, moaning as her first orgasm rolled over her. Without any effort on her part, her body tingled, muscles clenching and releasing of their own accord, activating sensation at the base of her sex to the ends of her toes all the way to the back of her neck. Eyelashes fluttering, tight muscles finally releasing as tension was replaced with pure pleasure, if only for just a moment. Gerry smiled in triumph as she vocalized her pleasure, pleased as her body twitched and ever so gently melted, leaving her pliant and sated sexually for the first time in her life. He shut the music off. Grabbing a small towel, he ran it under some warm water and began to sponge the sweat off Cecilia's body. She didn't fight him The warm towel wasn't as soft as the other touch, but it refreshed her somewhat. Cecilia registered the fact that she had just had her first orgasm forced out of her. The lessons from years of school telling her that sex was only for married couples, and that self-pleasure was akin to consorting with the devil had never prepared her for THIS. She felt like she had just had a massage, only more, better, from the inside out... and she still felt the easiness it had created in her body. Gerry untied the silk bindings on Cecilia's arms, unbuckled the gag, and restored her sight. She blushed furiously, covering her naked breasts. She didn't feel safe looking at the man who called himself master. He had done something no one else in her life had ever done, and Cecilia was unwilling to feel any more vulnerable. Her hands were pulled away from her torso, and cuffed in front of her. The 'master' pushed a stack of books towards her, and left the room again. Cecilia was exhausted. She lay in a daze for some minutes, finally able to curl up into a tiny ball. Chords that Bind Ch. 03 Hello there! A quick PSA: The first three chapters of this story were categorized (erroneously) under BDSM (That mis-categorization is my fault, so I'm moving the story here to non/con). If you'd like to find out what's been happening up to now, please read the previous installments. Hope you enjoy! Also, thank you kindly to everyone's comments. I was happy to have the feedback. All of it was constructive. Without further ado, Chapter 3 of Chords that Bind. ***** As the languid trance slowly dispersed from her body, Cecilia breathed deeper, and felt her joints cracking, giving up the fight temporarily. She waited. There was no clock in the room. She finally paused to take stock of her prison. White padded walls on all sides, like some sort of sanitarium, housed a tiny water closet on the farthest corner from the metal twin bed to which she was tied. A small table was next to the bed, and the chair in which the man had been sitting, at was by the door. There was not even a window. Everything was white, except the books stacked on the table that the man seemed to want her to read. The title perched on top was "The claiming of Sleeping Beauty". Underneath were "Lady Chatterley's Lover", "Beauty's Punishment", a set of novellas written by Kitty Thomas, "Alice in Wonderland", and "A collection of Erotic English Poetry". With no clock to alert her to the passing of time, Cecilia sat. She wasn't an idiot. She knew why she had been left to her own devices with these literary selections. The master probably already knew that she knew. Although she was impressed with his inclusion of "Lady Chatterley" she was NOT going to let him brainwash her with books. He had already made his intent clear. She wasn't going to make it easier. She turned herself over and fell asleep, all energy wrung out of her body. Gerry didn't care if she didn't read the books right away. Or at all, although he doubted she could stand the boredom without some way to alleviate the monotony. The books were just supporting roles. He would continue to bring her to pleasure, offering her release until she craved it, needed it. By the time her mind caught on to her body's betrayal, she would be firmly under his control. Cecilia slept, exhausted emotionally and physically. Gerry observed her from time to time. God, she was gorgeous. She must have near-perfect hourglass proportions. Her hair was somewhat mussed and matted, but it was a flattering chestnut that fell in curls. Her long eyelashes were the same colour, veiling hazel eyes that communicated her every thought. And she was tiny. Petite was the flattering way to put it, but her ankles and wrists were almost too small for his restraints. Her cuffs had been fitted to the very tightest setting to remain functional, and there was still more give in them than he would like. Gerry knew she hadn't slept well, so he waited, arranging for the transport and sale of other submissives who had been trained and were ready for auction. It was well past luncheon by the time Cecilia stirred, although she had been awake for some time. There was nothing for her to do. She tried to go back to sleep, but there was nothing for it, and she certainly was not about to read that ridiculous library of sexually charged garbage... Anger boiled over again. She reached out with her bound wrists and with as much force as she could leverage with her hands cuffed and her legs bound, and pushed them angrily off the table. The thud, and spread of the books, unceremoniously scattered on the floor, was not as satisfying as she had imagined. Gerry had to chuckle. Her efforts were valiant, if completely moot. The monitor he had keeping an eye on the girl alerted him to the books she had pushed to the ground. "I could leave her there all day," Gerry thought to himself. After all, the books, her only avenue for distraction, were now well out of reach. "She'd be eager for interaction if I left her there." So he did. Cecilia was rubbing her wrists raw. She was trying so hard to try to escape. It was the only way to keep her mind occupied. Some hours ago she realized that knocking the books out of reach had been dumb. "Alice in Wonderland" wouldn't have been so terrible. She tried to replay her favorite movies in her mind, attempting to evade the present, but her attention wandered, and she was back to hearing her parents yelling at her again. Her mind was playing cruel games, not even allowing her respite in the quiet. So she tried to escape. There were unyielding, tiny, padlocks around the buckles cuffing her ankles to the bed, and while she was flexible, no amount of twisting, pulling or contorting was going to get them off. The handcuffs were even worse. She cried. It seemed like it should be so simple to walk through the door, which she wasn't even sure was locked. She examined the bolts where her chains were fixed to the bed, but the recessed screws were never going to give. Cecilia broke all of her nails trying to make it budge anyway. It was hopeless. It was not lost on Gerry that Cecilia was examining avenues of escape. He considered catching her in the act, but figured the boredom and chaffed wrists and ankles were punishment enough. He let her continue as he took his tea, she wouldn't be going anywhere. He let her continue crying as he had his dinner. Seven and a half hours since he'd brought her to her first orgasm, he decided to give her dinner as well. The doorknob turned, alerting Cecilia to the arrival of the 'master'. He had a tray again; fish and chips for dinner, accompanied by another bottle of water. Gerry shook his head mockingly, "Tsk tsk. Knocking over books?" Cecilia looked at him with reproachful eyes. "Well, it seems you still can't be trusted with your hands." He didn't really expect her to answer, and moved to cuff her arms behind her, and fix the hated posture collar back around Cecilia's neck. "I'll feed you dinner, since you seem to be unable." "Thank you... master," Cecilia said dully. This was certainly improvement from Gerry's point of view. Cecilia was so hungry at this point, she would agree, as there was no further disruption to the meal that the master had brought her. Gerry was very pleased. He was creating a sort of dependence this way, and was hoping to lean on that dependence as he trained her to be Ashton's ideal slave. After feeding her, he allowed her a few moments to use the bathroom and to shower. She still had no clothes to cover herself, but she was at least clean. Gerry again tied her to the bed, using the silk ties from before. The music that played earlier began again. Cello and piano harmonized beautifully, as Cecilia felt the blindfold cover her eyes. Mercifully the gag was left out. A chill settled over her still-damp skin, and her nipples hardened. Gerry observed her for a moment. She was so much more pliant that she had been. He again, invaded her pussy. Wetness was starting to gather, although she tried to pull away from his touch. He retrieved the soft rabbit pelt and began his ministrations. Cecilia calmed, somewhat mollified by the familiar and gentling touch. Her breathing was erratic again. She started whispering to herself... "No. no. no. no. no. no..." Gerry ignored the protests and continued his activities, stimulating all the nerve endings on her body. When his hand arrived at her sex, Cecilia was found to be wet. Her voice was muttering 'no', but her body was saying something different. Gerry circled her clit again, this time spending longer spans of attention as he heard her protests become heated whimpers. Before she was ready, Gerry moved on, resuming the pattern that Cecilia was starting to become all too intimate with. His hand crawled up her leg again, and she flexed her hips, urging him to return to her heated center. It was too much on her, and she began shaking her head back and forth, unable to stand how much sensation just one part of her body was magnifying. The feeling was close. The moment of internal collapse just a brush of his fingers away. But he took his hand away and resumed the pseudo-massage of her body. She tried to hold back a gasp of frustration, but responded to his touch as his fingers traced her form once again. Before he finished with her legs, her hips flexed, inviting, almost begging for the next round of friction, circles and brushes. She was feeling as desperate as the music sounded. The piece was reaching it's climax as Cecilia became frantic for her own. Relief had to be close. Her pussy was feverish, becoming the center of her entire awareness. His index finger found her engorged clit and began to maddeningly roll it between his thumb and fingers. Cecilia let out a moan in earnest, so ready to fall over the edge. But he quickly moved on, now taking his time working her body over with the soft pelt. The music was slowing, having completed the motions and tensions, but Cecilia's body was showing all the signs of sexual frustration. Gerry was spending extra time on her breasts and nipples, thoroughly palming and tweaking her chest, as wetness continued to gather at her sex. She was arching her back and trying to pull her spread legs together. The music was on repeat. By now Cecilia's pulse had to be centered in her pussy as well. The man was torturing her, and she was being a sinful girl, encouraging this violation because she wanted the pleasure he had shown her was possible. Gerry gently pressed a finger inside her. This was what he needed. She was primed and fit to burst, but he decided to drag it out. He gave the quickest of tweaks to her clit, and moved on. Cecilia rewarded him with a sob of frustration. "Good girl" he whispered, in an almost kind way. "That's a girl, yes." He encouraged her like a frightened filly. "I know what you want. You want to cum for me. Right?" Cecilia could only moan, so caught up in her physical predicament that she didn't think about what the master had been saying. Another pass along her body, the slowest and most excruciating attention spiking her arousal, tiny tremors took hold of her muscles. How long could he drag this out? Just when Cecilia was certain he would make her come, he backtracked, and continued the glorious and maddening petting that was driving her wild with need. After this last tease, Lace moved to reward her patience. Gloriously, Cecilia felt his fingers on her sex again, and he didn't just toy with her. He continued his assault, and after being delayed, her second orgasm devastated Cecilia with its intensity. Her breath caught in her dry throat as she called out a nonsensical release. It was good. It was the only good thing here, in this padded room and his fingers were at it again. She felt another building, and quickly fell under the second spell. Reveling in her body's ability to produce such pleasure, Cecilia let it continue. Gerry removed his fingers when the music completed its second encore, and shut out the lights. Cecilia was already asleep. "Oh God... the shame. Mom was right. I'm a slut." Cecilia thought to herself as she woke. How else could she explain her lack of strength? She had wanted the man who had abducted her to incite that pleasure. She didn't resist or fight him. She was in dangerous territory. "I have to fight him. I can't just let him do these things to me." "Well, it's not like you had a choice!" an unhelpful voice in her head chimed in. "You were tied up, after all." "But I shouldn't have enjoyed it, or wanted it!" This voice sounded a lot like Cecilia's mother. But it was sensible. Cecilia settled on the only plan she had... pretend to obey and comply, and once enough trust had been built, to make a break for it. Yes, it was fairly sophomoric, but there was nothing else to exploit. The man came in with breakfast. Toast and jam, this time. Cecilia sat quietly. "Breakfast. Want some coffee?" the master offered. "Yes Master." Cecilia replied, truthfully. He cuffed her hands behind her back and fed her. Upon finishing her meal, Cecilia waited for the man called master to move the dishes away. Cecilia noticed the books were stacked neatly again. But her hands were uselessly cuffed. She heard something. Softly at first, and then with building volume, Cecilia recognized the cello and piano. She closed her eyes, and felt warmth. It was simply one of the most beautiful things she'd ever heard. She felt bereft when the music slowed and quieted to almost a whisper, but it built to a crescendo and she felt: arousal. The Rachmaninoff Sonata was playing again, and Cecilia recognized the neediness that spurred her on the night before, tingling through her limbs, centered in her pussy. This was an unfamiliar situation to her. She had only rarely felt this way, and the source of it was just music? The master entered the room again, snapping Cecilia out of her reverie and puzzlement. He loosed the ties around her feet, held her firmly around her upper arm, and pulled her up and off the bed. He led her to a far corner in the room. She hadn't known there were hooks and rings hidden in the padded walls, but her ankles were being secured so that her back was to the corner, with her feet forcefully spread, planted to the adjacent walls. Her hands were released, but quickly raised above her head. All the while he worked, Gerry didn't speak or turn off the music. He had seen some sincere progress already. The music was starting to become a source of heat to the little slave, and he was planning on reinforcing the link between her arousal and the music she heard. The man had a pure white scrap of fur in his hands. Cecilia could finally see. It had been rabbit fur, and now it was tracing her limbs in that soothingly familiar way. She had been frightened to be moved and immobilized like this, but the man was doing the same things he had yesterday. She began to relax into this somewhat familiar routine, floating on the music. Gerry had to either crouch or kneel to reach her legs, putting him at eyelevel with Cecilia's wet pussy. He had been building her pleasure more quickly today, and her somewhat compliant attitude made him eager to continue this process. It also made him achingly hard. Wet, bound, mildly compliant... she was there for the taking... but he wanted to see what he could get for her. True, her virginity was not what he had captured her for: Her mental landscape was just as difficult to find as an of-age virgin, but the asking price for something this unique would make auctioneers at Christie's jealous, if they had the stomach to deal in more than just paintings and rare wines. But he couldn't resist just tasting her. That wouldn't cause any damage to his asking price, and it could probably encourage her training somewhat. So this time as he trailed the soft pelt back up the slave's legs instead of using his digits, Gerry began slowly tonguing at Cecilia's slit. She jumped at the different sensation. Panic began to creep from her brain. "What is he doing?" She had never felt a mouth on her pussy before. She tried to shy away from the attention the master was paying her dampening sex, but was hindered. She looked up, tilting her head back so she didn't have to see the man's head nodding between her legs. It was so wrong. Then she released a huge breath as the tongue and his lips went to work. She closed her eyes, trying to fight the pleasure. The music was swirling all around her, starting to scramble her emotions and distracting her from her Catholic upbringing. If possible, this felt even better than last night. When he sucked on her tight little nub, she gasped, not believing something could feel that good. He trailed the backs of his fingernails up her thighs, eliciting a shiver that ended as she curled her toes, awash in sensation. His mouth left her pussy, but latched onto her right breast, sucking and pulling at the bud, which had just the faintest recollection of the cropping he had given her two days ago. The tenderness she felt under her heated flesh was exquisite. She moaned as he bit down in the gentlest way possible, before capturing her left nipple and giving it similar treatment. His hands came behind her, able to span her upper back, and knead tension from her outstretched shoulders. She was so slight, he felt her shoulder blades flex and loosen. Cecilia arched her back, pulling against her wrists, seeking more. She hadn't felt this way before. As he stood before her, she leaned towards him, praying he would kiss her, but instead, he took a step backwards. "No." he almost whispered it, half making it a command, half sounding regretful. Cecilia saw he was still fully clothed, and felt like a wanton whore. She caught a gasp as she felt hurt mingle with arousal. She was so dirty, she didn't actually want to kiss him, but it felt like that was right, like that was where he was going. Instead, the fur pelt made another appearance. Gerry had almost been carried away in the moment. She was responding beautifully. But more physical intimacies like that could lead to serious problems. When he told her no, she looked like he'd slapped her. He quickly resumed his ministrations, petting her all over, quieting her tensing muscles. Not stopping until he had his mouth on her again, he continued to pleasure her. When she moaned, he murmured "Good girl." She didn't know why, but after Master had rejected her kiss, those two words felt significant. She had pleased him. He continued to lap at her sex, causing the flutters and tremors in her body to ratchet up to spasms. She literally couldn't stand any longer. Her legs were giving out, forcing all her weight into her arms, but she couldn't care. Master sucked on her clit again, and this time he pulled her over the edge, and kept her there, continuing to create mini-aftershocks. Cecilia was breathing hard. She pulled herself up by her wrists and straightened her legs. Master was smiling at her. "What do you say Cecilia?" She was still catching her breath but took in his scarred countenance, seeing if there was an answer there. She didn't know. Her voice caught in her throat, but before she could croak out a guess he answered. "Say 'thank you' Cecilia." "Master, Thank you." "Good girl." Gerry took her down from the wall. The music had been playing the entire time, but he turned it off. She had behaved well enough to see if she could handle the freedom of her arms and legs. After depositing her on the bed, Gerry decided to leave her for a few hours, to judge how well she was taking her training. In his office he noted the past few days' worth of observations, compiling a thorough profile, which he intended to give to Ashton. He then went to check on another slave who was just about ready for auction. It was a convenient way for him to blow off steam. This slave had become quite the apt little cocksucker, and he was in need of an orgasm in a big way. Presenting Cecilia as a mostly-trained virgin ought to have been easier in some regards, but it was trying his control. This little slut on his cock however, was alleviating that particular need. Cecilia wandered the room. She was pacing, stretching out her tight legs and arms that had been immobilized for so long. Freedom to move of her own accord felt like an untold luxury. She relished the ability to crack her elbows and ankles, feeling tension fade with each sharp movement. She rolled her neck in circles, breathing deeply. Her attention went to the door, which was locked tight. She tried to use her whole body weight to make it budge, but it held fast. She examined the floor, which was white concrete, and tried to find a crack. The effort was clever but pointless. There was only one way in or out of the room and that door was locked. No hinges were exposed, no locks to pick, just a doorknob that refused to give. Chords that Bind Ch. 03 With nothing left to do, Cecilia picked up a book from the stack the master had left with her. Grabbing 'The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty", Cecilia availed herself of the only escape left to her, hoping to silence her recriminating mind. She was reading. Good. Gerry nodded his approval at the screen. Her short-lived attempt to escape seemed obligatory, but not problematic, so he decided to let Cecilia read. After a time, he played the Rachmaninoff Sonata again. From the close-up the cameras offered, he saw her breathing hitch, and her reading was spurred by a fervor she couldn't control. His training was taking hold. She was starting to cooperate, and allow herself to go where he was taking her. Gerry went to her again. This time, when he entered she looked up. Her hazel eyes dilated. She was coming to expect pleasure at his appearances. He did not intend to disappoint her, but more 'active' participation was going to be required. "Come here." "Yes Master." With no other words, he led her gently back to the corner where he'd bound her before. Once fastened in position, Cecilia looked at Gerry expectantly. His scarred eyebrow rose, daring her to say something. Worry started to gnaw at the trainee slave. Pulling a tube of tiger balm out of his pocket, Gerry gave the girl an ominous half-smile. Cecilia couldn't tell what he was doing, but as he approached her, her anxiousness ratcheted up another notch, verging on panic. Gerry let the piano play solo for a brief moment, before smearing the cream over Cecilia's pussy and clit, using the excess to circle each of her nipples. The naïve girl released a sigh, feeling his fingers touch her again, expecting the stimulating pleasure to build. After reading a few chapters of Beauty and hearing the cello play, Cecilia was looking forward to the master's touch again. Instead, after the roughest of touches, and smallest of tweaks, Gerry stepped away. Confusion swept over Cecilia again, but he returned with a laptop, fitted with a small camera. He sat in a chair, and started typing away, completely disinterested in the naked girl in front of him. Sweat broke out on Cecilia's forehead and chest. Her nether lips and clit were tingling. No. They were burning and stinging, and what was only supposed to be warmth enough to soothe achy muscles was working it's magic on her most sensitive flesh. Something was wrong. It had to be. This couldn't last. She yelped and moaned, fighting as hard as she had upon awaking in this nightmare. "Arrgghhh! Make it stop." Cecilia shouted, squirming fiercely. Only then did Gerry look up. He smiled. "It'll wear off. Don't worry." The camera was catching every twitch her heated form made. "No. No! no! no! Let me go!" It was burning now. Her clit and nipples were fiery pinpoints demanding immediate relief. Pulling on her only half-healed wrists and ankles hurt, but it at least distracted her from this most humiliating predicament. Her chest was heaving again, and tears were threatening as she thrust her hips and chest, hoping just for cool air to ease the heat consuming her sex and breasts. She was working herself into a frenzy and the man called master just sat there ignoring her. Anger bloomed in red patches on her face and chest. "Make it STOP! Please! Please let me go! Just make it stop!" He ignored her. She was panicking now, not caring what it took. She NEEDED relief. "Please. PLEASE!" In desperation she screamed "Master" just to get his attention. "Yes?" he looked up, only responding to his chosen name. Cecilia honestly believed that he would help her then. Half begging, half whining, she asked "Help me!" She was panting with need now, unaware that he had manipulated her into intense arousal. "Make it stop! Please!" Gerry watched as she began trying to hump the air in her search for relief. The begging was becoming tiresome, although very enticing. He went for a ball gag, and turned the music up even louder. Cecilia tried to bite him as he fitted the gag easily between her teeth. She started yelling, and then begging again as he went to sit down at the computer again, making sure the camera caught every second of Cecilia's little show. Muffled pleas were renewed. Sweat was pouring off the frustrated slave, who had only the strains of cello and piano to comfort the burning need between her thighs. She was beyond wet, trying to pull her legs together, aiming for friction to ease the sensation that made her hyper aware that Master wasn't paying the slightest attention to her. She was quickly exhausting herself, but the flames continued to lick at her pussy, making her slump in frustration and resentment. She couldn't keep the fight up. Twisting and writhing, Cecilia moaned, tears flowing as freely as the liquid heat in her sex. She started to beg in earnest. Senseless syllables landing on deaf ears, but still arching her body as if she could find some way to control her own build to climax. Her sweat dampened hair clung to her forehead as she finally gave up even her begging, dissolving into sobs of anguish. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to hold onto the music playing. It was useless. The fire she had hoped was burning itself out only rekindled at the thought of what the music ought to have heralded. She wanted the pleasure Master's touch brought. No. No. She didn't. She shouldn't want him to lay a finger on her... but her pussy was on fire, and her clit was begging for attention... She started begging in her head "Please, PLEASE, touch me. Please. PLEASE. Make this better. Take it away!" Then anger burned with her poor nipples and slit. "No! I can't want this! I can't! I CAN'T." She began shaking her head violently back and forth. At this, Gerry got up, got to his knees in front of Cecilia, and blew the softest breath over Cecilia's clit. The air was like cool water, and the bound slave responded with a shudder, and involuntarily pumped her hips towards Master's mouth. "YES!" Hope rekindled, along with more sparks of need. She saw his fingers reach for her sex, the skilled digits that would bring her to orgasm. She let her head fall back and her eyes close, imagining that this frustration and sexual torment would end. "Argh!" She jumped as much as she could, feeling his fingers close tightly around her lips, catching her clit in a cruel pinch. He tugged slightly, making her achingly aware of how little movement she had left to her. "Ahhhhh!" Somehow this rude contact was enough. She started to move her hips, ready to fall over the edge. Instead, Gerry extended her torment, landing a sharp little smack to her sex. "NO!" Cecilia screamed behind her gag. She should have been so close. Instead tiny throbs were radiating from her pussy, intensifying the insistent burning of her clit. Again, Gerry landed the most innocent of smacks against her sopping pussy. She cried out again. He imagined she was probably begging again, ready to use her voice properly. Cecilia was shaking her head no, over and over, fighting even as he removed the hated rubber ball. His instincts were right. "Please. Please, please, please, please..." She was bordering on incoherent. Gerry took hold of her chin, forcing her to stare him in the eye. "Please, what?" the Master demanded. "Please." "Tell me what you want." "Please, Master. Make it stop." "How?" "Touch me! Please master, touch me." To emphasize his point, He ran his hand quickly over her strained bicep. "There. I have." She shook her head, burning in frustration, knowing now what he meant her to say. "Please, touch my... my sex." "And?" It was such a leading question. "Let me come? Please." "Good girl." He let her chin go, and she hung her head, utterly defeated by the binds she fought so hard against. The music was looping again for what must have been the hundredth time since Master slathered the wretched cream on her sex. His fingers reached her pussy again. Cecilia didn't dare to hope, but couldn't control her hips as they resumed the begging her voice had momentarily halted. Oh God. "Aaahhh." She was panting again, writhing like a wanton slut, as his fingers drew an impossible amount of wetness from her slit, and circled too gently over her clit. Her nipples were almost painfully hard, begging for similar attention. She was biting her lip against the flurry of 'no' threatening to pass her lips. It was too much now. No. It was just his finger drawing the tightest of circles around her clit until... He pulled his hand back. Extending her torment brought a full smile to his face. He was teasing her, toying with her, and she could do nothing but play her part. Perfectly. She did. Cecilia screeched with pent up frustration. She bucked her hips again. "No. Please. PLEASE!" Master repeated his little game, giving her the slightest of touches, only to withdraw before any pleasure was delivered. He did it over and over. Cecilia was incapable of counting how many times, so consumed with the throbbing that had started in her sex, permeated her breasts, and so impacted even her breathing. Each gasp was hitched and strained, waiting for the culmination of so many unspoken promises. More begging. Gerry was hard and aroused too, but took immense satisfaction in seeing a creature that had been so demure and shy already begging for pleasure like the trained pet she would eventually be. His middle finger glided between her lips, gently lifting her erect clit. Cecilia was biting her lips, not daring to hope anymore. The devastating circles he was drawing on her clit undid her. FINALLY she fell over the edge, in time with the descending scale of the cello, twitching with shock after shock of delayed pleasure. She was so weak she could barely stand, but Gerry's fingers insisted, dragging another orgasm that crackled along her nerve endings. "What do you say?" Without any prompting she exhaled: "Thank you, Master." "Good girl." It was almost a growl. In her state, Cecilia couldn't even bring herself to be offended. He was doing something to her, and to her responses, that was unbelievably unnerving. But as the pleasure finished coursing through her veins, the Master held her chin firmly again. His other hand found her soaking sex. Impossibly, Cecilia wiggled her lower half, again already seeking out the pleasure she knew he could deliver, already moaning at the slightest stimulation. That was not Gerry's plan however. "This", he emphasized by giving her clit a sharp pinch, "is no longer yours. Your pleasure," as he delved two fingers into her slit, "is no longer yours. And you are not to come," (taking a pause to flick his thumb over her clit) "without my permission." He continued to stimulate her, and as hard as she had already come, she was already climbing the ladder that would lead to a satisfying climax. Cecilia moaned, taking in the sensation, trying to comprehend what her Master had said. Fingers were at her nipples, finally giving them the attention she hadn't known she craved. Her panting breaths were turning into sighs, as if her intense arousal from minutes before hadn't even been quenched. It was going to take more to ease her down from the heights of desire to which she had been induced. Chords that Bind Ch. 04 Hello there readers! We're getting to the point where I'd advise you to read the previous installments of this story before continuing on. I'm referring to some other erotic works in this chapter. Those works are not mine, and I've merely referenced and summarized parts in my own words. No infringement is intended. They are the works of Anne Rice and Kitty Thomas. I'd like to thank you all for feedback, votes and comments; it means a lot to know what you all think! In any case, please enjoy! -Poeticlicense ***** "I said, do you understand?" His hands left her, and Cecilia opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them, unsure of what he has asked her. Still aroused, and bewildered, she shook her head. She was unsure, but she thought he said something about pleasure... He pinched her nipples sharply; to be sure she paid attention, and rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger before squeezing it like a vice. "Ahhh, mmnNoo... Stop!" "You don't come without permission. You don't touch that tight little cunt of yours. I own your body, and your pleasure belongs to ME." Cecilia was shaking her head again. Why was he doing this? He had just said she was a good girl. "You beg me for an orgasm. I'll decide if you deserve one. If you come without permission, you'll be punished. Severely." His hands left her again. Cecilia's clit was throbbing, as if it had a heartbeat of it's own, and her breasts were calling out for attention still. Head bowed in defeat, she looked at him from beneath long lashes as tears began to blur her vision. "Do. You. Under. Stand?" The Welsh was becoming more pronounced as he grew frustrated with teaching her this concept. Cecilia's arms were baring most of her (albeit slight) weight, and were threatening to seize up and spasm soon. She was afraid of testing him at this moment. But wanted desperately to flee. "Yes. Master." He nodded. Not entirely sure she had grasped the idea he demanded: "Tell me what you understand." He couldn't be doing this. He couldn't be making her say these things. She reasoned that she had no choice as her arms ached and pussy continued to weep. "I'm not allowed to orgasm. I need permission." "To whom do you belong to?" "You Master." "Yes. Until I say otherwise." That scared her. Some unknown variable was being presented now. Until he said otherwise? Dear God. She needed to escape. She needed to be far, FAR, away from here, wherever here was. "What happens if you come without permission?" He was still interrogating her. But even her temper was fatiguing. "You'll punish me Master." "Exactly. Now, let's get you down." Cecilia was thrumming with need still. His hands, almost clinical and detached, as he unlatched her ankles, and then slowly guided her arms down, were enough to reignite the ache in her pussy. She shouldn't have been as concerned with that as she was, but it was driving her to distraction. Gerry was enjoying this. Cecilia was already behaving like a slave. His slaves, the ones ready for auction, were bound by the control he exerted on their pleasure points. He essentially conditioned them to be slaves to their own bodies, over which he maintained absolute control. It was mildly insidious, but mercilessly effective. Just to see her squirm, as he led her back to the bed, he roughly pinched her left nipple again. She was trying to bite back a whine. Beautiful. It was always interesting to see how quickly withholding pleasure made for such responsive and obedient slaves. Gerry chained Cecilia's ankles to the bed, but left her hands free. He was literally going to give herself enough rope (or chain as it was) to hang herself. He was prepared for either outcome. But he was curious at what Cecilia's inclination would be. As an added element of torture, he handed her the book she had been reading and said, "You need some rest. You're fighting too hard and exhausting yourself." He sounded almost concerned, almost kind. "Read. Sleep. Whatever. Just stop fighting me. It's already over." When he turned away and left the room he allowed himself a big grin. His next thought was to visit the blonde minx of a slave with the talented mouth. Cecilia wasn't the only one who had been worked up. The music hadn't stopped. The cello and piano were tormenting her now. Every caress of the bow to the strings of the cello was somehow winding her up. Cecilia had only heard this music here, and she associated it with the carnal pleasures Master had been showing her, but she was alone. Her hands were free, but she was no closer to being able to free herself than she had been when Master had fixed her to the corner. No weak link in her binds appeared, and she was frustrated at continuing to find no way to escape. Cecilia knew she ought to have been exhausted but she couldn't sleep. The music wasn't too loud... it was too present. Just the faintest hint of it would be too much to allow her rest. So she did as Master told her, surrendering on just one more point, and read the book in her hands. Beauty was touring the training hall, watching as guards and trainers manipulated dozens of beautiful slaves' bodies, forcing them to seek pleasure, to attain intense arousal. Beauty was jealous of the slave stretched out taut on the wall, being spanked until she reached climax. Only then would the man training her cease his incessant paddling. Beauty flushed, knowing it wouldn't take her nearly as long to work herself to pleasure, to satisfy the man punishing her hands. At the moment, she craved a hard phallus and a trainer to please... It wasn't fair. It wasn't. Cecilia, reading the passages of "Beauty", knew. He was turning her into this. What she was reading was happening to her, but there was nothing to stop the fact that she was undeniably wet. A book and a piece of music were all it took. She almost couldn't think straight; every thought she had somehow circled back to the demands her pussy was making. But then some sanity filtered through her sexed-up mind. Why was she even trying to obey this so-called Master? She wasn't going to make herself complicit in this! He had power over her pleasure? Then she needed to circumvent that, and maintain her identity. Cecilia continued to try and talk herself into this idea. Her pussy was practically achy, and felt undeniably huge, as if the lack of stimulation it was enduring somehow gave it a life of it's own. She had to stop this. She needed the pleasure, and was tired of the teasing. Hell, she was teasing herself NOW, by continuing to read, and listen, and suffer. But Cecilia was a good girl. Her upbringing had specifically forbidden touching herself. But she was so compromised. The forbidden act was scaring her. She wasn't going to be able to keep the defiance up if she didn't do something. Both the man who had abducted her and left her in this state, and her mother were suddenly on the same side; taking away pleasure and threatening her if she defied them. No. Yes. No. Uncertain of what to do, Cecilia kept reading, her brain was playing tricks on her. The Hall of Punishment was where those disobedient and recalcitrant slaves were taken, especially when their crime warranted more serious punishment. Slaves hung like ripe fruit, their arms and legs strung up, leaving their anguished faces just above their starving sex. Every so often a good slave or a guard would come and prod them further with a phallus, teasing them, as they struggled for the orgasms that were systematically being denied them... Beauty was being fitted to be the Prince's chambermaid... Next she was being adorned to accompany him to the hall of games. Lady Julia was chasing after her on the Bridle Path... Cecilia flipped back a few pages, back to the scene of the punished, suffering slaves, and reveled in the fact that without being suspended from unyielding bonds, this was the fate she was suffering. The music was still playing, driving her mad. She was sick of it, of its beauty and restraint, it was making her unrecognizable, and torturing her body without touching her. Nothing was touching her, and that, THAT was the problem. It started so innocently, just running the back of her nails over her soft thigh as she sat cross-legged and indecisive about seeking her own pleasure. It wasn't fair. But just that simple touch did nothing to abate her tantalizing need. After all, her hands were free, and she was grateful. Her argument became stronger. Why should the evil man who captured her be the one to deliver pleasure? Why hadn't she taken this matter into her own hands long before this awful predicament? She DESERVED some relief here, and she wasn't going to listen to him. She palmed her breasts, feeling their heaviness as if for the first time. Cecilia gently flicked her own nipples as she exhaled in relief, no longer caught in her own bounds of frustration and indecision. She was going to give herself the relief and not play into his plans for her. Cecilia's arousal had been strung out for too long for her to take it slow. She wasn't about to endure more senseless foreplay at her own hands. She lay down on her back and pulled her feet towards her bottom, legs open. As she sought to bring herself off for the first time in her life, she had one hand palming a nipple sharply, the other delving into her pussy. Her inexperience was unfair too! Why had she never tried this before? It was taking her far longer than she wanted. The urgency was at fever pitch. She moaned to herself, "Oh God!" when her index finger found her clit and moved over and over. She started shaking her head back and forth again. This was what Gerry had been waiting for. He was almost impressed by how long it took the little girl to indulge herself. If she had waited any longer, he thought, she would have resisted entirely. But it was easier this way. He had done three very important things. Firstly, Gerry was fairly certain that she had never made an attempt to masturbate in her life, so he had removed a major inhibition. Secondly, he was about to catch her in direct disobedience, and could now introduce punishment. Thirdly, he had established pleasure as a secure baseline for controlling the little slave. Now, by withholding pleasure, and rewarding her in turns, he could control her with her own pussy. Gerry loudly entered the room, and was immediately greeted by an over-sexed little slave making every effort to have a very forbidden orgasm. He strode over to the bed quickly, and before Cecilia could fall over the edge, had grabbed both her wrists. "NO! NO! No, no, no! Let me go! Let. ME. COME!" Cecilia was hysterical. She had been close. She was still throbbing, thrashing against the hands pinning her wrists over her head. Master was quiet. "What are you doing here, Cecilia?" The use of her name seemed to be ominous. "Hmmm? I asked you a question. What were you doing? On your back, moaning like a whore?" The tears were back, and Cecilia went straight to inconsolable. She knew she was caught. But her pussy, which had created this mess, was still demanding attention. Cecilia wailed and screamed. "It seems to me that you were playing with your pussy. Your naughty hands were trying to defy me, by having an orgasm without permission. Well, I can't have that, can I?" Even his voice was teasing her, talking to her like a child. This wasn't fair, but it was happening. He released the cuffs on her ankles, intending to lead her to a room better equipped for the punishment she had just earned. With her legs freed, Cecilia made a break for it, finding strength from reserves deep within her. She ran to the door, and miraculously it was ajar. She started gasping for breath, freedom had to be close now! Gerry silently cursed his stupidity at leaving the door open, but strode after her, confident that she couldn't get far. Cecilia ran down the corridor, and went for the first door she saw. It was locked and wouldn't budge, so she turned and was met by a dead end with another door. "Oh please! PLEASE!" she begged the heavens as she pulled against the door. Gerry was already behind her. This was ironic. "You want to go in there, slave?" "Let me go! Let me out of here!" the naked girl had half crumpled on the floor, still tugging at the doorknob. "I'll let you in there." Gerry grabbed a fistful of her brown hair with one hand, and a key from his pocket in the other. Using her brown locks as a lead, he pulled her into the previously locked room. Gerry led her to a chair with cuffs already fastened to it. The cold metal made Cecilia's skin break out in goose bumps, but it was the least of her worries. Her escape had been extraordinarily short-lived. He didn't even seem to view it as a real escape, the Master was so calm. Cecilia was scared into silence. What had she done? This was going to be bad. The room around her had LOTS of storage, and Master was rummaging through armoires and chests of drawers, apparently with great purpose. Lengths of hempen rope were pulled out, some sort of phallus (this made Cecilia's pussy clench) made an appearance, some trinkets that looked like earrings, and a contraption she had never laid eyes on, were set aside with the rest. Gerry momentarily left. Cecilia was cursing herself. This was going to be bad. Why didn't she know that she wasn't going to get away? From speakers hidden somewhere in the room, Cecilia heard a violent violin intro. It seemed like the violinist was angry. The Chaconne from Bach's Solo Violin Partita No. 2 was so different from the Rachmaninoff Cello Sonata. Gerry had done research and found that Mr. Ashton was very partial to Bach. This piece, with its passion and almost aggressive performance, was going to be the second musical addition to Cecilia's training. Cecilia was relieved to hear something different, but the fury of the music was making her more anxious by the moment. Master reentered the room, and held a bag of white rice. A few yards away, bathed in the light from the fixture in the ceiling, Gerry started scattering the rice on the floor. Cecilia only just noticed the cuffs that were bolted to the floor, and the heavy metal pipes that seemed to make some sort of brace in the middle of the room. It was only 3 ½ feet high, the horizontal bar was connected to vertical pipes that were firmly fixed in the concrete floor. After scattering the rice, Gerry took two short lengths of rope and laid them threateningly over the bar. The awful posture collar was back, and once Gerry started buckling it around her neck, Cecilia started crying. "I've had enough of those tears. They won't work on me. I'm tired of them. You can only blame yourself for this. Now you'll believe me when I tell you to obey. ENOUGH!" His yell cut through Cecilia's hysteria. Her sobbing was choked by an urgency to obey, now that she had been caught and was about to be punished. He released her from the chair and dragged her over by the hair to the metal bar. "Kneel", he told her when she was positioned in front of the bar. She did, newly afraid of what resisting could bring on her. The music was relentless, tracing the initial strains, over and over in a perfect and demanding fashion, and it urged her again, to obey. The Master immediately buckled the cuffs bolted on the floor to Cecilia's widespread ankles. A second set of leather straps wound their way just under her knees, forcing her to maintain the lewd posture. Master roughly took hold of her arms, causing her to gasp between her sobs. He looped her arms over and under the bar, which reached her elbows behind her back. Master looped figure eights around her forearms and biceps, fastening her to the bar in such a way as she had no choice but to maintain a perfect upright posture in her kneel, overtly thrusting her bare chest forward. With the high, stiff collar in place, Cecilia's carriage was stunning, and Gerry indulged himself in a moment to step back and appreciate the arrangement. Cecilia was completely open to him, available for the taking. He took a picture and made sure to get video of her punishment, this could be the perfect way to solicit the ever-particular Mr. Ashton. The music continued its assault, the violin attacking each phrase as though taking revenge on all the injustices of the world. Cecilia was scarlet; she was displayed like a wanton. The rice, which had been confusing as Master scattered it on the ground, now became clear. The tiny grains were digging into her knees, creating the most unpleasant digging sensation as her weight was distributed on the cruelly uneven surface of the cold concrete floor. "Now then" Gerry started, "you find yourself kneeling on the rice because you tried to escape. Foolish, but all the same, I think that lesson will sink in rather fast." "Yes Master." Cecilia whispered. She was operating entirely on fear, and didn't dare to show any further defiance in such a compromised situation. The way he chose to bind her was a reminder of just how dire things really were. "What do you say Cecilia?" "I'm sorry Master." "Maybe, you will be soon enough. As for playing with that little cunt of yours though, I need to take that very seriously." Gerry turned back to the items he had set aside. He took the nipple clamps and dangled them in front of Cecilia. "Do you know what these are?" Cecilia shook her head, terrified of learning. He felt between her thighs, still finding wetness, renewing the ardor that had temporarily been drowned in fear. Cecilia's nipples stood out even further against the chill in the air, and Gerry used that as an opportunity to clamp them sharply, and give them a tug with the weighty chain. "OH!" was the sound of surprise and discomfort as Cecilia tensed, unable to struggle even a little. All it did was make her knees hurt even more. "Very nice. That's the idea. Now. We need to do something about that wet pussy of yours." Master was returning with the contraption. Cecilia didn't know what it was for, but he began strapping it around her legs and making sure it's central mechanism was focused on her very wet sex. Then her entire universe was located on her pussy. Master had strapped a vibrator to her. She moaned, so ready for the orgasm she had been fighting for earlier. It was so good. It was everything she needed as she revved up again. But nothing more happened. She opened her eyes and saw the Master looking at her expectantly. Trying to get more contact from the vibrations, Cecilia began to buck her hips, seeking the stimulation that was being withheld. As quickly as Cecilia had climbed towards a climax, she found she didn't have enough to fall over the edge. Gerry stepped back again. Already he saw a great change in the girl. Her tiny movements, given her limited range of motion were so erotically charged. He knew she was going to be desperate. And that was the idea. Gerry hadn't orchestrated this, so much as allowed Cecilia to choose it. Her choice was revealing. He now needed to train her to accept the small butt plug he was removing from a drawer. Master had stepped away, and Cecilia was trying to cope with the hunger driving her sex, and her hopelessness. Cecilia had no control over what was happening, and no matter what voices played in her head, she couldn't rationalize any of it: except that she wanted, NEEDED, to come. She tried to count her breaths; she tried to zone out and away from her body, which was objecting to the strenuous position in which she was bound. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a tranquil beach, but unbidden erotic fantasies started to invade the white sands and palm trees, she imagined a muscled and tanned, god of a man wrapping his arms around her, making her feel the heightened awareness that relentlessly brought her back to the current matter, which was her overwhelming desire to climax. Chords that Bind Ch. 04 At a crescendo, Cecilia was startled back to the present. The music wasn't comforting, it was a constant reminder, it was only angry; emphasizing the seriousness of the punishment she had brought on herself. She felt something prod at her bottom, but couldn't turn to see what was happening. There was a cold sensation as Gerry lubed her up, and started easing a well-greased, tapered plug into her ass. There was no give in her restraints, and the splay of her legs allowed her Master all the access he required. He pinched her left cheek. "Relax." Cecilia whimpered. How could she relax? There was no physical way for her to relax! "Stop clenching your bum! Breathe. Push against it instead." Cecilia's obedience was derived only from distress now, but habit would take over soon. As testament to the fact, she complied, hoping it would alleviate some of the unpleasantness. It was easy to see when the strain left her thighs, and Gerry pushed the plug the rest of the way, seating it firmly in her ass. "Can yeh guess wha' that's for?" Cecilia didn't want to guess. It was hard and somehow made her pussy that much wetter. All the attention on her sex was unexpected. Nothing could distract her from the feelings those nerve endings were forcing her to assimilate. "That, is a butt plug, and it's going to train your ass for me. That's only a small one. Don't worry though, we'll have you taking a nice big one soon enough." He was smirking at her. The flush on her skin travelled down to her clamped nipples. Every erogenous zone of import was being trained, and rewiring Cecilia. Perfect. Gerry pressed the vibrator against Cecilia's soaking cunt. She moaned, "Please!" But Gerry had already eased the pressure off, ignoring her pleas. They were getting to be compelling now. There was no way to fake actual sexual desperation, but he was showing her exactly who was in charge. The Bach Chaconne was a little under twenty minutes long. Gerry decided she should listen to it twice. After all, Hilary Hahn's performance was always worth a re-listen, according to Mr. Ashton's comments on the subject. Cecilia thought the violinist must be angry with her instrument, it was a punishingly complex piece and it was being executed with fury. Until the tension broke; suddenly the piece was filled with longing, tenderness and some sort of revelation. It was suddenly cradling Cecilia as if there was a kindred spirit linking the musician and the poor scared girl together. When the intensity renewed it was colored with compassion. At least, that's what Cecilia chose to hear. She needed it. The vibrations torturing her libido were related to the music. They had to be. In her feverish desire, Cecilia made them so. That made her a participant in the music, instead of a victim of the tight rope and unyielding bar that forced her upright and proud. The faint humming wasn't enough to even numb her out. It was just present and irritating. But her knees needed the most attention. They were being tortured. The tiny grains of rice fixated pain in random spots on her knees, pressing into the skin and hard joint. The piece of music looped and became angry once more, Cecilia was torn between the agony of her knees and the promise of ecstasy hovering just above her very alert clit. The pulse in her pussy had traveled and was taking root in her clamped nipples. The resonance of the violin seemed in time to the throb measuring out Cecilia's arousal. How much longer would she stay here? She couldn't take any more of this. It was beyond what her body could handle, she was sure of it. But she didn't faint like she prayed she would. Gerry had calibrated the punishment to her level of tolerance. He actually hadn't even left the room. He stood outside her range of vision and observed. There was more give in her body as she allowed herself to be held by her bonds. She was trying to ignore the butterfly vibrator, but her hips flexed rhythmically, almost as if she were syncing her body with the violin track that he played for her. There was more resignation in her body as the track restarted. Her eyes periodically closed and she seemed to float. Good signs. She wanted pleasure and he was training her mind and body to respond to music. The red lights from the hidden cameras were recording every minute of the girl's punishment. His next project would be to compile the footage, edit it down, and send to James Ashton. The music would be winding down soon. But he had one last facet to the punishment. Silently, as the music eased, Gerry retrieved a cane. An impression was certainly going to be made. He came behind her and took a swing, directing the cane across her ass, right over her plug. The blow came as a complete surprise, and Cecilia's scream was startled and genuine. She pulled hard, willing the bar bracing her arms behind her to give way. The pain lingered, stinging and throbbing. More throbbing! As if the pulse in her sex weren't enough to focus on! "Now that I have your attention, I'd like you to count. Go on." "One, Master," Cecilia counted miserably. When would it be over? The air whistled and the pain hit just below the previous, fiery, line. "Two, Master." The pain was just adding more tinder to the conflagration. She was ready to combust. The weak vibrations weren't enough and somehow the strength of the blows intensified everything. Again and again the cane stripped her ass. Three and four were making her moan in such a way that Gerry found encouraging. He came to stand in front of her. Her eyes were glassy with tears and arousal. "Before your last one, I need you to answer some questions. What did you learn today?" Open ended questions: he was playing dirty. He couldn't just give her an easy way out. Cecilia wanted to curse and yell at him, but he held the cane ominously, and she still had one more left. 'Obey. Obey the first time', the voice of self-preservation whispered to her. She already had something plugging her ass. She already had clamps digging into her nipples. Her shoulders objected to the strain being put on them. Her knees were numb, her ass blooming in welts, and her pussy was shorting out most other coherent thoughts. 'Just say something. You know what he wants to hear' the voice persisted. And she did know. She knew what he wanted to hear because now it was true. "You own my pussy Master." The dirtiness of the fact made her shudder. "Tha's right. What else?" he prodded. "You own my pleasure." He nodded, expecting her to continue. "If I come without permission I'll be punished." Cecilia was restating the rules from earlier. The repetition was doing nothing to cure her provocation; it only made her long for relief as the vibrator thrummed away at her clit. "Very good. And did you have permission to play with that tight little pussy?" "No Master." "So I had to punish you. You knew you weren't allowed." His placating tone was making her angry. She sighed internally. "Yes Master." He had paced behind her and laid down the last stroke, catching her off guard once more. She cried out. "Finish the count and thank me!" "Five. Thank you Master." She struggled to get the words out as the stroke reanimated all the previous ones. Somewhere in this exchange the music had stopped. Gerry was untying the knots binding Cecilia's arms to the metal bar. The brace was warm from her heated struggle, where her elbows were hooked around it. Carefully he flexed her arms straight, and allowed them to release. Pulling against the bar had strained her shoulders and as they were eased back into a normal condition, Cecilia felt them twitch and shudder from the exertion. Gerry tugged Cecilia forward by her clamped nipples, guiding her to rest her forehead on the ground. It hurt her tits, but eased some pressure off her knees. The butterfly vibrator was removed, but not before Cecilia's hips shook violently, finally getting the pressure they were seeking. She keened as the pleasure was, again, pulled out of reach. She was sure the invasive plug would be removed next. She wanted that gone, but was too spent to move without permission. It seemed she was done being punished for the time being, and didn't want to incur Master's wrath again. With the music off, Cecilia could hear Master's movements around the stark room. He unbuckled her legs, and straightened them behind her. She was sure her knees would be bruised as they objected to any movement. She was panting now, as if she had run a marathon, the physical exertion was more than she would have guessed, since she had been operating on a touch of adrenaline when she entered 'the punishment room'. Gerry rolled her to her side, letting her legs curl up in the fetal position. Cecilia cradled her head with her arms, pliant and submissive. Blood suddenly flowed painfully back into her nipples as Master released the pincers. Cecilia gasped and whimpered. "Almost done," Master spoke to her. The gruffness in his voice was softer now. He pulled her hair away from her neck, and undid the collar. This was fooling with Cecilia's emotions. His big hands rubbed her shoulders a bit, fending off the tightness that was setting in. Easily, he scooped her up, and walked her back to her room. This was almost like taking care of her... after he had tormented her and violated her. He set her on the bed, and cuffed her arms loosely over her head. The softness was wonderful underneath her. Master covered Cecilia with a blanket and left the room. Even after the ordeal was over, Cecilia felt a distant ache settling on her sex. She still felt her pulse there. When she tried her arms she found she wouldn't be able to touch herself. NO!! She wasn't even trusted with her hands, and the plug was still wedged in her ass, making its presence known at the slightest movement. Gerry was editing the video footage. Cecilia kneeling, Cecilia counting her punishment out, Cecilia writhing, Cecilia begging... all of it was pieced together carefully. Gerry was making sure he turned the music up in the mix, highlighting the girl's reaction to the Bach Chaconne especially. It appeared as if she were submitting to the music itself. Her training wasn't done yet, but he thought that it might be time to approach Ashton. Sir James M. Ashton (Q.C.) was reclining in arrogant repose. He listened to Maestro Von Karajan conduct the New World Symphony and sipped at his Laphroig. His smartphone invaded the symphony with its irritating chime. Resigned to the interruption, Ashton paused his music, and pulled up the email on his laptop. He was surprised at the letter he found in his inbox. Dear Sir Ashton, Allow me to remake your acquaintance. You sent a request to me almost two years ago; outlining the type of girl you were interested in acquiring. Regretfully, I did not know of any girl in my custody that met your exacting requirements. However, I have recently come into contact with someone who may very well be what you are looking for. I have taken the liberty of sending you some footage of her training. Please find it attached. I think you will be most impressed. If you have any further inquiries, I am, of course, your servant, Gerry Lace James found this most unusual. He wasn't even aware that his request had been received. He had written it in a moment of weakness, years ago. When weeks had passed by without a word, he figured it was all for the better, and let the matter fall from his mind. But now it seemed the man had paid it some attention. He wearily reread the letter, trying to not to get his hopes up. When James opened the video he felt himself instantly get hard. The girl in the video was exactly his type. Her hair curled down her back in thick tresses. She was tiny, and yet had a certain voluptuousness about her in a perfectly portioned package. She pulled so enticingly against her restraints, and her eyes were open and expressive. Even her tears were attractive, pigmenting the green in her eyes, in jewel tones. But the way she was reacting to the music that was playing was going to undo him. His gaze raked over her form as she bucked her hips and let a Bach Chaconne envelop her. She begged so prettily for an orgasm, and pleaded in such a way that James was sure it would go to his head. He did want to inquire further. He wrote back a short reply, worried about expressing too much interest. Gerry, Is it possible to see her in person? Not quite sure about a few things. Let me know. Sir Ashton Q.C.M.P Chords that Bind Ch. 05 Thanks for reading! Thank you also, for the feedback, comments, and votes. I've never kept with a story this long before abandoning it, because usually I grow tired of my own story, get frustrated with the writing process, or don't know what to do next. I attribute my ability to continue, to enjoying seeing the reception it will receive from you all. So, thank you very much. -Poeticlicense ***** The pangs of desire had faded, dulled to a faint echo of the need she had felt before, but Cecilia was not well rested after practically passing out into slumber. Her sleep was populated by dreams that were entirely uncharacteristic. She couldn't remember them clearly, but she was sure they were erotic in nature. The hard plug was still digging into her ass, and every wiggle she made to try and accommodate its invasion made her welted bottom light up with reminders of why she wasn't allowed to touch herself; why escape was impossible. Her bonds prevented her from sitting upright, but she was able to lie down comfortably. She hadn't been awake long before Master returned. He always seemed to know when she woke. It was unnerving. He had a sandwich with him. Gerry still insisted on feeding her. She had proved to him that she could not, in fact, be trusted with her hands. She complied easily as he recuffed her hands behind her back, and helped her sit up. The mealtime routine commenced. He sat down and fed her a tuna BLT bite by bite. About halfway through the sandwich, he used the stereo remote in his pocket to turn on the Bach Chaconne. Cecilia's head turned sharply at the sound of the violin strings smouldering at the touch of Ms. Hahn's bow. Gerry saw her shudder and attempts to shake off goose bumps. He continued to feed her, but watched as her body became terribly alert. When the sandwich was done he put the plate aside. With the back of his knuckles, Gerry touched Cecilia's chin gently. Her lips parted ever so slightly and she gasped. "Please." It was just above a whisper. Cecilia was wiggling her hips, and trying to close her thighs against her burning arousal. The music continued to play. "No." "Why? Please." "Because, you need to learn the next lesson." Lessons were not pleasant for Cecilia. She had already learned a few, and they were tremendously effective at crushing her spirit, and making her feel smaller and weaker. "No. Please. I'll do anything." This was what Gerry was waiting for. "I know you will." Cecilia's eyes grew wide as saucers, realizing that her will had completely eroded along with her pride. She wasn't fighting him. She was too afraid. Her only attempts had been foolish and accomplished nothing but pain. Compliance had to be easier, after all, it already was. Master fixed a collar with a D-ring on its front to Cecilia's throat. It was noticeably better than the stiffer posture collar, and she was grateful for the difference. Master freed her legs and pulled her to standing. He looped a finger through her collar and led Cecilia back into the room she had received her punishment in. Her knees objected to walking, they were still stiff and tender from kneeling on the rice. This time however, Master led her to a padded horse. Before he did anything, he transferred the music, making sure that Cecilia heard the violin, and continued to respond to it. He bent her torso over the apparatus, and using rope and the ring on the front of her collar, tied her top half so that she remained doubled over without harming her breathing. Cecilia's wrists stayed bound at the small of her back, but her legs were being forced wide apart. She felt more buckles and heard a metallic sound against the cement floor. When she tried to move her legs, she felt a 3 foot bar preventing her from kicking or hiding her sex. Gerry could see how wet the girl's pussy was. She was responding beautifully; whether to the music or the bondage, he didn't care. These were results. The plug in her ass was the focus of the display. He poked it rudely, reminding her, as if she could forget, of its unwelcome presence. So far she hadn't objected or cried out, but at the poke, she groaned. Master was toying with her ass. Literally. He was nudging it and twisting the plug inside her. The plug was so irritating and uncomfortable. Then Cecilia felt him tug at it a bit and force it back in. He repeated the action, pulling more and shoving it back further and harder. It was starting to burn as he withdrew it nearly out, and then quickly reseated it in her. She was afraid to protest. Everything he said to her was scarier and more threatening. If she objected, what worse thing could he do to her? Gerry was pleased he had set up the cameras in advance. This was too precious. She was going to be the perfect slut when he was done with her. After stretching her out some, he withdrew the little plug completely. The slave's gasp was one of shock as she finally was rid of the damned plug. But not for long. Gerry had a thicker, longer one ready to go. He was curious to see if the girl would notice or if she was too worked up to care. Before he got to that though, he placed a mounted vibrator between her legs. She had no leverage, but her cunt was already attempting to make better contact with the wand. He turned it on its lowest setting. This momentarily distracted Cecilia who, rather impressively, arched her back tugging on her collar in her effort to grind on the tremulous toy. Master was rummaging again, but the orgasm she had been dying for was coming. If only she could... but it was out of reach. There was no way she could get more like this. He couldn't be torturing her again. Not so soon. She NEEDED it. Suddenly obedience wasn't just about avoiding the unpleasantness that recalcitrance would bring her; it was about the orgasm she was promised and denied. When he returned to her sight, he had a wide ring gag. His thumb and forefinger easily manipulated her jaw open. She was going to drool terribly like this. She could feel her cheeks turning red again. Master started threading a too-life-like dildo through the ring. Something was being clipped to the gag, and Cecilia found there was no way to spit the thing out. "Yer going to have to get used to big things in that smart mouth of yours. And in this arse!" With those comments he smacked her tender bottom. "I might not be able to claim that hungry little cunt of yours, but I certainly will train you." Master turned the vibrator up a notch. The music was still playing and despite herself she thought she could come. It seemed within reach. Just... alittle... more... but she jumped. Something was probing her ass cheeks again. The stupid plug was back. He was forcing it back between her still-red cheeks. She started to object. It was worse somehow. This plug had to be as large as the dildo in her mouth. In order to stop threads of drool from trickling out of her mouth with her protests, Cecilia found herself sucking on the rubber, feeling humiliated, and unable to get a single word out. Gerry taunted her. The protests were starting to sound uncannily like her moans of pleasure, when gagged on a big cock. "You like that? Don't you? You like being filled at both ends. What a naughty little slut." "MMMMgghgheeffff!!" "I know. You're a slutty one, pumping your hips like that. Such a bad little girl." He lowered the setting on the vibrator, which only made Cecilia more desperate. "AAAgggghhH!" It was unintelligible, and somehow the rubber cock in her mouth made Cecilia object even more. He couldn't take that orgasm away. She was supposed to be able to come. No. She WANTED it! He had to give it to her. "Ah, ah, ah! Not yet I think. You haven't earned any pleasure yet. There ARE rules regarding these things." He had stopped probing her ass for the moment. "You said you'd do anything. Well little slave, we're here. You want to come?" "MMMMhmmmmfff" Cecilia groaned, dreading what was going to follow that question. "You can't come unless you've earned it. So, keep sucking on that nice prick in your mouth. Also, why don't you take THIS in that cute little bum o' yers?" Master brought the plug around for her to see. It was as big as the 6-inch dildo in her mouth, but had to be 3 and a half inches wide at the base. Gerry could see the fear leach into Cecilia's features. To give her courage, he pressed the vibrator against her clit for the briefest of seconds. Her eyes closed against the pleasure, and she wrung all her muscles trying to grind into it. "Now, now Cecilia, no cheating. If you want to come, you'll need to do it with a nice, full bottom. Bad girls like you don't get orgasms without earning them." Master didn't wait for a reply, but turned his attention back to her ass, pinching a cheek, and then giving it a little spank. "Relax that ass." Cecilia clenched again, but with her legs forced so far apart, it did little to prevent the narrow tip of the plug from nestling into her hole. The smallest of pistoning motions started to ease the giant plug in. He stretched her gently, extending her humiliation. He had lubed the plug, but decided to use the dripping wetness in her pussy to lube her ass as well. The quick, clinical touch was more that she was expecting, but not enough. Master turned the vibrator up again. It was at its most tormenting degree. She was climbing, but not reaching her climax. He pushed the plug more insistently, twisting and pumping in minute changes. At the first crescendo of the Chaconne, Cecilia cried through her gag as the widest part of the plug seated itself in her ass. The narrow base kept her from forcing it out without great pain. She wiggled and tried to kick as she adjusted to the girth of the invading device. She had sweat beading on her back and stinging her eyes. The gentle part of the music was playing, and Cecilia calmed her breathing as she listened to it, relaxing as Master's hands left her body. "Good girl! What a sight that is. Can't deny what you want to do with a dirty girl like you. Too bad." It was legitimately disappointing that he needed to keep her virginity intact. He slapped her ass again. "I don't see you sucking." Cecilia resumed sucking on the rubber member, trying to focus on the music, or on the pleasure that was just out of reach. She was so ready for this to end, for something to take her. Gerry made her dangle for another few minutes. He pumped her plugged rear some more, made the slightest of touches to her pussy lips, and when the music resumed the faster tempo, he turned the vibrator up as violently as it would go. Cecilia bit down hard on her gag, threw her head back, and pulled her pussy forward. Finally. Finally, she reached the top and fell. The pleasure rushed over her, it was just Cecilia and the music. Her muscles stopped fighting the rope and the cuffs and the spreader bar. The orgasm tingled her whole body in silly places: behind her knees and across her collarbone. Her entire body pulsed and spasmed as her cunt throbbed with the delayed gratification of a long awaited climax. She kept her eyes closed. It helped to prolong the pleasure. With her eyes closed, Cecilia could focus on the music. With her eyes closed, she was able to escape. Master untied her, and led her by a makeshift leash back to her room. She was exhausted, and without a window she was completely disoriented as to the time of day. Cecilia no longer trusted herself to speak. Fear was keeping her quiet, and she reasoned, that fear could keep her safe. She kept her eyes down, unwilling to look at the face of her captor. However, this was instinctual behavior. She had often used this tactic when she wanted to avoid attention. Gerry noticed the compliance, and latent submissiveness that was starting to make itself known in the slave's movements. Everything was running according to plan. She was ready for the next test. The chastity belt Gerry had was not fool-proof or custom-made. But it was very adjustable. However, Cecilia remained still as the straps wove between her legs and about her waist. When the buckles were sufficiently tight and locked in place, it served two purposes. First, it kept the larger plug where it belonged, right between her round little cheeks. Second, it made Cecilia very aware of her sex, without allowing even the slightest relief. The metal shroud on her mound locked her up tightly. Cecilia would no longer have to control herself: instead Gerry exerted control. Cecilia whimpered when she realized that her sex was being forcibly locked up. She groaned when she remembered that the plug was still in her ass, and was now also effectively locked in place. But then Master left her. She now had more freedom to move, but somehow, even though she had just attained a riotous climax, the knowledge that her pussy was out of reach made her wet. Without knowing if it was day or night, Cecilia collapsed into a dreamless sleep. Gerry decided the girl had had enough today. She was completely drained, and besides, she was actually coming along nicely. He had more footage with which to entice Mr. Ashton. Gerry was preparing to upload the most recent video of Cecilia to his laptop when he was notified of an email. It was from Ashton. It was very short, but Gerry was excited. Getting his attention had been easier than he thought. Now that he had Ashton's attention though, Gerry did not want to lose his interest. Also, what was making him unsure? The girl was progressing as rapidly as he dare push her. Could he put Ashton off for just a bit longer? Gerry nervously typed a response. Sir Ashton, I should think that the girl will be prepared for viewing late next week. Is there any further information I can supply you with in the interim? I'm happy to provide you with more details about the girl or her training. I've attached more footage for your perusal. As always, Gerry Lace It didn't take Gerry long to edit the footage into a perfect little package. He edited himself almost entirely out, and mixed the music higher. Cecilia's performance was compelling and enticing. It looked good, and Gerry sent the email, feeling very confident about this new branch of his business. James was unnerved by how anxious he was to hear back from Lace. The sudden correspondence had happened so randomly that James was afraid it had been a mistake. It could be a mirage for all he knew. But he had been replaying the video of the girl. He didn't even know her name. The file gave nothing away. But James was enthralled by the idea of her. Submissive, responsive, clearly in tune with music... she could be the one. James had been checking his inbox for hours. Finally almost twenty-four hours since the first letter, his phone chimed and alerted him to the much-awaited email. Without bothering to read it's contents, James downloaded the file. Bloody hell! The girl was devastating as she submitted to invasion in her most intimate area. She obediently took what was being given to her, and responded beautifully. Ashton was envious of phallus in her mouth, clearly it was receiving excellent attention. Watching her crash into a powerful orgasm was too much. James needed to take care of the throbbing need that had stood to full attention as he marveled at the girl. This time, when he glanced back at the file, it was entitled 'Ceclia'. Even her name was perfect. She was going to be his muse, his inspiration, named after the patroness of music. James looped the video, and guided his fist over an impressive erection. It wasn't going to take long, he was so heated by watching her, and in fact, he had been absorbed in thoughts about her all day. He held off just long enough to come as she fell apart at the seams. After a shower, James finally read the letter. Late next week? No. He had to have her sooner. Tomorrow was not soon enough. He wrote back to Lace. Lace, I find myself engaged later in the week. Can we not move it up sooner? I'd be most obliged. Ashton Gerry read the eagerness in Sir Ashton's email the following morning. He might not have the refinement of his client, but Gerry was shrewd enough to detect impatience. Good. But early next week was pushing it. He had already resolved to give her the better part of the day to rest (sort of). How much of his hand should he play? Ashton didn't know her virginity was intact. Was this the time to reveal that? No. He would hold back that gem. He went to inspect some other girls who were going to be auctioned soon, and mulled the situation over. Cecilia didn't know how long she slept. But it was the restful sleep that comes only from pure exhaustion. She was finally able to curl up comfortably too. When she awoke and was able to stretch out, it felt unbelievably luxurious. She twisted her body and was rewarded with cracking and popping along her joints. It felt good, even though her muscles screamed at every movement, and the chastity belt clung to her mid-section. The last four days had been physically trying. She made an obligatory effort to see if there was a way out of the room, but was unsurprised that there was no secret passage. There was no hope left in her for escape. Cecilia had been expecting the Master to enter the room. It had been routine for him to appear after she stirred. But now his presence was conspicuously absent. What was conspicuously present, however, was the belt that locked the hated butt plug in place. The metal cage around her mound was not going to yield without the key to the locked buckles. Left alone, and to her own devices Cecilia decided to read one of the books in the room. She left Beauty, it had already caused her enough discomfort, and instead reached for Tender Mercies by Kitty Thomas. Gerry monitored Cecilia. She was reclined on the bed and reading. He decided to allow her to eat her own breakfast today. It was a very small test to see if she was going to continue to be cooperative. Cecilia had been reading for some forty minutes when she heard the door latch. The book she was reading was laced with eroticism, but was merely the fairy tale of every woman who was incapable of independence. The fantastical nature of the book however, helped her as books always did. It offered her a respite from reality. Even as Cecilia found herself in what she imagined to be a similar situation, she was able to build a spiritual connection to Grace, the protagonist and heroine. Master's entrance snapped her out of her reverie and reminded her that the book she was reading wasn't even close to her reality. Every time Cecilia saw the Master, she felt less certain of what he would do. He wasn't following any pattern, and he hadn't hesitated to cause her pain or humiliation. She was beginning to treat him as a volatile unknown quantity. And in keeping with that approach, Cecilia decided not to push him. She looked up from the book silently and waited. Gerry was impressed. She didn't try to get to the door, she was waiting on him to tell her what to do next. He set a tray of fruit, granola and Greek yogurt on the small table. "That's your breakfast." "Thank you Master." Cecilia didn't know where this compliance was coming from, but it still tasted bitter in her mouth. "Good girl. I'm busy today. Keep yourself occupied... But don't look so disappointed." He said as confusion read across Cecilia's features, "I'll be back." With that he turned and left Cecilia alone and off balance. Cecilia was hungry, so she ate the breakfast, and then with nothing else to do, went back to sleep. She was afraid to keep reading, as if the books were there to continue torturing her in the Master's absence. When she couldn't sleep anymore, she made a weak attempt at meditating. That didn't last long. She couldn't clear her mind. All that came to her were questions and postulations with scarier, and more threatening conclusions. So then Cecilia tried to practice yoga. There was barely enough room on the cold hard, floor, and even though she had rested, she found her limbs too sore. It seemed revealing and also counter intuitive to put any more strain on her body, so even though she was no longer chained to it, Cecilia slumped back on to the bed. She was bored, and her sense of day and night was askew. No windows. No clock. No interaction, and still she was naked, and had a chastity belt that reminded her that she wasn't calling any shots. She had tried to avoid the books, but now they were all that was between her and madness. Chords that Bind Ch. 05 Gerry wanted to see what she would do left to her own devices. Cecilia was surprising him. She wasn't pulling at the door, or trying to pry the belt off. But he could tell boredom was setting in. As soon as she made to start reading again, Gerry turned the music on in her little room. Cecilia groaned. As soon as she had given in and started to read, she heard the cello and piano. She expected the Master to come into the room, but he didn't. She was completely still, waiting for something to happen. Nothing. All that happened was that Cecilia closed her eyes, she felt her heartbeat quicken and her skin prickle with uncanny awareness. She opened her eyes and felt her nipples tighten and become more sensitive in the cool air. She raked her nails against her scalp feeling agitated. Cecilia had thought things would at least be predictable. The Master's modus operandi had been consistent in a few ways, but now all bets were off. In reality all bets had been off. Cecilia was foolishly clinging to fragments of familiar constructs. She had no idea why the Master had abducted her, and she was even further confused by the fact he hadn't yet forced himself on her. (She couldn't bear to think the word rape, even in the quiet of her mind.) She didn't know why he was leaving her alone now. And why the music? Why was he always playing this music that was so achingly beautiful. She didn't want to hear the sadness in the piece anymore. The piano especially, was playing to the void of uncertainty that had taken residence in her chest. It made her panic to feel it. NO! She couldn't do that again. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP!" she was yelling at herself as emotion crept towards the edges of her thoughts. "Keep reading," her quiet, instinctually obedient self urged. So she did. Thankfully the song was ending. She prayed it wouldn't loop over and over. Gerry had programmed Cecilia's music to play the entire Rachmaninov Cello Sonata now, not just the third movement she'd been getting all too familiar with. He wanted to see how she reacted to the piece within its full context. An aesthete like Ashton would appreciate this fine-tuning of the girl's 'musical' training. Cecilia sighed in relief as the music switched to something different. Sure, it was still the piano and cello playing something classical, but it was different enough to let her ease away from the frustrating fact that her sex was moist and throbbing again. Oh! But it was still beautiful. She forced it from her mind, and let the assertiveness in the piece weave a different impression. She read more, willing herself to fall through the pages, because at least in the book, things were looking up for her kindred protagonist, Grace. She was safe somewhere else, while Cecilia was finding it harder to ignore her peaked nipples and hyper-aware skin. Reading was it's own torture now, because instead of being a proper hero and breaking free, the stupid girl in the book was letting someone else touch her and abase her. And damn this stupid book! The hero was enjoying it; she was seeking it out, enjoying being a victim. Cecilia was betrayed. Her body was goading her, and her senses were trained on pleasure that was well out of reach, and she wasn't able to break this cycle: fear, hope, betrayal. She palmed her breasts, and even pinched her own nipples. Cecilia tilted her head back, closed her eyes and uttered a keening scream of frustration. She couldn't accept this. The music was threatening now as the second movement started. She pulled and tugged at the blasted chastity belt. She wanted her freedom and would start with the freedom to orgasm! The back and forth motions of the music between a consonant set of phrases on the cello and dissonant heaviness from the piano was wreaking havoc. It was some sort of enchantment that was forcing her to feel what the musicians were. She screamed some more. Then she threw the books against the door HARD. Tears were streaming down her face, although she couldn't remember crying. She buried her face in her hands and pulled at her hair. Sensation was good. She could still feel, even if she wasn't able to hold onto rational thoughts. She clawed at her face, and let screams tear at her vocal cords. But then it was back. The music had been hiding behind other parts of the piece. The one that heralded pleasure, the music, mournfully and impossibly beautiful, returned as her voice started to crack, and her scratch marks bloomed on her face. It offered Cecilia release, very different from the climax that she desperately wanted. She crumpled back into a ball, silently crying as she accepted there was nothing she could do. The cello and piano understood everything. Cecilia had heard this part so many times now that with her raspy voice, she hummed along. She had pent up sexual energy, and started squeezing the plug in her rear with her muscles, just to feel more. Helpless, that's all she was. The music moved again, and the sonata changed to something that, yet again, was different, and still the same. This last movement was flighty and pretty, but had none of the devastating qualities that had so effectively calmed Cecilia. It was almost mean, because it had the audacity to sound vindicated and hopeful. The music was more powerful than she would have reckoned Gerry watched Cecilia's every move. He was surprised at how vigorous her anger had been, and then at how easily she had moved back towards a docile creature. The training was working magnificently. The music nearly controlled her attitude, but it definitely controlled her arousal. It wasn't lost on Gerry that she had started to inflict pain on herself in her frenzy. Cecilia's curled up form was breathing deeply, probably still sobbing. He was taking a risk, but the whole venture with this slave was an experiment. He wanted time to complete the trail and assessment period, but if he was successful in selling the girl to Ashton, that was all the proof-of-concept Gerry would need to continue refining the business. So he typed. Sir Ashton, Tell me when I can have my driver come to pick you up so you can meet the girl. I'm sure you'll be pleased when you see her, and that any doubts you have can be seen to. Always, Gerry Lace P.S. I've attached the girl's profile, should you want to take a look at it. Ashton eagerly poured over the attached file. It was filled with information about his Cecilia. Already, he had begun to think of her as his own. She was tailor-made for him. Her education was good; she had attended a small, all-girls college. Lace had found her senior thesis, and other papers she had submitted as part of her degree. They demonstrated a great ability to understand and communicate, and her English was better than passable. The girl had no family to speak of, or so it seemed. Ashton was relieved to see that her medical records reported her in good health. The last page had a list of observations Lace had compiled. She was shy, reacted well to bondage, was responsive to music, and was ticklish. He did note, however, that she needed further education in wine. Ashton appreciated the extra information that Lace provided. He was almost entirely convinced at this point. He kept watching the videos he had of the girl, and found himself uncharacteristically impatient to see her. Despite a world of misgivings, he let himself pin some hope on the girl he watched on the computer screen. Cecilia was hearing the music in her sleep. This time it was the violin piece. No. She wasn't sleeping. She fluttered her eyes open, and saw the Master watching her. The music had just woken her up. He was observing her intently. Gerry had been watching to see if Cecilia responded to the music. As she was stirring, he watched as her hands rubbed at her thighs, and she shimmied her hips. Brilliant. Cecilia had responded well to her training yesterday. He needed that to continue. He had three days left with Cecilia, before Ashton was scheduled to inspect her. "Come here." Very slowly, Cecilia padded over to him. She was always worried what he would do next. She noticed her nipples had tightened, and covered herself from his scarred gaze. He sighed, but said nothing. Cecilia didn't trust herself to speak anymore. Every day she had spent here had eroded her trust in logic. None of this made sense. So she stayed silent, knowing that even as she tried to survive she was falling into another trap. If she kept this up, she would stop looking for an escape. It was scary that even though she knew Stockholm syndrome would be preferable to pain, that she had no choice in the matter: knowing that it was happening wasn't going to prevent it. The only recourse she had was to fight, or lose herself. Contemplating these two awful options distracted Cecilia as the awful chastity belt was removed. But she came back to reality, turning beet red, as the large plug in her bottom was pulled. She felt the stretch and burn as the widest part breached her flesh, and she let out a moan of pain, before it glided the rest of the way out. Master smacked her soundly on her bum. "Go on and shower off girl!" How was she supposed to fight when she wanted a shower badly? Warm water washed over her, lessening the aches still shadowing her every move. She stepped out of the shower, dripping water from her wet mane, and smelled coffee. Blueberry scones with clotted cream were on a plate next to the coffee, which had cream and sugar ready next to it. Cecilia didn't ask. She hugged the coffee in her hands, and breathed deep from the steam wafting off the top. Sensation from the coffee's aroma and taste broke up the monotony and let her mind wander from the music that was still playing. "Ahem." Master was clearing his throat in that obvious and sarcastic way. "Thank you, Master", Cecilia said even as she hated herself a little more. "You're welcome. Sit." She did, tensing up as she obeyed. "Eat. Now, soon, we're having a visitor. He's very interested in you, so you'll be on your best behavior when the time comes. Finish up your breakfast, I'll be back." Until I say otherwise... That had been the variable hanging in the air when Master made her say that she belonged to him. It seemed that the variable was going to be introduced soon. More unknowns. Was the devil she knew really better? Probably. With this ominous admission, Cecilia found herself obeying once more, finishing the scone, and reaching for another, trying to ignore the violin and the wetness it engendered in her pussy. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of goading her into touching herself. It was absurd that she felt this way. Lace had decided on something simple but elegant this time. Some rope and a spreader bar would be all he required, along with a suede flogger, a set of clamps and a vibrator. When the Chaconne finished it's last strain, Master returned. He found a very alert slave with dilated pupils. That was good. "Come with me." When she stood in front of him, he turned and walked back to the room that Cecilia could only think of, as the punishment room. He hadn't bothered with the collar or cuffs this time, he just acted as if she would follow. It bothered her that she had. Now she was faced with the room that had elicited her worst fears, and she had walked into it without even an obligatory struggle. Master was standing under a ring in the ceiling. He was holding rope, doubled over in his hands. He didn't even speak this time, he just crooked his finger. That was asking too much. Cecilia didn't move, momentarily proud of herself for refusing to cave that easily. She was at least going to make him speak his ugly demands. "Here. Now!" he barked at her, not even giving her full sentences. Cecilia was going to be braver. She held her ground. "Yeh have 10 seconds to get yer arse over 'ere, or I'll give yeh a whipping before we get started with the morning's program. One... Two..." Master kept counting, and Cecilia's mind slowed down time. The voice of survival was telling her to move! And the other voice, the one that was increasingly disgusted with her, was telling her to be strong. She didn't know what was best, and momentarily, she flirted with the idea of dying, so that she wouldn't have to find out. If her heart just gave up, she could rest and stop being afraid for her life. "Seven..." Master was still counting. There was still time. "Eight..." Cecilia hadn't dropped to the floor yet, so she made her decision and scurried over to Master and stood under the metal ring. "That's wha' I thought." He said with approval. Gerry had too much to do, he didn't need to add to the list by needing to punish her. He crossed her wrists in front of her, and started wrapping the soft rope around her wrists. He took another length of rope. As Cecilia predicted, this was fixed to the ring high above her head. With her arms stretched out, Cecilia felt Master's eyes travel over her stretched body. He knelt at her feet, and cuffed a black, cold metal bar between her ankles. The spread forced her to stand on her toes. Modesty was ingrained in Cecilia, and despite the fact that her body had been examined and manipulated over and over by Master, she still hid her face behind her tethered arm. She couldn't stand the way he looked at her; she already knew she was his prey. After ensuring Cecilia couldn't go anywhere, Lace pressed play. He had been able to find a recording of Ashton performing Bach's Goldberg Variations, and decided that it was the perfect piece for this next bit of training. First thing's first though. He pulled a small box out of his vest pocket. He needed to inject a bit of insurance to this bargain. Walking behind the bound slave, he carefully withdrew the packaged injection. He took hold of Cecilia's outstretched arm and pricked her with the tip. Cecilia had been so distracted by the solitary piano (it was new music, completely different from the sound track her captor had played for her before) that she only noticed Master's hold on her arm after he punctured her bicep with it. "Ahhh! Owww! What was that?!" Cecilia panicked. It was a shot. He was drugging her. Oh God, what had he done? Master paced back into her vision calmly. He had a box in his hand. "No! No! No! No! Don't TOUCH me!" Cecilia's mind was berating her for being so weak. He was poisoning her, or drugging her! Either way he was going to rape her now, she was sure of it! "Get AWAY from ME!" but her bonds were mocking the toughness she had rediscovered. Instead of yelling at her, Gerry decided to explain this one. He was about to explain a lot to her in fact, so he'd start with the shot. "It's just depo. See? Look at the box." He held the box in front of her face. It was. It was one of the boxes that prescriptions came in. It said 'birth control' right there, with a prescription skew number and pharmacy ID. Cecilia wriggled her fingers. She didn't feel drugged. She shook her head. "No! Don't lie to me! You're drugging me!" "I'm not. Doped up whores aren't good for my business. They aren't attractive and they don't command the price girls like you do. My clients have no interest in that. It's just birth control. That's all." The way he said that was so clinical, that Cecilia, believed him. If he was drugging her she'd feel something by now, right? She'd have lost all sense of outrage, or even forgotten what was happening. But what was happening? "Why? Why are you doing this to me?" Cecilia needed to know where the injustice was coming from at least. "Because, you're my canvas. My clay. I'm turning you into a work of art. I've got a client who wants a submissive little girl with brown hair and he's going to pay me a pretty penny for you, once I've got you properly respectful. And that tight little cunt of yours is worth even more, so I'm NOT drugging you. I'm training you." Master was too quiet and calculated saying all this. He was deadly serious. There seemed to be no way to get out of this predicament, but it was worth a shot. Cecilia at least knew now that she was valuable, and that he didn't want to risk harming his profit. "I'm not submissive! I'm not! You've got the wrong person!" "No my dear. You are. You've shown me enough. I know a little submissive slave when I see one. You crave pleasure. You might fight it, but I know. You get calm enough when I'm touching you. You've asked me to touch you. You can't change that, and you won't be able to convince me otherwise." He was circling her, making her feel more like trapped prey. "When the time comes, you're going to be very good. I'm sure of it." He fingered her slit again, and found her wet. "My client has a few preferences, and I'm teaching them to you ahead of time. So we're going to explore a very fine line together, you and I." Out of nowhere, she felt a harsh impact on her right side. Dozens of soft suede ribbons bounced off her ribs. Some of the variables Cecilia had been worried about were being filled in, and it was enough that she decided to zone out Master's words, and focus on the piano merrily playing. The impact though, jolted her to what he was saying. "We're going to find out how thin the line is between your pleasure..." he paused, and roughly fingered her sex. To her utter shame she was wet... "and your pain." He punctuated the phrase with another blow from the flogger, this time on her left thigh. The Goldberg Variations take almost 50 minutes to play. It would serve to build a certain endurance in the slave, and allow him to introduce some uncomfortable concepts to the reluctant girl. "Do you know why you're here Cecilia?" He directed the flogger against her back, letting the tails brush against her skin slowly as they fell. Cecilia didn't answer. He had already asked her this... Why was he asking her again? "No? Well, I'll clue you in then. You're here because you are unique Cecilia. You have innate sensibilities that often go... unappreciated in this day and age. I, on the other hand, have clients who prize these traits. They value them to such an extent, that I can make a business of my ability to notice you, and others like you." He was plying the flogger very gently, so that it only kissed her skin. She was shivering after each stroke, not fighting it, but letting it wash over her. Gerry circled her, telling her the things she had feared all along. "You, Cecilia, are submissive-" "NO! No, I'm NOT!" Cecilia protested, not even fully understanding what that was supposed to mean in relation to her. Lace continued his explanation, ignoring her outburst "-and as unusual as that makes you, you also have the potential to satisfy a most discerning connoisseur. Assuming I can... how shall we say this... sand down some of those rough edges of yours." "I'M NOT! I'm NOT! You don't KNOW me!" "Despite your assertions, I can promise you, I've never been wrong yet. You're submissive. Your body knows it. That hungry little pussy knows it. You just haven't caught up to them yet." To emphasize his point, the Master reached toward the apex of her thighs, and looking straight into Cecilia's eyes, found her wet. "Tell me then, why are you so wet?" Cecilia felt the blush heat her face; she tried to look away from the man's knowing stare, even as her hips twitched against his fingers. "Care to explain why you're grinding against my hand like a bitch in heat? Hmmm?" The taunting was unfair. Cecilia stayed silent. She had no answer. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind was yelling, 'It's not fair. This isn't real. I don't know why I feel this way. He's making me like this. It's not me. It can't be me.' As her mind whirled in confusion and denial, the piano continued to play. It was intricate, but thankfully, devoid of the same intensity the violin had transmitted. The piano was playing thoughtfully, taking its time to come up to quick runs and skips on scales, while maintaining perfect rhythm and syncopation. It was a perfect piece to listen to for meditating. Chords that Bind Ch. 05 Gerry, however, found it the perfect soundtrack for intoning his flogger. Criss-crossing her back, then swishing the leather ribbons across her front, Lace made each blow sensual, not interested in creating more shock or fear. Those emotions had served his purpose, but he was after something else. He was giving the little slave a thorough warm up. Cecilia was suspended, not just by the rope banding her wrists, but by the pattern being woven on her skin: the music was the loom and the flogger was the thread. It was beautifully measured. She couldn't pretend that it hurt. It felt too good for that subterfuge, it was like a rough massage, and with each blow she felt miniscule knots in her body undulate and loosen. Lace let the flogger cover her sculpted calf muscles and the backs of her legs, never using more force than was necessary to continue pulling the bound girl to her pivotal realization. Covering her ass, and her abs, the flogger nipped at her breasts and tight nipples, causing Cecilia to moan appreciatively. That was encouraging, and Gerry decided to be bolder. The fluctuation in the blows of the flogger unsettled Cecilia. They were coming down harder, and moving around less. They targeted her back, chest and bottom, landing with perceptibly more force. Then her ass was being smacked repeatedly. Just as it was becoming too much, it moved to her chest and stayed there. The leather bite was sharper on her sensitive globes, and she moaned, unable to avoid the falling tails. She was pink all over, and felt heat as her blood rose to the surface under the flogger's rhythmic dictation. The flush colouring Cecilia's body was so attractive, and despite her readiness to deny the things he said, Gerry could tell that she was allowing her senses, and not her mind, determine her reaction. Ashton's systematic performance of the Goldberg Variations was comforting her, even as the flogging was upped in intensity. Lace aimed the flogger between the girl's spread thighs, exerting as little force as possible, reminding Cecilia of the arousal that had been building the entire time. Cecilia swallowed hard. Why did that feel so good? "Arrggghh!" He did it again. The leather stripes licking and caressing, and she felt the heat in her body surround her, and radiate outward. "You like this. Don't you?" the question filtered through the aura of heat and without skipping a beat, Cecilia breathed, "Yes." "I know. And now you do." Master told her. The piano chose that moment to retard, playing widely spaced chords, announcing Cecilia's fate as dramatically as possible. "No. I don't." But Cecilia's voice was weaker, and her words were just wind in the face of her physical reality. "Prove it." It was a challenge. Cecilia didn't know how she was supposed to prove anything strung up as she was. Master seemed to have his test ready for her though. He pulled the chained clamps from his pocket. He made a show of tweaking her nipples, and making dainty movements of fixing the metal teeth around each sensitive bundle of nerves. There was another dangling suggestively from her chest. Cecilia was so slick with desire, that Gerry had difficulty with the last clamp. His fingers, toying and slipping around her clit, had Cecilia writhing, and then gasping in desperation as her heartbeat magnified between the pinched points on her body. She ground her teeth in dismay, not sure what this was supposed to prove. Gerry gave the Y-shaped chain a pull, dragging a protest from Cecilia, guttural and desperate. "Tell me you want to come. Ask me for permission." He ordered her. So that was his game. "No." She shook her head meekly. "Fine. You'll have to earn it anyway." He resumed flogging her body, slowly increasing the speed at which he brought the tails to her skin. "Just let me know if you change your mind, but then again, you aren't submissive, so you won't." He was enjoying his twisted taunting of the girl. With each impact from the flogger, Cecilia felt the chains rock and swing, the amplitude of the wavering pendulums sending her awareness skyward, rocketing her consciousness with pleasure even as the metal dug into her most sensitive skin. She tried to float, but her clit throbbed. She attempted to ignore them, but her nerves were too aware. She moaned with each brush of the flogger. How could this feel so good? Master was putting some flourish into the flogger, and the impacts were followed by a bite here and there, some lingering to sting as the thud faded. Cecilia wasn't going to give. "Stop this. Let me down!" "I will, once you've come." "Noooo! NOW!" "Then ask permission. Just ask, and I'll give it to you." Cecilia shook her head. "Very well." Before resuming the flogging, Master held the flogger by it's tail, and rubbed the handle against her pussy. It was rough and impersonal. The suddenness sent Cecilia thrashing, exerting strength in her torso that rocked her whole frame. "Ah, ah, ah... you don't have permission. You need to ask." Cecilia didn't trust herself to speak. She groaned as Master took the source of friction away. He was flogging her in earnest now. Each swing produced a resounding thud and tiny stings wherever the tails snapped against her. It didn't matter anymore, because it was driving her crazy. The music refused to echo her thoughts on the matter, remaining ever controlled and restrained in its beauty. She was the only one being driven to extremes. Master started increasing the frequency of impacts to her pussy. That registered some sort of hurt, but as the suede brushed the chains attached to the clamps, and moved them back and forth, Cecilia started biting her lip and shaking her head. She wasn't going to beg this time. She couldn't let herself. Gerry was impressed with her self-control. Her ability to fight him was uncanny, but with each resounding thud of the flogger, he saw her grasp slip. He didn't goad her. She was going to beg on her own before it was over. "Please." It came out as a high-pitched whisper. "Please, what?" he challenged. "Please, Master." Her voice was quavering with defeat. "Please, WHAT?" "Let me come, please." She hung her head, unwilling to admit that she was caving. "Alright. Once you've earned it." "No, no, no... please!" "Soon enough. I'll let you choose. You will only be allowed to come under two circumstances: With a nice big plug in your bottom, or after a nice paddling." "No. Don't make me. Please, just let me come." She couldn't believe how low he was dragging her. Her voice was croaking as her mouth went dry. "To not choose is to make a choice. We can keep doing this." Master made to begin flogging her pussy again. She closed her eyes under the intimate assault. "No." She was whining now, squirming, wiggling her hips as if that would free her legs from the spreader bar. "Then choose." Tears were running down her cheeks. She couldn't do this. He was right, and she didn't know how. But she was turned on and wanting. The edge of orgasm was sawing at her neurons, short-circuiting her habitual shyness and embarrassment. "The paddle." The plug was too humiliating. "What was that?" She was exasperated, her limbs were tingling, her pussy was sopping, and he was prolonging this. "Speak up. I can't hear you." "Use the paddle." She was staring at the floor, hanging her head in shame. "And where are your manners?" "Please Master, use the paddle!" "As you wish." He strode in front of her, with a gleam of victory in his dark eyes. He was making her look at him, and unclamped both nipples at the same time, letting gravity pull the freed pieces, the weight jerking at her still clamped clit. Cecilia keened, the pain was starting to needle it's way through her arousal. Gerry didn't want to take it that far. He eased the remaining clamp off slower, and rubbed her nipples as blood flowed back. Everything was confused, and Cecilia couldn't tell what was hurting or not. Everything hurt, her body was too awake, it was like opening your eyes and staring at the sun after ages in darkness. Her body's awareness was deafening. Master strapped a vibrator against her pussy. The low setting reset her barometer for pleasure. The paddle, when it came down across her ass, was sharp and hard. It didn't linger to embrace her as it fell, the way the flogger had. The vibrator ratcheted up a notch. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Her hips humped the air, as the paddle forced her torso forward ever so slightly. The music wouldn't end. How long could it keep this up? SMACK! SMACK! "Please." She was wailing now, her bottom on fire, lit up with pinpricks of stinging. The master turned her vibrator up all the way. "You may come," he growled and Master started to rain down blows. SMACK! SMACK! Before another fell, Cecilia screamed out release, endorphins and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her blood was boiling, effervesce flooding her system. The fire on her bottom and her pounding heartbeat were just adding to the information her nervous system was gathering. Pinpricks of colour radiated behind her closed eyes, changing hue with each wave of pain and pleasure. The music was immutable, and bound her more firmly than any rope or chain. Cecilia didn't know how long it took for the pleasure to subside. She felt her ankles being freed and her arms being lowered. Master scooped her up. "Good girl." He told her as he carried her back to the little white room. Even just his hands holding her weight felt rougher, as if her skin was suddenly imbibed with more nerve endings. He set her on the soft bed, handed her a bottle of water and left her. Gerry returned with a bowl of soup, still insisting he feed her. She had performed marvelously. All the hard-wiring was taking shape. Her reaction to pleasure mixed with pain had been powerful. Lace was sure she had taken a trip to subspace. Cecilia didn't fight him as he fed her, even though she was restrained by nothing. When he finished spoon-feeding the girl he had her stand. All business, he inserted the plug and strapped the chastity belt around Cecilia's slim waist. He handed her a thin black binder. "Yer a smart girl. Read it. Learn it. I expect you to have it learned when I return." Chords that Bind Ch. 06 Hello Readers, So, I'll start with a disclaimer that you should read the chapters preceding this chapter to understand where we are. I also think you might enjoy listening to the music mentioned in the story to get a more immersive reading experience. We are approaching the end of Cecilia's time with Gerry. (I know he's a very unpopular one, so the good news is that the end is near! I love to hate him myself.) This was a difficult section to write, so thanks for bearing with me. Hope you enjoy it, but I'm really looking forward to sharing the next section of the story with you! Poeticlicense91 ***** With that, Cecilia was left alone. She was still naked, but for the chastity belt. God damn him! She was wet again, rubbing her thighs together instinctually. She sat on the bed, cross-legged with the binder in her lap. But she didn't open it. She just closed her eyes and struggled to understand what was happening. She ran down the list of things she knew. She knew Master was trying to sell her. She knew that he was preparing her for what his buyers wanted. She knew that she couldn't escape. Beyond that though, she was at a loss. Her mind flickered back to the past hour. She had begged to come, and she submitted to his paddle. Had that been a real choice? She couldn't be sure of even that much. She wasn't prepared to call his bluff. The stakes were too high. She lay on her side, because her bottom was tingling from its recent paddling. She rubbed her red bottom, and sighed as that brought a modicum of relief. That was when the music turned on again, the same piano selection from before. Cecilia groaned. She needed peace and quiet, not this incessant music. She couldn't think straight with it playing, it wasn't background music; it compelled her to pay attention. "No. Not again." She whined, wishing it would stop so she could think. Instead, she felt her nipples tighten and her pussy get wetter. The music was turning her into a wanton slut, and the chastity belt was mocking her. Why was her body doing this? Why did she want to come again? She couldn't reconcile anything that was happening, her body was acting on it's own, leaving her to flounder. Isn't that what he said? He said her mind would need to catch up. No. He was just conditioning her. She did know that. But the knowledge wasn't helping. She sat back up and opened the binder. The first page had photos of a girl, naked like herself, kneeling, head bowed, and hands facing palms up on her thighs. It was labeled: Greeting. A second photo had her kneeling with her fingers laced behind her head, and her legs splayed wide underneath her. The label indicated: Presentation. The last pose was identical to balasana, or child's pose in yoga, but it was called Supplication. The girl was kneeling with her head to the floor, with her arms stretched out in front of her. The next page had a long list of rules. 1) Formal address is Master 2) Informal address is Sir 3) Do not speak unless spoken to 4) Maintain respectful demeanor Cecilia already knew these. 5) You do not come without permission. 6) You do not play with yourself. Her cheeks reddened as she read the terms for orgasm. She already knew those, and hated them. Somehow this was at the crux of her inability to resist him. Other rules on the list perplexed her. 7) Always wait for permission before touching your Master. 8) Never initiate intimacy. Ha! As if that was something Cecilia would have to worry about. 9) Wait on your Master's pleasure. 10) Always accommodate your Master's every desire. 11) Always greet your master by presenting. [See first page] So that's what the photos were for. Cecilia read on. 12) Never presume to look your Master in the eye. 13) Never object to his wishes 14) Never hide your body from your Master 15) Never lie to your master, or hide the truth from him Punishment was outlined on the next page, citing specific offenses and the chastisement that would follow. Smart mouthing resulted in being gagged. Trying to escape would see her painfully tied up. Lying would be answered with a cane. Striking her master was punishable with breast torture and a cropping. But Cecilia knew this already. She involuntarily shuddered when she read: "Attempting to reach orgasm without permission will be punished as the master sees fit." She was still sore from the cane and her long, kneeling ordeal. This seemed to be the most serious offense listed. She turned the page. The title read: Expectations. This couldn't be good. She scanned the list 1) Enthusiastically service your Master, or anyone he indicates, with your mouth, ass, and cunt. 2) Respond favorably to any attention your Master cares to give you. 3) Confess all misdeeds and ask for appropriate punishment immediately. 4) Thank your Master for all your punishments. 5) Put your Master's pleasure before your own. 6) Serve your Master meals, clean, and perform any other domestic duty as he sees fit. 7) Suffer silently and gracefully when he chooses. Rules for third-person speech were on the last page, followed by the words she wasn't allowed to use anymore: can't, won't, and don't were the big three. However most variants of swearwords were also off limits. There was an exception for dirty talk. These rules were nothing, if not thorough. Gerry let her have the rest of the afternoon to herself. When she finished reading everything in the binder, she moved on to reading the novels that were still stacked against the bed. She was resigned to the music never turning off. Lace, for his part, didn't know how to push the girl any further. With Ashton coming to see her in the next 40 hours, he didn't want to have a rebellious slave greeting the client she had been tailor-trained to entice. Gerry started organizing her medical information, employment and education records, and writing up his final assessment: Pleasure was key to controlling the girl. She didn't like sensory deprivation or the cane. Anal play wasn't yet fully instilled, but she was on her way to accepting her own submissiveness. It was risky, showing Ashton the girl this soon, and he had already pulled the trigger. He hoped that the slave's virginity would be a blue chip in case she didn't behave. After all, there was little use in buying a virgin slave if she had already been trained for someone else's protocol. The dangling details and niceties were going to have to be adjusted by Ashton himself. Gerry had done the work of imparting the dual experience of pleasure and pain, punishment, and mechanics of submission to the girl. He was readying her for Ashton, but there was precious little left for him to do with the time he was given. Ideally, he would have had the girl fully identify herself as a submissive, the way he did with his other 'unaware' merchandise. But he had never dealt with this situation before, and time was too short. With the girl reading general protocol, what else was there to teach her? He decided to wait and see. Once again he was leaving it in Cecilia's hands what his next step would be. Obedience had been a major sticking point with the girl, he was going to test that and let it determine how he would present the girl to Ashton. Cecilia had no sense of time. She just knew she was hungry again. She had read all the way through the Kitty Thomas books, and now couldn't even be angry with the protagonists. She was jealous of them. She couldn't explain why she wanted to switch places suddenly. No, she could... ... because they weren't locked in chastity belts and highly aroused. The weak girls in the books didn't resist, they just yielded and were silly enough to find happiness in it. Cecilia sighed, wishing it could be like that... NO! No, she just needed an orgasm. It was a physical conditioning that she was suffering through. She wasn't going to let her mind follow this plan... Except, that all her struggles had brought her was more discomfort. Master walked in on her thoughts, bringing shepherd's pie with him. He stood just inside the locked door waiting for something. He didn't say a word, but started tapping the toe of his shoe. The tapping made Cecilia nervous. She didn't know what to do or say. The silence stretched out. Cecilia could smell the warm food, it was making her mouth water. Master sighed, "Well. Your dinner is getting cold little slave. I expected you to be quicker than this. Where is the proper greeting?" Cecilia looked blankly at him. That sneaky subversive voice in her head said 'kneel!' The image of the woman kneeling in the binder's photographs flicked her memory into gear: greeting. After that puzzled itself out, Cecilia's face flashed understanding. But she was going to refuse. She instead, played dumb. "You know what I want little girl. Show me the proper greeting." Gerry knew she knew, he could read the truth of it on her face. "Go on then." "No." Cecilia said quietly, determined to hold her ground this time. After all, the music had turned off, and she could think clearer. "Is that so?" "Yes." The word hissed between her teeth, and she felt more like herself. This man, the master in front of her had done nothing to earn the subservience he was demanding. She wasn't just going to give it to him. "Very well then" said Gerry, refusing to be provoked. "Eat your dinner. I'll deal with this tomorrow. Good night." He set the food down on the table, and left the room. His movements were eerily controlled and quiet. The door didn't slam, it just gently sealed her inside, and the metallic click told her she was locked in. Instead of feeling brave, Cecilia felt incredibly stupid. What had she done? What was he going to do? Her stomach growled, but she was feeling nauseous. She clutched the black binder, and looked over the list of punishments. Mouthing off? Was that her crime? Or... 'Disobeying a direct order: Punishable with a caning, further measures to be determined on a case by case basis.' The bottom dropped out of her stomach. The words 'to be determined' were the most threatening thing she had yet encountered. The hunger eventually won Cecilia's attention and she picked at the lukewarm beef pie. Now that her need to eat was satisfied, Cecilia's mind had no further distractions. She swung between her burning arousal and terrified conjecture about what Master would do in the morning. She was in for a caning, that much was sure. Gerry was feeling rather pleased with himself. He wasn't interested in punishing Cecilia unnecessarily. That would only confuse the training, but Cecilia's disobedience merited one more punishment. Once firmly chastised, Cecilia would be sufficiently subdued in time for Sir Ashton's visit. He had an exercise in mind that would fully instill Cecilia's new role, without leaving room for doubt. Cecilia hadn't slept a wink. At least, she honestly believed that when she was jerked harshly awake. The bright fluorescent lights blinded her momentarily and she used her sore forearm to shield her eyes from the sharp light. "Up! Go on! Get up!" Cecilia could hear Master's thick accent through the gruffness in his voice. He was none too pleased. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of bed, stumbling, trying to gain equilibrium. She was still blinking, trying to shake herself into alertness, but already he was dragging her down the corridor, her worst fears being realized as she was finally able to adjust to the dimmer light in the room master liked to punish her in. There were all sorts of things laid out on a table: lengths of rope and chain, more awful clamps, a range of crops and floggers and paddles. On the floor were several small, ornate oriental rugs arranged in a circle, completely at odds with the cold starkness of the room. Master led Cecilia to stand on one. "Stay." Cecilia was far too off balance to contemplate how to be brave. She was almost dizzy, and the rug was lovely and soft under her cold bare feet. She heard a click and the door shutting behind her. More music: Gerry decided on something more emotional for today's lesson. Schubert's Fantasie in F minor for Four Hands was a magical piece, and a favorite of Ashton's. In fact, the recording was Ashton, playing with a very attractive Asian pianist. "Present." The command was bewildering. Cecilia's grogginess was fogging her ability to know what that was supposed to mean. "WHACK!" The cane came down hard on the back of her thighs. It was all the reminder Cecilia needed as her brain and sense of survival slipped into gear. She screeched in pain and dropped to her knees. She put her hands on her lap and bowed her head, tears already seeping from her tightly shut lids. "Better. That's the right attitude. But wrong. That's the greeting. Hands behind your head. Back straight." Cecilia adjusted her arms. As soon as she was in proper presentation form, Gerry landed a punishing blow to Cecilia's taught shoulders. The stinging rippled and a stripe blossomed across the girl's back, marking her visibly on her shoulder blades. She arched her back sharply, but the chill in the cold room made the pain linger. Cecilia clenched her teeth and started to feel panic creep into her breathing. "None of that. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Breath. We have work to do. One more lesson that you seem to need. Tell me Cecilia, what are you?" "I- I don't know. I don't know what you want me to say!" fear and earnestness were playing beautifully across Cecilia's eyes. She wasn't able to fight with this level of stress working on her. The music was impossible, how was that much sound possible? It was distracting and playful; Cecilia hated it. She just wanted to die and instead the piano player had the nerve to play with whimsy. Even the angry violin would have been better. "Tell me the truth." "I don't KNOW!" "I'll tell ya. Yer a slave, Cecilia. Yer a submissive lit'le slave. And you are going to learn that today." "No." The protest was weak. "Yes. Yeh are. Now, crawl over to the carpet to the right. We're going to do some exercises to help you today." Cecilia crawled, the cold in the concrete leeching warmth from her tiny body, making her knees scream with the remembered pain from her kneeling ordeal with the rice. Once she reached the soft carpet she waited, unsure and not feeling bold enough to dare another movement. "Present," he commanded. She did it correctly this time. "Good slave." The praise made her want to vomit. "Now, like the good slave you are, beg me for the punishment you earned yesterday." The pain and the chill sent awareness through Cecilia. It was a test. She had to beg for the right punishment, didn't she? The cane? No. It hurt so much. She couldn't take it. "Please no." She whispered fervently. "What are you?" "Don't make me do this. Please!" She was weeping, the low volume of her voice carrying in the emptiness of the room. But the music carried a threatening mysteriousness in it. It was as quiet as she was... WHACK! Another stripe from the cane landed on the very top of her buttocks. "A slave!" she cried out, hissing at the pain. "Tha's right. Ye're a slave. So beg like one." "Please!" "Please what? I know yer too smart for this game Cecilia." "Please Master! Punish me." Defeat was there, and Cecilia was looking down in shame at her compliance. "How?" Was there no end? Would he not just torture her and be done with it? Frustration and humiliation tinged with raging hopelessness made her scream. "However you WANT damn it!" Master crouched down, and lifted her chin up. Dangerously serious, he pierced her gaze with his own dark eyes. "That's a wee bit bet'er. Tha's right after all. Almost a proper answer, even. I will. But you... you oughta know better than to swear at me." He stood up and started the predatory pacing Cecilia was familiar with. "Yeh disobeyed a direct order. You should know the punishment for that. I'm sure yeh do." "A caning... Master." "And?" "Whatever you see fit Master." She remembered her reading. "Good slave. Now. Beg for your punishment." Cecilia didn't see a way out. The music was somehow toying with her. It wasn't quite right, or of this world. It ushered in something altogether different but not entirely sinister. It was romantic as the old world conceived of the notion: dark and brooding, then light and airy in turns. "I'm waiting Cecilia." "Please Master, use the cane for my disobedience." Cecilia wished the music were loud enough that she didn't have to hear herself say the words. "Very well Cecilia. Show me 'supplication' and ask. Cecilia put her forehead to the ground, relieved that he was done with the inquisition for the time being. She looked like she was praying on the little rug. Finally she could hide her eyes and cry in earnest. "I expect you to count them Cecilia. Be a good slave." Swish. WHACK! "One." She was wailing now. Her bottom was so sensitive, and the cane was flexible and evil, with its bite. Swish. WHACK! "Two." Cecilia was zeroing in on the music. She was starting to understand that the music was there for her benefit in some way, and clung to the notes as if they were a life raft to her drowning thoughts. Gerry kept at it. He had twenty strokes in mind, but seeing how easily her skin was welting, decided to keep it at twelve. He had more than just this specific punishment to instill today, and didn't want to cause undo damage. It was her mind that needed the real training after all, her body was fairly compliant to his desires. Swish. WHACK! "Eleven! Please, please, PLEASE! Oh God!" Swish. WHACK! "Aggh! Twelve!" Gerry dropped the cane, letting the clatter echo on the floor. "Crawl to the rug on the right. Show me the greeting." Cecilia didn't have any more pride left, she crawled, and when she sat on her heels, hissed as the stinging pain reawakened even at the soft motions. Cecilia whimpered, her hands were in front of her on her lap, and her head was down in humility. In front of her was a short vertical post with a large dildo mounted just above her eye level. "Good girl. Now, present yourself." Cecilia knelt up, relieved to take the pressure off her bum. The dildo was right in front of her now. "Spread those legs." He was barking the order as his hand travelled up her thigh. Instead of soothing away the stinging sensation on her bottom, he reached to feel wetness that startled Cecilia. This couldn't be happening. Why? Why was this happening? But the music took a turn for magical, and if she closed her eyes, Cecilia felt trapped, as if she were floating feet above the pain that was rooting her to earth. Without it, she could probably fly away, and the thought scared her, just momentarily she was grateful for something that kept her anchored, bound even though she was untied. "What do you think I want yeh to do now?" Cecilia didn't want to answer any more questions. Instead of having to hear her own submission, she licked her lips and started taking the silicone member into her mouth. "That's a girl," Master encouraged, "That's a good slave. Suck." Cecilia was slow and reluctant, trying to focus on the music and ignore the present situation. It was lyrical and teasing, and even though the music was better, it made her aware of how aroused she was. God she wanted to come again! Gerry encouraged the sucking slave, placing stern control on himself as he watched the girl lave at the fake cock. Would it devalue her that much if he fucked her mouth? He'd love to see the look on her face. No. All in good time. He'd take care of his throbbing need later, and enjoy the show for now. After a few more minutes, he decided to move her to the next rug. Chords that Bind Ch. 06 "Crawl over to the next rug, slave." Cecilia listened immediately, happy to be done with the humiliating activity. What could he want now? "Now, kneel up, and play with yourself." Gerry had to laugh as she paled and then blushed furiously. "I'm giving you permission to play with yourself slave. Go on." No... NO! NO! NO! Cecilia couldn't decide if this, or sucking the phallus had been more awful. She couldn't do this in front of someone. She hadn't done it ever, except, her unhelpful memory prodded, when she had tried to have a forbidden orgasm before. When she had been driven to a frenzy and tried to masturbate. She felt herself grow wetter at the memory. No. She wasn't that debased. "Fine. I won't wait. Crawl to the next carpet." She did, thrilled that her defiance hadn't garnered more punishment. She was back at the place they started. "Stand and present!" Cecilia stood, wobbly on her cramped legs. "Hands behind your head. This is standing presentation." She did. Master grabbed a thin rope from the table. He doubled it over, wrapped it around her waist and threaded the ends through the loop, guiding the two ends down between her wet pussy lips. He paused to knot the two, and then tied the ends tightly at the small of her back. The knot was positioned right against her clit, and the pressure started sending pleasurable shocks through her nervous system. "What are you?" The inquisition was starting over again, as was the music, returning to it's mysterious beginning, looping and twisting as Cecilia's emotions became more and more fraught with confusion. "A slave." She knew what he wanted her to say now. "Who am I?" My torturer, Cecilia thought. "Master." Cecilia answered. "What can I do to you? "Whatever you want," She said with her head bowed in shame. "Look me in the eye and tell me." She looked up at him, the fight waning in her eyes, "You can do whatever you want to me." "That's right. Crawl." Crawling was so much more difficult with the rope digging into her crotch. Each shift of her hips brought delicious friction to her clit, her wetness making the rope slick. Gerry caught her slowed movements, and urged her along with a quick slap to her battered behind. "Now, ask me for punishment. Be a good little slave and choose." On her hands and knees, Cecilia felt the burdensome weight of choice. The music was whispering sweet nothings in her ears while the damp rope tugged at her central nervous system. Choose? What could she choose? She didn't realize she'd closed her eye instinctually. When she opened them she saw the array on the table. 'Anything but the cane,' she said inwardly. She saw the suede flogger, and remembered being carried off by it. "That one." She pointed to it. "Interesting choice," Master observed. Logic said she would choose that which she found least threatening. He had thought she would pick the crop, he had been most gentle with that implement, but was pleasantly surprised by her choice. It had been the implement used to educate her about pleasure and pain. He started covering her body with it, letting the strands thud and wrap around her torso. She stood unfettered this time, bound only by the obedience he was teaching her, and the music that was creating a tiny bubble of protection around her innermost identity. She wanted nothing more than to stop thinking, because the sensation was being transmuted, and Cecilia wanted nothing to do with the consequences of what was happening to her. When Cecilia had attained a nice rosy hue over her front and back, Gerry backed away and set the flogger down. Cecilia hadn't even cried out, only moaned seductively with each impact. "Crawl." Cecilia found herself nearly panting with arousal as the rope worked its wonders over her clit, crawling to face the mounted dildo. "Get closer." He nudged her forward, closer to the phallus. "You know what to do." Her mouth fit over the length of the dildo, and she started to lick it, detesting this exercise. For that's what this was, she realized: an exercise circuit for training a slave. Gerry pushed her head forward even more, forcing her to take more and more into her mouth. When her mouth was fairly stuffed with the artificial cock, he quickly clamped a peaked nipple, twisting the chain around the dildo's mount, and then fixing the other clamp onto Cecilia's tit. She jumped and tried to pull back, but yelped in pain as it pulled on her tender buds, and forced her mouth to accommodate the entire length of the cock she was sucking. The pain in her tits was starting to become an accelerant to her pussy, and she bucked her hips as she was forced to worship the dildo on her knees. Dear Lord, this wasn't fair. Gerry was hard as an iron rod, and could do nothing. He stepped back from her as he tried to regain perspective. He focused on the music for a bit. But that wasn't much help: This was erotic ballet. The girl performing to the music was everything you could want in art: beautiful, submissive, (for the time being) obedient, and lavishing attention on a rubberized cock. He could see someone paying exorbitant amounts of money for this. The thought of the profit the girl would bring was enough for him to exert more self-control. He kept her there a bit longer this time, making sure she put a good amount of enthusiasm into her task, trying to cool his own ardor. He was satisfied with her effort for this round, and eased the clamps off. "MMMmmmpppph. Oh God! Ahh!" Cecilia was happy to have them off, but it hurt as they were removed. She crawled without being told, to the next rug. "Play with yourself." He was telling her to do it again. And this time, she wanted to. The knot at her clit was driving her up a wall. So help her, obeying should be easy this time. Tentatively she stroked her nipples, rubbing away the last of the pain the biting clamps left in their wake. She tilted her head back. It felt so good. More wetness flowed from her pussy. The tight rope was egging her on, and she closed her eyes, as her right hand travelled down her belly and between her legs. Just the lightest touch against the rope sent shivers and a surge of pleasure. She didn't realize how close she had been climbing. The music had been more than a balm to the pain, it had been spark to the tinder. She was being carried on it, and she guided a finger into her tight cunt. She was moaning now, a little slave in heat. Getting really worked up, Cecilia found herself begging like she had been taught, "Please let me come? Please Master?" "No." Cecilia stopped her motions. She was shocked. She was being so good. She wailed and felt the slippery knot tease her cunt further. She started to beg again. "Please! Please Master?" "No. Over to the next rug. Crawl." Cecilia was getting angry. Her frustration and torment were going to trap her. She obeyed, fighting shivers as she made her way to the thick carpet. "Supplication." Master demanded. Cecilia folded herself over and reached her arms out. Feeling the rope pull at her arousal as she stretched her torso forward. She wanted relief so badly. She hated this chaos reverberating in her body even as the piano played beautiful harmonies. The irony in the music was far from amusing. But Master didn't relent. He continued with his interrogation. "What are you?" "I am a PERSON! With rights! You can't DO this to me! Let me GO!" Cecilia found her courage as she found her anger. This wasn't fair. She had been good and he was denying her! She had earned it damn it! "Let me come!" She needed it. Once she came she could make sense of everything. In this worked up state she was useless, operating only on animal instinct. "That is not the correct answer. Try again." Her bursts of fight were entertaining, but they were time consuming. Lace was feeling rather smug with how perfect this punishment fit Cecilia's crime. The sooner she obeyed, the sooner her punishment would end. She was the one determining its length. "NO! NO, I'm NOT a slave!" Cecilia was sitting up now, clenching her fists. Before she had a chance to protest with greater strength, Master cuffed her wrists behind her back. He remained calm and business like, not getting flustered at her sudden outburst. It was infuriating to be the only one being pushed to extremes. "You are. You are submissive, and you're going to be sold as a slave, so you best accept that now." "No. No, I'm NOT!" Cecilia was pulling at the cuffs wrapped about her wrists, happy to have something to struggle against, relieved she wasn't being as compliant as she had been. Anger was good; it was like cool water in her fevered arousal. It would keep her from losing herself. "I know you don't like to hear this, but you are submissive. You relish having the choices and the options taken away. You don't want to be responsible for your own pleasure. Your body knows that. We've been through this." He raked his fingertips sensually through the roots of her hair. "You weren't meant to fight. Look at yourself. You were made to yield. It's in your makeup. You exhaust yourself, and wear yourself out fighting me. It doesn't energize you. When you let yourself be controlled, you fly! You just don't want to admit that." The scalp massage was feeling so good as Cecilia listened, feeling the persuasive argument tease her with the promise of pleasure, just like Master's fingers were. "So I'll tell you what, let's do one more lap. At the end if you want to come, you'll admit you're a slave and ask me for permission. You'll only be allowed to come if you ask to have your ass plugged. And that's it! You'll be done. The whole thing will be over." He made it sound so easy, so simple. "You have the choice to end this fight Cecilia. You don't want to fight anyway. You want pleasure and release. You just asked me for it. I'll give it to you." It sounded so easy, so perfect. After all this, she could make it stop. Something was logical there. She did want release, the fighting was taking its toll on her emotionally and physically. All she had to do was tell him what he wanted to hear... No. She couldn't do that. He was tempting her with the devil's promises. She couldn't succumb. It would mean losing everything if she did, she was sure of it. As she knelt silently, at war with herself, Lace waited. The music was still swirling around them. He pulled his hand away from her head. "Tell me what I want to hear. What are you?" Cecilia couldn't answer. She knew. And she knew that by saying it, by giving in and using the power of naming, she would never be able to go back. She wished she was gagged. Resistance was wearing her down, and she couldn't tell what required the more valiant effort anymore. Gerry wasn't going to wait. He nudged her leg with the toe of his shoe. "Fine. You've just chosen your next punishment. Over to the next spot." "No! No! I'm NOT! Please!" "You are. And the sooner you admit that, the sooner you'll have what you want. Now MOVE!" Hands cuffed behind her, she was unable to crawl. Awkwardly, she got to her feet and walked to the next station of her miserable exercise routine. She didn't kneel, holding desperately to the thought that she was stronger than she felt, believing she could outlast whatever Master planned to do to her. Gerry selected a flexible riding crop from the collection of implements. He decided to spare her bottom for the moment, and targeted her breasts. The doubled leather tip circled her nipples, but never found them, making her achingly aware that she responded unnaturally to the pain. Cecilia wanted him to balance the sensation on her breasts, and ease the tension building in her sensitive, ruddy tips. The pain would be welcome. Instead, he increased the speed and impact on her chest, causing her to cry in frustration and pain. Why was the music still playing? It was holding her prisoner as much as the cuffs were. She couldn't be free to move into shock or acceptance because the music was piloting her emotions. It played on her desire to find something good, or even tolerable and forced her to be sharply aware and furiously present during this waking horror. The crop on her bare breasts was more painful this time. The first time she felt its bite was when she woke to this nightmare. But now, just over the course of a week she could identify a radical change in her body. It hurt, but hurt was only a shade of what she was feeling. She was being pulled in two directions. It was inevitable that she was going to bend before she would break. She couldn't pretend anymore. As her flesh was being assaulted she realized there was only one thing she could do for herself, and that was to hold on as long as she possibly could. Gerry saw Cecilia close her eyes. It looked as if she had made up her mind. Good, he was satisfied with her punishment, and had no wish to continue, he'd much rather find his own release. Training her was it's own brand of erotic torture, and the sooner he could be done, the sooner he'd find a warm mouth to quench his own burning need. Cecilia bit her lips and let out yelps, determined to endure. The music was still accompanying her punishment and she allowed her mind the respite of concentrating on the movement and mood of the piece. She drew images behind her closed lids of what she thought the composer was drawing out in the notes and chords. When she felt the crop land squarely on her behind, she was jolted out of her reverie. Master was pushing her towards the next carpet, exerting downward force on her shoulders, making her kneel again, eye to eye with the dildo she had been practicing on. She found that giving head was a helpless activity without the use of her hands. She was constantly off balance, and felt her mouth, jaw and cheeks tire. Her pussy clenched and wept, feeling the tiny jaws of the clamps finally fire the nerve endings in her nipples. It was so difficult to do this. She yelled and moaned, wishing with all her being for this to end. She was pretty sure Master was taking photos of her like this, but she was effectively gagged with the silicone cock. Master started taking the crop to her behind, encouraging her to suck and properly attend to the prick in her mouth. She was tired, her mouth was dry and here jaw aching. She wanted to stop, to move on. What was next? No. She couldn't think about that. Gerry determined she was done practicing on the cock when he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold off. The control he had to exert on Cecilia and reign on himself was tedious. He took a quick chance to land the crop on her clamped tits, enjoying her moan, and rewarded her responsiveness by freeing the abused buds. Cecilia was all dry sobs and pants. He was using the crop to direct her, not even speaking his commands to her. Master tugged on the rope around her waist, eliciting a desperate, husky moan. More. Just a bit more and I'll have it... but he already released the rope that was making a fool out of her. She looked down and saw that she was back at the first carpet again. "Show me the greeting. Or as close to it as you can manage." Cecila clumsily knelt, falling to her knees painfully, absorbing the impact as another wave of sensation. "Play with yourself." Pretending she didn't want to was impossible. She did. But now she couldn't. "Oh, well, you seem to have a problem there. We really can't trust you with your hands. Let's see... How about this?" Master had some sort of toy in his hands. It looked almost like a spinning top, but flatter. One end was convex and rounded. The other came to an obtuse vertex at a very soft angle. Master set it down between her legs. He prodded her forward with his crop. She knew he wanted her to put her weight on it. Unsure of how this was supposed to work, she let her sex bare her weight and eased down on it. There was no penetration, but it was unsteady and rocked underneath her. Trying to keep herself centered, Cecilia countered the rocking with a shift of her hips. Then she understood. "Ahhhhhggghh" "Ride it." Master said in a low voice. Cecilia, at this point didn't hesitate to obey. It was awkward and far from smooth, but there was friction and pressure, and that was all her body demanded. She churned her hips provocatively, enjoying the answering pleasure that would lead to her climax. She didn't care about the sounds she was making. Raw and husky, her moans practically encouraged her. Gerry was amused. She was working herself quickly. He kept alert, making sure that he caught and stopped her before she came. Cecilia didn't seem to realize anyone else was in the room anymore. He decided to remind her, "You don't have permission to come yet slave." Cecilia knew, she was just trying to prolong her pleasure. The rope was getting tighter from her liquid arousal, and the movement in her hips was mesmeric. The longer she waited to ask, the better she would feel that she had resisted him. But she was dangerously close. Lace had seen enough. She was not going to ask, she was trying to orgasm without permission. That was the last thing he was going to allow to happen. Before she could come, he lifted her bodily from the carpet, and in three large strides had the struggling girl over to the next little rug. "NO. NO! Please! I was so close! PLEASE, let me come! Please, please, please!" "Yeh weren't going to ask. So now we need to do this again." And they did. Cecilia felt like a prisoner of the inquisition. She wasn't prepared to continue to answer the repetitive questions. "What are you?" "A slave." She felt it now. Her pussy was clenching around nothing, pleading with her to obey and find peace. "What are you?" "a slave." She whispered again "Louder." "A slave!" "Who am I?" "Master?" "What can I do to you?" "Anything!" She sobbed, wishing she could just break and end this. She was whipped at the next carpet, this time with a horsetail flogger. She didn't understand what it was for at first, it didn't hurt terribly at all, it just sort of spread all over her body. But after a few more swings she understood. Everywhere it hit her she felt an itch, like a rash, rise to her skin. She couldn't rub away the feeling, or shake off the falling horsehair that was driving her to new levels of madness. It caught her between the legs. "Please! Please Master! Let me come! Stop this!" "Not yet, you've got more practicing to do." Cecilia was sucking on the damned dildo again, her entire body on fire. The clamps range of motion on her tits was even shorter this time, and she had to take the entire length in her mouth to give her breasts relief. She couldn't believe her body could stand this much stimulation. The tension in her kept rising with the tension in the music, but she wasn't being granted the release that the music allowed itself. The piano player was being judicious with his playing, not building it more than the listener could bear. No such mercy was being granted Cecilia, and she was sure she would suffer internal collapse. She was back at the rug with the top. Eagerly she rubbed and rocked against it, begging immediately. "Please Master! Let me come!" "Tell me what you are." "A slave." "And slaves can only come if?" No. She was not begging him to plug her ass. She wouldn't. After being dragged back to the first carpet to review positions and answer the inquisition, Cecilia decided she would. Her punishment this time was the paddle, but this one had holes in it, to minimize any possible air cushion that would temper the punishment. After the itchy horsetail flogger it was a blessed relief, until more prickling stinging rose across her red bottom. Chords that Bind Ch. 06 Sucking on the rubber cock, Cecilia felt the posture collar return. Lace was not going to let her get comfortable with this routine. He needed her to submit, and admit to her reality, and keeping her off balance and desirous was the best way to do that. With the collar on, Cecilia found that she was forced to be even more attentive, and had limited freedom to do more than bob her head back and forth, over and over, on the phallus. She was willing to do anything to come now. There was no way she could hold out longer. But she did. After refusing to ask for her ass to be filled, Cecilia was answering Master's questions again. Lace was impressed, and started to wonder how long she could continue this. As he questioned her, and made her verbalize her slavery, her submissivness, and her helplessness, he decided to go for broke. It was just her pussy that was taking the flogging now, the suede falls making Cecilia beg. She would be good, if only she could come, she'd be very good. Once more she was worshipping the phallus, her mind errantly wishing she could have it between her legs. She stopped crying, fresh out of tears, and hoped that she could stop taking it between her chapped lips. God she wanted to come. She had already had a plug in her ass and it hadn't killed her. She just wanted to stop feeling incomplete. Cecilia was ready to fuck the little toy on the floor, even though it was unnecessary, she was already primed to fall over the edge. "Please. Please Master! Let this slave come!" Cecilia was shocked. She had reverted to third person speech without being told, and was nearly beyond caring. "Please... please plug my ass." She felt like such a dirty whore, but her body couldn't take it anymore. Her threshold for pain was maxed out, and if she had to take another punishment, she thought she would die. Gerry held a larger blue plug in front of her face. "You want me to use this?" No. "Yes" she whispered. Anything to make this end. "Tell me. Tell me you want this big plug wedged in your arse." "Please Master," her head hung in shame, but she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a bit longer, "put that big plug in my ass." "Good little slave. Show me supplication." Cecilia did, relieved there wasn't going to be some more twisted tasks before she could get this over with. Her arms were still cuffed behind her as her forehead rested on the floor. Master untied the rope around her waist and jerked it loose between her legs. Cecilia shivered, so ready to come that she could already feel the throbbing, already feeling a pull from her body, ready to escape. Gerry greased up the girl and the plug. She was moaning at his touch, even as his fingers started breaching her bottom. Her determination to refuse to submit had made her so crazed for stimulation that everything he was doing to her now registered as pleasure. Cecilia didn't resist the plug's entry. She moaned as it stretched her, and when the widest part finally was held inside, Cecilia keened out, begging now that she had met her end of the bargain. "Tell me what y'are?" "A slave, Master." "Very good. You may play with yourself now." Cecilia took her time now, adjusting to the fullness in her bottom. It made her strangely satisfied, as if she were that much closer to completion. She centered her pussy over the toy and enjoyed the fact that the rope was no longer getting in the way. But without the rope and it's evil little knot, Cecilia found she had to rock more violently and grind harder. It wasn't as satisfying. "Please. Master!" She didn't know what she was begging for. Lace saw her predicament. He let her dangle and rock for another minute before stepping behind her. He unfastened the collar first, and then freed her wrists. As he trailed his hands over her he felt himself loosing control. He wanted nothing more than to push her to the ground, lick her wet cunt until she melted into a puddle of completion, but he didn't trust himself not to push his raging erection into her tired mouth, or even deflower her entirely. He stepped away as soon as she was free. "Make yourself come." He meant to turn away, but she was captivating and he couldn't tear his gaze from the meek slave hungrily seeking her own pleasure. Cecilia was relieved to be free, and finally days after her failed attempt, she was allowed to use her own hands and come on her own. She half closed her eyes, and breathed deep when the music eased into a beautiful strain. Everything around her was so ugly, everything except the music and the tremors crawling under her skin. Her middle finger had no trouble finding her swollen clit. It was fully erect, begging for the attention for so long now. A shock shot up her spine, and Cecilia was lost to everything except the piano and the orgasm that was ravaging her. She fell over onto her side, and kept bucking her hips and fingering her sex. It kept going, and Cecilia didn't have to think about how the waves of her orgams felt strongest around her stinging bottom and achy breasts. It all melted into something for which euphoria was the closest, but not completely accurate, word. Lace waited for her thrashing to subside. He didn't want to touch her right now, he was too worked up to trust himself. She rode the orgasms to a degree that he hadn't been prepared for. She had put up a valiant fight, but her body's reaction was all he needed to see. She was internally very submissive and externally terrified of what that meant. It had been a successful morning. He left her to recover in the room, locking the door behind him. She was going to need more time to absorb the severity of her body's submission, and he needed his own relief. Cecilia fell into a semi-conscious state. Her body had never been so thoroughly exhausted. Every day here, every 'lesson' he taught her, pushed the edges of her endurance and she wasn't sure she could handle it. Now that her sex had finally been silenced, Cecilia felt all the pain hiding in her body. Her ass had to be bruised. There was no way it wasn't, as she rubbed it to ease all the stinging she felt her muscles tighten and throb. Her entire body was a pinkish-red from the floggers, and the crop's marks were bright red against her skin. Cecilia relished the freedom she felt, finally satiated. She couldn't think about what she had done to get her to this spot, because in her heart of hearts she knew she played a part. She didn't move, lying on the floor she felt as if the world were spinning around her, and she was able to appreciate the music as it played. There was nothing left to tease or arouse, and with a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and peacefully hovered somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, somewhere between her body and the sky. Chords that Bind Ch. 07 Dear Readers, Now for something completely a bit different. Not so much action, but this is a minor turning point in our story. Hope that's not too disappointing. Don't worry some hot and heavy stuff is to come. The good news is that you finally get to meet James M. Ashton! (Yay!) So I hope you're along for the ride, and are willing to suspend your disbelief, etc. etc. Thank you as always for your comments, criticism, feedback and votes. -PoeticLicense ***** Gerry had taken that blonde hard, one last time, because she was being sold tomorrow, and this felt like a fitting goodbye. She truly was a talented little thing, and was sure he would get a good price for her. But it was back to business. After grabbing a cup of tea for himself, and gathering breakfast for Cecilia, he returned to find her exactly where he had left her. At first he was concerned, he shouldn't have left her there alone, not after all he had put her through, but was quickly relieved of any sense of guilt; she had fallen asleep. That didn't surprise Lace, he had woken her up at five in the morning, all the better to displace her patterns of day and night, to keep her off balance. He scooped her off the floor easily and put her back in bed. He left some scones and marmalade on the small table, and decided to check back in with her after she rested. Cecilia rested for hours. Upon waking, she discovered that everything hurt. Her throat was completely raw, her cheeks and jaw ached, her breasts had faint bruises, and her bottom was tender to the touch. She had been so nervous that she tightened up all the muscles in her back and had knots that rested along her spine. She had a headache and overall couldn't remember feeling worse. To add to the tally, the blasted plug she had had to beg for was still firmly seated in her rear. With great difficulty, she rolled over. She was ravenous, and knew just looking at the plate of food on the table that it wouldn't be enough. Besides, moving took too much energy, and the table was too far away. She lay still, wishing to die so that her mind couldn't remind her of what had just happened. Her lightheadedness made her mind skip from one unpleasant thought to the next: First she was in fourth grade, her mother smacking her across the face for failing to clean the baseboards properly, next she was in high school, being laughed at for her unfashionable conservative clothes, she was in the punishment room being flogged to the sound of the violin. Misery and pain were all that were left inside her, she was a husk that contained only bad memories and poor decisions and she couldn't shake herself out of the terrible cyclone of thoughts. Gerry came in sometime later, he noticed that she didn't eat or try to move. He brought a glass of water to her lips, helping her to drink, afraid that maybe he'd done too much damage. But she drained the glass, and quietly thanked him. That had been the missing piece. She was behaving like a slave now. He fed her, and when she ate the scone, he went to bring her a sandwich. She didn't speak or object, she just obeyed and thanked him. This change in attitude relaxed Lace. She would be ready for Ashton's visit two days from now. He was a little weary about the bruises he saw coloring the girl's skin. He had tried to be careful not to mark her. He hoped that they wouldn't discolor too badly. Cecilia had no fight left in her. She withdrew inside herself, trying to find a safe corner of her mind to hide in. But it was useless; she was cornered by bad memories from years past, and recent memories of pain, pleasure, music and bondage. She didn't try to read, because she was too weak to be bored. Master came back to her some time later with more food, telling her to show him the greeting. Stifling moans as her tight muscles protested at the movement, Cecilia slowly obeyed, defeated. After the little test of her obedience, Master fed her again. At last he removed the butt plug. When she was alone she felt marginally better, if somewhat bereft. She cracked her joints, trying to alleviate the tightness her punishment had left in her body. In some fit of lenience from Master, she hadn't had to listen to a single chord. The lack of music was eerie. It had been her companion in the silence, but it was a blessed relief not to have to contend with the arousal that the melodies beckoned. As she was thinking how oddly quiet it was, she heard the piano return. It was the same music from earlier, the piece that had too much sound to be natural. Again, she felt her traitorous body attend to the rhapsodic piece. She didn't know how her body could continue this. She was constantly under assault and even her senses were toying with her. It was so pretty though, and she wasn't left alone with her thoughts in solitude. The recordings that Master played for her had alleviated her loneliness even if it had roused her body intolerably. Cecilia was trying to locate the silver lining of having the music back but then heard a voice. It was low almost a growl and dread settled over Cecilia's delicate form. "What are you?" "A slave," Cecilia heard herself whisper. "Louder." Master's recorded voice held more power than she remembered "A slave!" Cecilia was shaking her head, and held her hands to her ears, wishing herself deaf rather than hear herself give in. She thought she had been strong... "Who am I?" The recording continued to recount her punishment. Her hands barely muffled the voices, and she was forced to listen and relive these awful moments. "Master?" "What can I do to you?" "Anything!" Cecilia had prolonged the entire thing, hoping to prove to herself that she wasn't going to break, but she was hearing her own surrender. The culmination of her broken resolve played: "Please. Please Master! Let this slave come! Please... please plug my ass." "Tell me. Tell me you want this big plug wedged in your arse." "Please Master, put that big plug in my ass." "Good little slave. Show me supplication." Cecilia heard herself beg, and tired and uninterested as she was in exerting any more energy she felt herself moisten between her legs. She was a voyeur. She was forced to observe her own denigration, her own humiliating fall. She flushed, shame spreading throughout her consciousness, knowing herself now for what she was, a dirty whore. And she couldn't contradict her own voice playing back to her: she was a slave. She admitted it, and in her weakness removed all pride and power from herself. Her despair deepened when she heard herself begging. She heard the granting of her release and the way she moaned like a whore. She was wet again. Disgusted with herself she buried her head under the pillow still trying to block out the sound. Unbidden, she recalled the only time she had rolled her skirt at school... The uniform skirt she wore to her small Catholic school was too long, (intentionally bought that way by her mother), and dwarfed her tiny frame, she hadn't been trying to be slutty as her mom accused her, she just didn't want to be the only girl whose skirt went well below the knees, it made her stand out in the worst possible way. Cecilia had only hiked it up enough to match the other girls, whose mothers had spared them the embarrassment of matronly uniforms. She must have been in sixth grade, far too old for the sound spanking her mother gave her, but the most hurtful part had been the words her mom threw around so callously: slut, whore, disgrace, puta. But here she was, in pain and discomfort, freezing cold because she was naked, and she was calling herself the same things. Since she left her parents' house, it had been a long time since Cecilia had kneelt to pray, but she did. She prayed for her soul and her innocence, begging God to forgive her. Gerry had everything settled. The day after tomorrow Ashton would be picked up and driven to the compound. He decided how he wanted to present Cecilia to him... he figured that the fight in her was all but over, but still, he wasn't taking unnecessary risks. That was why he was occasionally replaying the sound of the girl's verbal submission. That should reinforce the lesson. He was going to allow her to rest and recover, and hopefully some of the bruising would go down before Ashton's arrival. He'd need to make sure she looked as enticing as possible to the man. Fear, curiosity, boredom: all these things made their acquaintance with Cecilia the next day. She was beaten and she knew it. The second day of aches and tenderness were even more immobilizing. When Master entered the room she assumed the position of greeting and said nothing, not eager to move. Master had brought her food, but she didn't touch it. She figured it would be a slow, but sure way to end herself. When he came with another meal and saw that she hadn't eaten, he checked her forehead quickly for a fever, and satisfied she wasn't running a temperature, left the fresh food before withdrawing. To silence her recriminating mind, that sounded so much like her mother, she reread parts of the wretched books that Master had left her with. She focused on the fairy-tale parts, wanting to pretend she was only reading a great romance like she would have back in her apartment in Philly. She refused to acknowledge any overtures her pussy made... it had caused enough trouble. She was going to try and be a good girl, not the sinful slave that Master was training her to be. But with every appearance of the man, she cowered and averted her eyes, hiding, submitting. Every so often Cecilia was serenaded by the familiar cello and piano duet, the violin, or more solo piano. Master wasn't playing them incessantly or looping them over and over, but each time the recording started it jolted Cecilia's body into a longing alertness. The day dragged on, but Cecilia knew to be grateful for the boredom. She wasn't sure she could withstand any more attention from Master. Sir James Ashton (QCMP), concert pianist, conductor and former barrister, did not like accepting a ride in the car that Lace had sent to convey him to meet the girl Cecilia. It felt awkward, but Ashton was to eager to see the girl, and let his good manners override his discomfort with the arrangement. The black CLS 550 arrived at the appointed time, and a hired chauffeur tipped his hat to him. The windows were tinted very dark. James was feeling his unease grow. The driver was making odd turns and took an unnamed road off the highway. They couldn't be that far from the city, but it seemed very secluded. Ashton kept his mind fixated on getting to see the girl that he'd been fantasizing about for the past week. When the sedan pulled into the drive, Ashton breathed easier. It was an older semi industrial country style-structure that looked as though it were converted into a partly residential building. There were probably dormitories in the building to accommodate the women who would be there for training. Ashton remained silent as he was ushered in. He tried to hide his expression when he saw the weak-jawed, scared countenance of the man who greeted him. "Mister, —I mean Sir— Ashton, what a pleasure to meet you in person." Lace extended a hand, "Call me Gerry". Ashton extended his hand and with very blue eyes stared deep into Lace's dark gaze. A long dormant instinct raised the hairs on the back of Ashton's neck. Ashton didn't like the man. Something about him reminded him of his former life practicing law, when he was prosecuting down the Old Bailey. His accent wasn't as harsh as some of the West End London set, but there was something rough around his words, and something criminal about his baring. James tried to keep his suspicion in check. He didn't know why he was having such a strong reaction. "Same to you, glad to have a face to put with a name." "Well, there's no point delaying any further, you were interested in Cecilia, no?" James was taken aback by the man's forwardness. "I am, yes." "Well, I'll take you to her then, follow me this way." James followed, wondering why Cecilia hadn't been present immediately when he arrived. When they came to a stark set of hallways, Ashton felt his instincts kick in again. But, this was silliness. Yes, he was meeting with a matchmaker and coach in the lifestyle, someone who trained submissives, but everything had been professional and discreet for the most part. Privacy and a tolerance for eccentricities went with this sort of thing. It was the first time Ashton remembered associating with anyone in the lifestyle that he was not actively pursuing, and this method of meeting a submissive girl was foreign and strange to him. This man, Lace, was also a toppish male, and his style of doing things needed refinement, but truth be told. Ashton was just nervous. He didn't know if the girl would find him at all agreeable, and he desperately wanted her to find him just that. His awkwardness came from the secrecy that he usually employed to hide this part of himself, this part of his life, and he felt as if he were exposing himself in the most vulnerable of ways. Lace stopped walking down a corridor, and paused by a doorway. "She's in here. Feel free to touch her." Ashton furrowed his brows, this was why he didn't do these things, everyone's aesthetic in the lifestyle was so different, but everyone was strictly adherent to their own taste. This was more than a touch dramatic for Ashton. He got it now, this was supposed to mimic a sort of underground organization of sorts, and the air of conspiracy was thick. Lace opened the door, and even though the whole thing was overdone as far as Ashton was concerned, he couldn't help but feel his cock harden in approval. The girl was kneeling on a pedestal, her arms bound behind her in a strappado. She was blindfolded and gagged, for the moment. She jumped at the sound of the two men entering the room. Forgetting the momentary annoyance he had with Lace's odd procedures, he circled the girl, his eyes burning with intensity. He almost didn't care if she wanted him, at the moment it was enough that she existed in the world. She was art, and even though this was weird and uncomfortable with Lace standing right there, Cecilia was presented to him perfectly, like a package from the universe, just there for the taking. He could see her muscles pulsing and flexing, as nervous as he was. He reached his hand out as if to brush her hair back, or stroke her skin. Instead he pulled back, made a fist out of his hand and gained a grip on himself. He needed to see her face, look into her eyes. He knew just by looking at her, that her attitude and posture would be ideal. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Instead of pawing at her without even gaining her consent, he made to remove the gag. Gerry held his breath. When he prepared Cecilia for this, he had only told her it was in her best interest to obey, to be good. He didn't tell her someone else was going to be there. But he hadn't counted on Ashton removing the gag. Or the blindfold. "No. Wait!" Too late. Ashton walked in front of Cecilia, who was blinking at the sudden return of her sight, and stretching her jaw at the gag's removal. "Thank you, Master." She whispered. Gerry stood immobile. But when Cecilia looked up, it was not Master she saw. After feeling so defeated and beaten from the past few days, Cecilia felt more life in her then she believed was possible. "Who are you? What's happening? Get AWAY from me!" Bollox. This was not going as Gerry planned at all. He figured after a brief demonstration, Ashton would take the girl without much convincing. But now that the girl was misbehaving, it was going to be a tougher sell. "Quiet!" Gerry yelled at her. "Apologies Sir, she isn't fully trained yet." But Cecilia interrupted the rest of he reassurances. "Let me GO! LET ME GO! Please, Please don't do this." Until I say otherwise... This was the person who would ultimately destroy her. Master was already selling her like cattle. She couldn't do this. It was a good thing she hadn't eaten in the past day because she wanted to be sick. She started pulling at the rope binding her wrists, but any movement at all sent pain up her shoulders and neck. She hadn't cried at all yesterday, believing herself to be a beaten thing, but now she wailed and sobbed, begging to be released. Ashton stepped back. What had happened? Cecilia was frantic and going to do damage to herself if she kept pulling at her wrists. He scanned her naked body, and now that he was seeing her closer, he could see the bruises on her chest and rear. This was no fantasy of hers. Something was deadly wrong. "What is the meaning of this?" Ashton raised his voice, and sharply directed the question to Lace. Lace was trying to play the whole thing off. "She's still adjusting to the lifestyle James—" "Don't call me James. What is going on here?" Lace's years of escaping the law told him he had badly misjudged Ashton. He gathered his wits. "I found you exactly what you asked for! Submissive, brunette, musical... You listed what you wanted and I procured it for you!" He knew he had to shift the blame. Somewhere along the line the wires had gotten very badly crossed, and he suspected this might be the time his business caught up with him. "Remember? You wrote me a lovely little letter asking me to find you a needle in a haystack? Here she is!" "Here she is? Does she even want to be here?" Cecilia interjected with more pleas "NO! Let me go PLEASE! PLEASE don't hurt me!" James was stunned in disbelief. He had written looking for a submissive girl... but he had never directed this man to abduct anyone. "Wait just a moment! I didn't say to bring anyone against their will!" Cecilia didn't know what was happening, but she held her breath against her sobs. The man in front of her and Master seemed ready to explode in anger. She didn't know what it meant for her. "No? Where the fuck do you imagine a girl like that was going to be found? I bloody well found and trained a slut fer yeh! She's lit'erlly exactly what you wrote. I created her at yer request!" James wanted to be in denial. Lace had a point. But he never thought it would result in this. The girl in front of him was a victim, not a submissive, not a woman who wanted anything to do with him, and he had, in some convoluted way, set this in motion. He needed to get out of here. James didn't trust himself to speak. He moved behind Cecilia, and started to untie her wrists. Gerry felt himself regaining control of the situation. "Glad we understand each other. I expect you brought payment." Ashton was clearly eager to get his hands on the slave, and Gerry was ready to collect his fee, and move on. This whole presentation had been a disaster, but it was nearly over. James didn't look up, or acknowledge that he heard Lace. He kept pulling at the intricate knots. In any other situation they would have been worth admiring, but right now he had to get the girl out of here. Cecilia's eyes were pouring silent tears. She was afraid. Something bad was happening. For a moment she thought her prayers were answered. The blonde man was freeing her. But it had been the last figment of hope from her tortured mind. He was buying her, just like Master had planned. "It'll be six million." James finally had her wrists free and her arms down. He looked up and set his penetrating stare at the detestable Lace. "It'll be nothing of the sort. You're letting her go. I won't be a part of this." Gerry had thought that they understood each other. Sir Ashton was just as culpable as he was. This was a custom order. He had made a considerable investment in Cecilia, and that wasn't going to just walk out the door because Ashton had a crisis of conscience. "You can let 'er go. After you hand over six million pounds." Chords that Bind Ch. 07 This was absurd. "Like hell I'm giving you money." Cecilia couldn't bear to hear this. The man in front of her was going to free her? Was it all coming to an end? The blonde man lifted her off the pedestal and put himself between her and Master. She hid behind his broad shoulders. Lace was having none of this. He shut the door behind him, closing all three in the room. He was trying to maintain calm. He'd been in scrapes like this before, but he still had control. The only unacceptable outcome was loosing the girl. A slave like her would still command a high price. He could get a return on his investment, even if it wasn't off Ashton. "You can leave with her after you hand over six million pounds. What did you think you were doing? Was this supposed to be some dating ploy? A matchmaking service? Yeh had to 'ave an idea of what yeh were gettin' into. You knew exactly wha' yeh wanted. If you don't want her, that's fine. I'll find another buyer. But yeh can leave now." Ashton looked at him in disgust. He took a few steps forward, and looked down on Lace, drawing on the latent aggression he usually contained. "She's leaving with me. Enough!" Lace was fully appreciating how much taller and bigger Ashton was. To balance the scales he reached into his jacket pocket. "Back away from me." James felt the snub-nosed revolver press against his abdomen. He took a step back. "Tha's right. I'm calling the shots here." Gerry felt so satisfied to see the refined and superficial 'knight' look worried. He wasn't going to be a problem. He didn't have any actual fight in him. Ashton wasn't any real hero that Lace would have to concern himself with. Reality was so clear when you were looking down the barrel of a gun. He strode over to Cecilia, and held the gun to her head. "Kneel." He growled dangerously. Cecilia slowly got to her knees. She had been so close. For a moment she had believed she was free. The blonde man shouted, "Wait just a second! Leave her out of this!" Gerry pointed the gun at Ashton. "This is how this is going to work. You don't want the girl. Fine. But I'll not have you spoiling my investment. Now walk towards the door." James moved instead towards Lace, refusing to be ordered around by a scoundrel. Lace saw where he was going and took another tactic. Ashton wasn't exerting good sense. He pointed the gun at the kneeling girl. "Take one more step towards me and I'll shoot her." Lace saw that his bluff worked. Ashton didn't move. "Walk backwards and out to the corridor. Nice and slow like." James didn't know what else to do. He was in no position to argue. He took a step back. "That's it. Keep going." Lace was enjoying having power over him. James took more steps. Once Ashton was at the door, her took the butt of the gun and knocked Cecilia out cold in one swift motion. Cecilia gasped in exclamation and collapsed without another complaint. He was going to deal with her later. "Now. I'm going to take you back to London, and you'll forget this ever happened. You think of yerself as too much of a gentleman to have the slave you ordered? Well and good, but there are men very willing to pay me what that little slave is worth." He kept prodding Ashton with the gun. They were already out in the driveway. "I fancy you'll drive. After you're back in London you can forget about me, about what you want, about her. And you won't be mentioning this to the coppers." "The hell I won't!" "Now there Jimmy, I think yer mistaken 'bout that. I have emails Jimmy. Loads of emails with yer instructions. Don't think I'll be going down without yeh goin' down wit me." James didn't know what to say to this. In some convoluted way Lace actually believed that James orchestrated the kidnapping of the poor girl. And now he was blackmailing him. This was madness. But it was also chaos, and James had no hand to play. He put the Benz into gear and took off. Lace was gesturing the revolver at his head. "I'd drive more carefully Jimmy-boy. You wouldn't want me to accidentally pull the trigger. Now drive us back to London will yeh?" It took everything in James' power not to ram the car into a tree. But taking himself out with Lace wasn't going to help the girl that he had left behind. So he drove like a model citizen back to London. Now Lace knew where he lived. They had exchanged emails. He was in the most compromised position he had ever been in. The entire drive back to London Lace spent humming nonchalantly to himself, as if this were nothing more than a pleasant day trip. James cursed himself for what he had set in motion. As they pulled up to his townhouse, Lace turned to him. "Alright Jimmy-boy, that could've been worse eh? Now you'll remember to forget all this. I'll drive meself back home. And if you get any cunning ideas, I'd keep them to myself if I was you. If I see you on my property I'll shoot the girl and ask questions later. Do we have an understanding?" "Yes." The word hissed between James' teeth. What a yellow cowardly villain! Goddamnit! How could he have been so stupid? He waited to watch the car pull calmly away. He went to his studio, poured himself a stiff drink and contemplated the options, staring into the toffee-coloured liquor, recalling everything that had led up to him making this horrendous misstep. Josephine had just left him, revealing in her actions that she had never loved him, never felt anything for him, but only for his social standing and reputation. He had gone mad she claimed, why would a Queen's Counsel and Member of Parliament choose to throw it all away to pursue music? She didn't care about the turmoil his love of music created in his childhood, that he had been repressing an artist's soul and passion underneath respectability and normative masks. James' decision to finally make himself happy had cost him the one-sided relationship. He had been shocked and heartbroken to find out that Josephine had more in common with his mother and father than he realized. She wasn't truly alive, and she didn't truly love, but James had trusted her enough to reveal himself, and been scorned in the process. Josephine hadn't been submissive either. All the latent qualities of demure submissiveness that James had been enamoured with had been manipulations. James wanted a real submissive now. Now that he had tossed aside his barrister's wig, he might as well seek out a relationship that would fulfill the void that he had been hiding for years, he scanned the internet looking for underground lifestyle meeting spots and chat rooms. 'Submissive Paramours' had been the result of a drunken Internet search. It rubbed James the wrong way at first, but the site claimed to train submissive women who wanted to find placement in the lifestyle with alpha men. Further exploration made it seem like a dating site, or a social networking platform. Maybe there was a tawdry escort-service feel to some of the services offered, but James was intrigued. The dynamic would already be in place: if he found a girl this way, there would be no false expectations, no disappointments from his submissive that he indulged in his desires to more fully possess the woman to whom he was attached. He set himself up with a free account, allowing him to peruse profiles and pictures of women who wanted a man to want her the way he needed. But hours of flicking through different women and shallow descriptions of their 'dream dom' felt superficial, and nothing spoke to him. They all seemed so ready to put absolute control at the feet of anyone, not bothering to have personalities of their own. That disappointment led James to write his letter to Lace, the man who proctored the website. James knew better now, the website had been a front for Lace, a way to appear marginally respectable while making money victimizing innocent women. After a pull of the scotch, he threw the crystal glass against the wall and yelled his frustration. Years of doing things properly, of making everyone else happy, and as soon as he indulged himself in his own proclivities he landed himself in deep water. He'd always known his desires were traits of a dark monster, but now he was facing it, and had trapped someone else in the process. James' best friend Abraham emerged from the steps leading to his attic studio. "Something you want to share with the class?" Chords that Bind Ch. 08 Happy Christmas Readers! As a Christmas present to everyone, we are finally moving into the next distinct part of Cecilia's story. It was actually quite fun to write these parts, even if they aren't necessarily the steamiest of scenes. Lots of plot and character exploration here, but don't worry, there's so much more in the offing. Thanks for your feedback, votes, critiques and criticisms. It makes writing and posting here so rewarding. -Poeticlicense ***** "Well, it seems to me mate, that you have some liquidating to do" Abraham sighed as the man who was closer to him than a brother, finished his story. "I beg your pardon?" "Enough with all the righteousness and ethics James. Time is of the essence! Contact this Lace fellow and tell him you changed your mind, that you want the girl, and that you'll pay. At the very least you'll get her away from there and safe. You can worry about everything else after that later." "No," James said stubbornly. "I'll do no such thing." "And why not?" "I'm not giving a piece of filth like that a half crown, let alone six million quid!" "James," Abraham sighed, prepared as always for James' stubborn adherence to gentlemanly behavior, "How long does the girl have? Honestly? And, how else to you plan to right this in a timely manner? He's got you cornered by all rights. Emails, phone calls, he knows where you live... You don't have enough evidence to counter him. If you're honestly worried about the girl, then this is how you'll have to save her. You were half a fool for getting involved in this. You always assume people have the best intentions. Of course prosecuting didn't sit right with you. No wonder you left the bar for music!" James didn't like his friend's advice or appreciate the accurate criticism. But that was the wonderful thing about Abraham: he told James things that nobody else had the bollox to say. Was he right? Had he been blindly allowing himself to ignore the implications of his letter? It was two years ago that he wrote it. Lace's 'business' hadn't come off as nearly this dirty. He had thought all the strangeness had been because it was associated with the lifestyle. Regardless, James knew some fault, however unwitting, was his own, and the chivalrous fellow in him wouldn't rest until he made it right. Letting his friend's solution sink in, James daydreamed for a minute, recalling his friendship with Abraham over the years... They hadn't been friends at first. The two alpha students at Oxford had been competitive, each trying to prove their supremacy. Abraham's physical prowess had been a match for James' cunning. After duels on the field playing rugby and football, and battles of wits in philosophy and history, neither had convincingly won the upper hand. Rather, James excelled in intellectual pursuits, his knowledge delving deep, where Abraham's curiosity and impatience led him to scatter his talents wide. The effect was two talented men who had to learn to put up with each other because neither had successfully jockeyed for first position. That tolerance built a friendship (probably because no one else could put up with them) that lasted longer than Abraham's school career. Halfway through Abe decided to join Her Majesty's Marines. James was sorry to see his friend leave before finishing school, but Abraham was eager to have more adventures. When his time in the service was over he spent time in the police force, but his impatience led him to bend too many rules in his pursuit of justice and in frustration with the system, he left the police force as well. He found the perfect solution to his employment status in James. By the time he had finished with the military and the police, James was practicing at the bar, and had a nice practice going. As a private investigator Abraham was able to help his mate, without having to deal with the red tape and procedure that so annoyed him. James' quieter determination and steadiness made him a reliable friend, and because of his impatience and hyper-activity Abraham allowed James to call most of the shots. Their closeness had even managed to survive Abraham's relationship and marriage to Clara, the blonde firebrand of a submissive that had initially caught both their attentions. It had been a short lived competition for her affection, reminiscent of their university days, but James could see the love between the two, and even though he kept his jealousy to himself, he often wished he could find a relationship as rewarding as Clara and Abraham's. Maybe that had been part of what had so badly impaired his judgment when Josephine had left him. James was happy to know he could rely on Abraham when he was being thick. Like now. James was being thick about his available options. He didn't see a clever loophole or way around his problem. But he did see himself as accountable. He looked back to his best mate, (he had been staring into a fresh glass of scotch for an interminable space of time as the contemplated these things) and said "Thank you. Thank you for not judging me. And thank you for telling me the obvious." "Welcome as always. Now, write the bastard back, and tell him you'll take the girl." James did just that. Typing carefully he wrote: Mr. Lace, Sorry for the confusion earlier today. Allow me to apologize for my reaction. I still want Cecilia. You are right; she's everything I wanted. I'm willing to pay you the six million for her. Tell me where I can have it wired to, and when I can take her off your hands. Sincerely, Sir James Ashton James had never written such an insincere thing in his life, and hated rendering even a fake apology, but he couldn't dwell on that. As soon as he sent the letter off, he began taking stock of his portfolio. Most of his assets were fairly liquid, but he still found himself selling off bits and chunks of good companies that his intuition told him would only increase in value. He ground his teeth at the thought of selling the stock for less than it was worth only to hand it over to criminal of the worst sort, but this was penance he told himself. After ensuring he still had controlling interest in his own music publishing company, James sold everything he could, amassing a tidy 5.5 million pounds. He was worried about getting that last half million, when he heard the sound of an incoming email. Heart pounding, James clicked impatiently at his inbox. What he read made his blood boil. James, Surprised to hear from you actually. Glad to see you've had a change of heart, but I've already made other arrangements. You see, Cecilia drew quite a bit of interest when you didn't want her. I'm auctioning her off the day after tomorrow. I can't disappoint the other interested buyers, but feel free to attend the auction and put a bid on her. I trust you'll remain discrete. Gerry Lace "The bloody bastard!" was all Abraham had to say when James showed him the email. "Damnit!" James slammed his fist onto the polished surface of his desk. Time and options were running out. He had no choice. He was going to have to go to the auction and pray to the heavens that he was successful. "I'll go with you," Abraham said, reading his mind. "Where are you going? And is there a reason for all the shouting?" Clara had entered the room, and the two men had the grace to look sheepish and uncomfortable. Under different circumstances, James would have loved for an excuse to take his Jaguar E-Type on the road, but this was likely the last chance he would have the pleasure: he was going to hock the beauty for all it was worth. Between selling off the majority of his stock portfolio, the pristine vintage vehicle, and Italian masterpiece behind him, he imagined he could secure the freedom of the girl he had unwittingly entrapped. Abraham was following behind him in his engineered work of art, his white Maserati Gran Tourismo. It had been a silly purchase, one made in one of his rare fits of rashness. (Although, he was reassessing how often he had been making rash decisions now.) After Josephine had left him, claiming that she had never wanted to be with a musician, but a respectable QC, James decided to embrace his inner-aesthete and bought an Italian sports car. He was actually feeling a good sense of catharsis that he was ridding himself of the thing. Clara was bringing up the rear in his black Audi S4. They would make the drive back home together in the German sedan after the two valuable vehicles were successfully exchanged for Cecilia's ransom money. Clara had not been pleased that the two men wanted to leave her out of the affair. She was torn between wanting to beat both Abraham and James to a pulp, and aiding in the rescue mission. The little blonde submissive was uncharacteristically vocal in telling the men exactly what idiots they were, and in demanding to help them. After stamping her feet and making a fair few points, they agreed she could help them with selling the cars, and getting a room prepared for Cecilia, assuming they were successful. If they weren't all this would be for naught. Gerry had immediately set an auction in motion. He wasn't going to waste anymore time on training this girl. She had ruined her only chance. He told her. 'Obey the first time, every time.' He had taught her what she needed to know, and there were no excuses. But she still had value. Her virginity was enough. Gerry should have told that to Ashton, it might have sweetened the deal. Too late though. He didn't like admitting how concerned Ashton's reaction had made him and he needed to get rid of the girl quickly. He mailed some of his best customers and billed the auction as a special fire sale. As he suspected, there was a wealth of interest in a submissive virgin. The pictures and footage he included sealed the deal, and within 48 hours he would be free of the volatile investment. Cecilia had thought she had been living a nightmare before, but she was certain now, that things could get worse. They already had. Her head was spinning. After she regained consciousness from being pistol-whipped, Master punished her. Her cheeks were swollen from the number of times he had backhanded her. She felt a piercing pain every time she took too deep a breath. That must have been after she had tried to run one last time. He'd slammed her into a wall trying to flee. When he pressed up against her she bit his ear and scratched his face, leaving a new tear in his visage to match his other scar. It had been gratifying for a moment, until he kneed her in the solar plexus and then kicked repeatedly her while she was down. With the wind knocked out of her, and a new impediment to her breathing Cecilia couldn't do anything as she was tied to a cross on the wall. She thought he had unleashed all the cruelty available to him, had used all the weapons at his disposal, but she was sorely mistaken. He whipped her back, and not with the soft flogger like before, but with a single-tailed whip. It easily tore at her skin, her back had already been sensitive, but this was another level of hurt. She felt sickened by the drip of her own blood down her back. Before she passed out he held a knife to her throat and pulled her hair back, forcing her to look into his dark eyes, telling her he held her life in his hands. Finally her mind cooperated and she remembered nothing more. Gerry was wondering if he had been too vigorous in subduing the girl. She had quite a few open gashes across her back, and the shiners on her cheeks weren't going down... that was the sort of thing he usually avoided, it only attracted sadists, not the better class of customer he had been targeting... but it was also no more than the girl deserved. He shrugged it off. It wasn't every day a virgin was on the market, and after he had his profit, he didn't care what happened to the girl. The email he received shocked him. Ashton wanted the girl now. The bloody idiot should have made up his mind sooner. But he could see his profit margin increasing. Ashton was more than welcome to bid, but the initial offer was no longer on the table. Gerry was going to maintain control, and made sure to keep pressure on the man. If he did manage to win the girl, it was only more incriminating evidence to keep him quiet. Cecilia knew she was doomed from the way Master was tying her up. He brought her arms behind her and tied them from elbow to wrist, partially obscuring some of the worst of the slashes on her back. He tied her collar to a point somewhere above and behind her, reminding her of a noose. She was breathing shallowly and quickly wondering if she could will herself to die before she was sold. She was too afraid now to do anything without being told to, and let Master fix the ring gag between her teeth. Her final humiliation was the crude cardboard placard he hung from her clamped nipples. It read 'naughty girls can't come', a fact he reminded her of as he fondled her sex to the point of desperation. Lace was pleased with the sight of Cecilia, and proud of himself for keeping her virginity intact this long. It was going to make him a nice sum. He also enjoyed humiliating the girl who had caused him so much trouble when she should have been such an easy sub to train. She was wet and wanting, and already drooling from the gag. There would be no more outbursts that could compromise the sale this time. James and Abraham drove to Lace's compound after leaving a fuming Clara behind. They didn't want her near the likes of the men likely to be there tonight. Abraham looked at the array of cars parked so conspicuously in the horseshoe drive. A bright yellow Dodge Viper, robins egg blue Lamborghini Aventador, and an ostentatious red Ferrari Spider greeted the two men who drove up in the S4, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Now it seemed as if they should have kept one of the other cars so as to blend in better. Driving something as showy as these supercars didn't bode well for James and Abraham. Was the 7.5 million pounds in James' Swaine Adeney Brigg briefcase going to be enough? "I'm not sure about this Abe. We aren't going to have enough." "I've got you covered mate." From the trunk, Abraham withdrew his own shabby briefcase from college. James looked at him shocked. "There's another two and quarter in there." "Where did you get that?" "I may have picked up a few stock tips that weren't for my ears. I'm very good at gathering intelligence, as you well know." "I can't ask that from you." "You didn't. Consider it a loan. I know where you live after all." Abe smirked at him, trying to find something funny amidst all the dark dealings they had been thrust into over the past few days. "Besides, Clara suggested it. She was not about to let you be the only hero tonight." They started walking up the drive. "There's nothing heroic about this. It's all abysmal, and I have half a mind to turn myself in. This is only going to be a Band-Aid on a gaping wound, even if we are successful." "Stop. One thing at a time. Let's get this girl out of here, and then we can work on the rest of this problem." The door opened before them. At least they hadn't underdressed; the other men in the room had dressed in black tie, as if this were a fancy-dress dinner. Abe and James had worn their own Sunday best, hoping to appear as serious as possible, but the people around them had taken it to the next level. Armani tuxedoes and tailored double-breasted jackets were the order of the day, and even in his Ted Baker three-piece suit, James was intimidated by what he was trying to pull off. These were the men of organized crime behind all the villains he used to prosecute. The Italian-American with his greasy hair, the Arab in full dress regalia, a Russian with a heavy accent and fur trimmed collar, all chatted amiably and stopped as soon as the Englishmen entered looking as out of place as mules among prize dressage horses. They didn't carry themselves with the same arrogance as these men. Only Abe's oversized, steadfast presence kept James from turning and leaving to call the police instead of nodding to the other men in the entrance hall. Abraham was happy he was here to support his friend. He realized he looked like a bodyguard next to his friend who was shorter in stature and less built, but maybe this would help maintain appearances. This was like when he snooped undercover, so he embraced the air of criminality and said in as dismissive a voice as possible, "Evening gentlemen." The tension broke in the room and after cursory nods in their direction, they went back to discussing whatever had been keeping their interest before he and James entered. A moment later, James nudged him and indicated a slight man who was walking down the stairs. "That's him." "Nasty scar on that one. Someone got him good," Abe whispered. "Someone got him again. The one cut is fresh." James had a sinking feeling about what he was going to see when he finally laid eyes on Cecilia again. Despite the fact that this was a rescue mission, James couldn't help but feel his stomach twist in knots that had nothing to do with the auction. He admitted to himself that he had something of an infatuation with Cecilia. Although, there was no way she could ever want him. He pushed those feelings down, ashamed that he could even think of wanting her after what he had done. "Gentlemen," Lace addressed the gathered group of traffickers and underworld crime lords, "shall we?" Lace was in a positively buoyant mood. Ashton had turned up. He was certain to drive the bidding up now, and entrap himself further. This was all that Lace could've hoped for, given the situation. James climbed the stairs in exaggerated slowness, trying to hide how eager he was to get this over with. He was sick to his stomach, lost in a daze, and Abe caught him as he missed a step. "Pull yourself together mate," Abe whispered darkly to him, "pretend your prosecuting, you're about to achieve justice for this girl." The words heartened James somewhat, but that was behind him. He had abandoned law in favor of his passion for music, but it was his dark passions that had created this mess. He nodded and assumed the air of the Queen's Council he had once been. Drawing on the strength that came from good intentions, he walked into the same room he had seen Cecilia in two days past. Without Abe there bucking him up, he might have done something foolish right away. The girl had been terribly abused. Dark bruises colored her torso, and nasty shiners glowed sickly on her high cheekbones. Her abasement had nothing to do with mutual pleasure: Cecilia had been turned into an object of the darkest sort of desires: The sort that had never appealed to him or Abe, who had always been interested in sharing mutually rewarding exchanges in the lifestyle. He heard Abe take a sharp breath and knew it was as bad as he thought. Rounding behind her he saw the marks that could only have been left by a bullwhip. Abraham put an arm out in front of James. They couldn't afford a fit of gallantry now. Cecilia shut her eyes as imposing men filed into the room, all eyes lit up with dark purpose and malicious intent. They didn't see her; they saw her spread thighs and clamped nipples, her mouth forced cruelly open. She shook her head, her voice silenced after yesterday, finally loosing her voice completely, and having her mouth pried open by the ring gag. Then she felt the hands. They were all over her, turning her head this way and that, inspecting her teeth, palming her breasts, enjoying tormenting her as they tugged at the embarrassing sign hung from her nipples. They laughed and smacked her in what was supposed to be a playful fashion as she moved her hips towards the hands stimulating her pussy. Chords that Bind Ch. 08 "Such a wanton for a virgin, Lace" The Russian observed. "I'm not entirely convinced." A finger pushed into her tight entrance. A man with a North Jersey accent answered, "She's tight enough though, come feel her little cunt. I'd buy it." Cecilia was helpless as she was rudely fingered and discussed like one would a racehorse. She couldn't help the fact that she had been kept on the brink and responded to the touches. But Master saw what was happening. "Gentlemen, I assure you, she's a virgin, but as you can see, she isn't allowed to come, so if you'd please refrain..." Gerry trailed off, enjoying humiliating the girl one more time. James and Abraham looked to each other, shocked at the depravity. "A virgin?" Abe mouthed to him. James shook his head and ground his teeth. He hadn't known. A part of him ached to fully possess the creature. Even though she had been kidnapped and held against her will she was untouched. An innocent in every sense of the word, and he had to tamp down the side of him that wanted to do more than just save her. The Arab took notice of the whip marks, stroking down the girl's back making her shudder, "What did she do Lace? This was quite a punishment," he asked. "I believe I'll let Mr.—oh, beg your pardon—Sir Ashton, tell you that." James had been hanging back from the others staring intently on his prize as other men had the nerve to touch what should be his. Summoning up a cruelty that he never liked to admit he had, he answered Lace without looking at him. He paced towards the girl slowly as he listed the sins that had led to her appalling abuse. "The girl had the nerve to disobey. She spoke out of turn. Most disrespectful on the whole. Doesn't really have the proper attitude, but she is comely enough." James bit back his derision for Lace and channeled it into the contempt in his voice, continuing, "She even had me convinced that she didn't want to be here, as if she wasn't obviously a slut. Just look at her for Christ sakes. Dripping from both ends." Cecilia opened her eyes and recognized the blonde man from the other day. The one who had tried to help her. He was no friend to her, she could see now that there was no goodness in him, only sadistic intent: he had only pretended to help her, only now to be adding to her fear and sorrow. It was just a farce, she had heard Master say he 'ordered' her, had listed the qualities he'd wanted trained and beaten into her. This man terrified her the most of the men in the room. As he ridiculed her, he started walking towards her, and she wondered if he would strike her too. He was boring holes under her skin, and the rigidity with which he held himself was too intense. The huge man next to him with the bald head seemed to be his body guard, and she didn't want to know how quickly she would be subdued if she tried to run again. James saw the terror in her eyes as Cecilia recognized him. It broke his heart, but he couldn't drop his guise now. Everyone in the room was sizing him up. He walked to her with his hand raised, ready to convince the whole room he could be just as demented as they, when Lace stepped in front of him. The fury in Ashton was astounding, and Lace knew he had unleashed something in the man the other day. There was no crisis of conscience now; in fact he was sure the man was about to hit his merchandise. "I'll ask you to not strike the girl Sir, at least until she's yours." The Arab found that ironic "Don't want to damage her more than you already have Lace?" Cecilia thought that maybe the turbaned man wouldn't be so terrible. She was so afraid of the aristocratic Englishman that any of these other men seemed preferable. "Maybe we should just start the bidding," the mobbed-up looking Italian said. He sounded impatient, and stroked her sore cheek. It hurt so much, that threateningly possessive gesture, soft though it was, reminded her that there were no good guys here. "Right then. Let's open the bidding at three million." James held his breath for a moment. No one put in a bid, all hoping to lower the price, and they were successful. "Do I hear two point five?" "Two point five" said the mobbed-up American, the first to bid. James took note of his features, promising himself he'd see all these men again, but in court, fantasizing that he'd prosecute them... "Come now, gents, how about three?" "Three million." James said quietly as he dared. The Arab raised a long eyebrow at him, seeming to appraise James differently. Lace spurred the bidding on, no one was rapid-fire bidding though, all hoping to appear less interested than they were. James was quiet as he sensed greater purpose course through the assembled men. He doubted if his funds would be enough to free Cecilia. For the first time since she had heard the cello sonata, Cecilia wished there was music playing. She had found some strange ability in her body to withdraw from the present when it was playing, and she wanted nothing more than to stop feeling the pain radiating from her body, and perverted desire course through her blood, she didn't want to hear the men bidding on her, offering unfathomable sums of money if it meant they could do whatever they pleased to her. Three million? Four? Five! She could hear the different voices driving her asking price further up. She saw the blonde and his bald bodyguard and knew they had every intention of being the ones to win her. She looked imploringly at the Russian and Arab, praying that whoever would win her had mercy. There wouldn't be any escape after this, she was going to cost too much money to be allowed even a chance at freedom. Bidding reached 6.5 million, and Gerry knew he had beaten his projected profit on the girl already. She had been a lucky find, and circumstances were all to his advantage. He egged the betting on. "It's not everyday you find a submissive virgin on the market... who'll give me seven?" James was nauseous. They were fast approaching the threshold his funds had set. Something had to be done before he and Abe were out of the running. He heard himself speak, and it was too late to take it back. "I'll give you eight." The Englishman had spoken deadly soft as he upped the ante. Cecilia felt tears stain her swollen cheeks, knowing that soon if was going to be over, and she'd be in a worse state than she could possibly imagine. Without the music she was stuck where she was, without a balm or distraction to calm her mind or senses. James' boldness had paid off. At least the American seemed to be rethinking the expense and the Arab had been feigning interest, but seemed to think that the whipping would leave permanent scars, making her worth less than what the other men were bidding. The Russian though, held firm. "Eight and a half." He said in his thick accent. "Eight and three quarters now, with another million wired to a Swiss account." James had used his last hand. He had bid everything he had available to him. The extra million he added to what he and Abe brought represented his inheritance from his father, which he swore he would never touch. The Russian bowed his head. "No. Even a virgin isn't worth ten million. May you have the joy of her." Lace was ecstatic. Nine point seven five million! He had hit the mother lode with this girl. And he had proof of concept. Ashton had been more than willing to pay for the tailor-trained slave. This business was going to generate more money than he knew what to do with. "Done. Sold to Sir Ashton for nine and three quarters of a million pounds." When Cecilia heard the words leave Master's lips, the color drained from her face. She felt cold all over. He wouldn't stop staring at her. His cool blue eyes were vibrant with possibility, and she didn't want to know what he would do to her first. He and his friend walked towards her. The bigger man was untying the rope looped through her collar. James was shaking. He had done it. Somehow he was going to be leaving with the girl tonight. He nodded to Abraham as he started loosening the binding ropes. "You're mine now." He said for the benefit of everyone in the room. At these words, Cecilia fainted, and James caught her, easily holding her weight as Abraham undid the last of the knots. "Congratulations James," Lace had approached him as he hoisted the girl in his arms. "I knew she was the one for you. As for payment..." His voice trailed off in a distasteful suggestion. Abraham spared James the effort of speaking. He emptied the two briefcases on the pedestal that Cecilia had been kneeling on. Stacks of her Majesty's currency tumbled heavily out of the dossier cases. "As Sir Ashton said: That's eight and three quarters now. The rest will be sent to wherever you find most convenient." The scumbag had an answer to that. "Here," he thrust a business card with a Swiss bank's logo on it. "Speak with Etienne. She'll settle the balance on the account." Abraham grabbed the card and gruffly murmured assent. Abe opened the back door to the car, and James handed her off to climb in. There was a warm tartan blanket in the passenger seat. They laid Cecilia's prone body down with her head on James' lap, and wrapped her in the blanket. "She's burning up." Abe sighed. "I know. Let's get her home." "Right." Abe drove slowly at first, the weight of the whole affair, of what they had just done pressed on them both. But as they pulled away from the array of brightly colored cars, Abe put his foot on the accelerator, and let the supercharged Audi release a low roar. It might not be the fastest or the showiest, but Abe felt the need to have just a tease of a victory lap. They had done what they set out to do. James smiled at his friend's driving flourish. But looking down at the poor girl lying across his lap, he only felt sadness. He still needed to right everything that had been done to her because of him. And because of him, Cecilia would never see him as anything other than a monster. He briefly imagined that he was heroically whisking her away from danger, that he had rescued her instead of buying her. But getting her away from everyone else there would have to be enough. Underneath her swollen cheeks, he could tell that her high cheekbones were ever so slightly exotic. Her hair was long and curly, and her fevered body was perfect. He wanted more than to just hold her as they drove back to London. His conscience was guilty, but his desire was turning this into a punishment all its own. He kept his hands still, making sure to keep her warm and safe, wishing that he had met Cecilia under different circumstances. At home, James carried Cecilia into the house without saying a word. Clara was ready to go with a pot of Earl Grey and some hot soup, but James didn't acknowledge her efforts when he walked in holding the girl. He'd broken his own heart. Now that she was in his house he felt the gravity of what had been taken from Cecilia. He couldn't be responsible for hurting her any more. He was going to steal these last few moments with her, admiring and atoning in the dark room they had set aside. He didn't turn on any lights, just let illumination from the corridor peek into the room, and watched her as she slept. Cecilia would sleep for awhile yet, and he'd go before she stirred. He could only imagine the terror he would incite if he were there when she woke. She needed medical attention, and James wasn't going to delay that any longer. He should have called a doctor as soon as they arrived, but he procrastinated a few moments longer, savouring this one chance to be alone with her. Regardless of their success, James knew now that he couldn't be trusted alone with her. He wanted her badly and the strangeness of all the events leading up to this had made the boundaries too murky for his liking. He felt exactly like a predator, and something about her helplessness was calling to him like a siren song. No. He'd done enough damage. It was time to leave. Clara had been anxiously waiting downstiars, only Abe was keeping her from running up to see the girl they had rescued. But when James came downstairs she could tell now was not a time to press him. "I'm calling Dr. Patel. She's got a fever, and I don't like the look of those bruises. She's sleeping now." Several years before, James had been prosecuting Dr. Patel for defrauding the pediatrics fund for underprivileged children. Thousands of pounds had gone missing, and a few hundred had turned up in bad hedge funds under Dr. Patel's name. James was pushing for severe charges, even though there were some numbers that didn't add up, and Dr. Patel insisted he was innocent and had never invested in hedge funds in his life. The niggling details made James dig deeper, and he found that not only was Dr. Patel innocent, he had had his identity stolen and was being framed for the fraud. If James had been any less thorough, Dr. Patel would be behind bars and Bruce Howard would have gotten away with £30,000. As it was, James had saved Dr. Patel's freedom and reputation. He never had any need to ask for favors before, but James was about to ask a big one from Dr. Patel. When he arrived he hugged James like an old friend. "I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but can we keep this visit between us? I've gotten myself into a sticky wicket. Please trust me..." James said, leading the doctor and Clara up the stairs and nervously wringing his hands. Cecilia was still sleeping, but Dr. Patel turned on the lights. "Ashton! What happened?! Who is this?" "Honestly, I don't want to tell you. Just know that I'm trying to get her help. Cecilia's been terribly abused, can we leave it at that?" "This is not your doing I trust?" James didn't know how to answer that. "I didn't beat her, no. I'm trying to help her, and the first thing I did was call you. I think she's got a fever." Dr. Patel nodded. He had often seen victims of domestic abuse, but couldn't believe that Ashton couldn't have done this to the girl. Ashton wouldn't have asked him over here if it hadn't been important. He pulled the sheets off her and agreed with Ashton's assessment about a fever. The bruises though, were alarming, particularly the one on her left side. Patel went into doctor mode, preferring not to think about the person who had done this to the girl. Clara gasped when she saw the sleeping girl. James looked at his feet. Maybe this was part of making all of this right, enduring the reactions from those around him, knowing he was the prime mover of the things that Cecilia had been forced to endure. Cecilia stirred, but didn't wake as the doctor rolled her over. "Christ! Ashton!" James knew he had seen the whip marks on her back. "How do you explain this?" "Look, I... I can't explain it. I just..." "Doctor, what he means to say is that he rescued her." Clara spoke up clearly, and with an authority she never employed. "He found men hurting her, and he took her away, and now he's trying to get medical help. That's all. You can't honestly think he did this?!" The doctor relaxed. That sounded more like the Ashton he knew. He had thought he was covering up for some sick abuser for a moment. "I trust you'll be prosecuting to the fullest extent of the law?" James hadn't been practicing law for years now. Dr. Patel knew that, but for now, if it would help get Cecilia the attention she needed, James agreed. "Yes, after an official investigation of course." Patel nodded. That was in order, now, to see about treating the marks for infection... Clara stayed with Cecilia and the doctor. James withdrew, feeling as though he had invaded Cecilia's presence long enough. When Dr. Patel came downstairs, James was impatient. "Well?" "She woke up while I was examining her. Not very lucid. She gave me her name, couldn't tell me where she was..." This wasn't good. Patel was going to turn him in. Maybe that was what he had wanted, but had been too cowardly to do himself. "...I told her she was safe and she seemed to believe me. Very disoriented on the whole. She appears to be concussed. She's got a few cracked ribs as well. Every time I had her breathe deep for me it hurt her. I wrapped it up, there's nothing for it but to heal on its own. She's very dehydrated, and still in shock. Clara said she was going to get her some soup or something... James? Do you know who did this?" "Yes. I do." "Then I expect you'll make sure they pay for this." "I will." James answered solemnly. 'I just don't know how', he thought. Chords that Bind Ch. 09: Fugue Dear Readers, So sorry that it has been such a long gap between chapter 8 and chapter 9. Life, as it happens, has gotten in the way. Fret not, I've got a nice cushion of story to try and ensure that we don't get stranded high and dry, but the frequency of my updates has taken a necessary decline. On the other hand, you'll notice that this section of Cecilia's story is called Fugue and it does take a different tone than the Prelude section. I'll thank you ahead of time for suspending your disbelief as far as legalities and paperwork are concerned... after all... we are entertaining illegalities from the get-go... So with that disclaimer, and another reminder that the author does not encourage or condone anything done to another person without their consent... etc etc... please enjoy chapter 9! ~Poeticlicense *** James walked to his studio. Abraham had left Lace's card on his desk. There was nothing else to do, and no way to feel any worse about the situation, so he had his inheritance wired to Lace's Swiss bank account. At least that money was going to do Cecilia some good. It secured her freedom from the trafficker. James had never known what to do with the money. It had a cursed aura around it, and James felt a knot ease in his chest that it was finally gone. Several hours later, James had another email from Lace. It acknowledged the transaction. As a final completion to the wretched business, Lace emailed an entire dossier of info on Cecilia, the hard copy of which was being conveyed to James by messenger. Medical files, school transcripts and a few photos were all organized neatly. The cover page indicated what forms of identification were contained. The little boxes next to 'passport', 'birth certificate', and 'Social Security card' were left blank. There was a check mark next to the item 'State ID', but it was followed by a handwritten note in Lace's childish writing: 'Expiring soon'. James flipped to see the photocopy of Cecilia's ID. It would expire by the end of the week. Damnit! And she didn't have a passport? With no secondary identification, James didn't see how he was going to get the girl home... Yes, James had every intention of restoring Cecilia back to her home. But without a passport she wouldn't be able to obtain a visa. Technically she wasn't allowed to be in the country at all, and could be arrested as an illegal immigrant under British law. James groaned. His desire to do the right thing was making this more and more difficult. He was going to have to get the poor girl a passport and a visa before he could make good on his promise to himself and restore Cecilia to the life that had been taken from her. *** Cecilia knew she was dreaming. It was the only way she could feel so warm and safe. She decided to never open her eyes, because then she would be back in her cold cell and the Master would return to hurt her. And she did hurt. But... why did she have pain in a good dream? Cecilia rolled to her side and instantly regretted the movement. The pain was dull but insistent. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sunlight warming her face. She knew the sun was part of the dream, because she didn't have a window in her cell. She curled up deeper into the soft bed, and moaned at her body's resistance. She felt dizzy in the dark, as if her bed were wobbling, balancing on three legs. Cecilia was faintly nauseous now. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes, and instantly felt the world stabilize around her. She was in a soft warm bed. Not the one that she was so often chained to in her cell. This one had pillows and a comforter that was wrapped tightly around her. She blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window. "I knew you'd wake up soon." The voice came from a girl that looked like a china doll. Her face was a perfectly symmetrical oval, with pale delicate features and very blue eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in an orderly chignon. She smiled with her eyes. Cecilia wanted to get a better look at the girl who was speaking, and tried to sit up. "No, no, no... I wouldn't...!" "Mmmmhhh!" The effort was too great and the pain that had only been dull was now sharp and at the forefront of her mind. "Just lie down." The girl, no, woman, she was older than she appeared, had a pretty lilt to her speech. It wasn't rough like Master's, but poetic, Irish maybe. Cecilia tried to ask 'Who are you?' but nothing came out of her throat. "Don't try to talk now, or sit up. You've been through quite a bit. I've got some tea, or some soup if you like. I'm Clara by the way. And I'm very happy you're here and awake." Cecilia didn't know what to make of this 'Clara'. But she ignored her warning and tried to sit up. Everything ached terribly. Her wrists didn't want to support her arms or upper body, breathing was a monumental effort, the pain made her head spin, and her back and bottom were tender. Overcoming the pain, Cecilia was up, but had to close her eyes for a moment. Where was she? She couldn't remember being here, or how she got here. The last thing she remembered was... The auction. The scary blonde man and giant bald man had won her. But where were they? "Alright then, since you're up, have some soup. But you mustn't move too much. You need rest and healing. Here," She said, putting a tray table in front of Cecilia, "Don't eat too much too quickly though, the doctor said you were weak and dehydrated." The doctor said... Then she must be in a hospital? But looking around the room, it didn't much look like a hospital. It was furnished with an antique dresser and armoire, the white paint crackling, showing a bleached wood underneath. The bed was too big for a hospital and she wasn't hooked up to an IV drip. She looked back at Clara. She could be a nurse the way she was talking, but she wasn't dressed like a nurse. Her fitted black leggings clung to her lithe frame, and soft lavender leg warmers clung to her calves. The loose tunic she wore draped off her shoulders in effortless grace. "How...?" Cecilia whispered, trying to get command of her lost voice. Her questions were cut off. "Don't worry about that now. Just eat your soup. I'll be right back." The soup smelled good, and Cecilia couldn't remember the last time she ate, so although she was loath to obey more commands blindly, Cecilia slurped at the broth, feeling the warmth soothe her throat. Clara rushed down the stairs. "She's awake! Abraham! James! She's up!" Clara was nearly shrill with excitement. She found Abraham doing something intently on his laptop, but James was nowhere to be seen. Abraham looked up and smiled at his wife's enthusiasm. She loved nothing more than lavishing attention on her latest projects, and clearly, Cecilia was going to be Clara's new mission. "Does she remember anything?" Clara was caught short by the question. "She hasn't got much of a voice at the moment. But I have her sipping at some tea and soup. She's in pain though; you can see it on her face. I thought to give her something to dull the pain. Do you think that'd be alright?" "Dr. Patel didn't say anything. Poor girl probably needs a painkiller after everything." "That's what I figured. Where's James? I thought he'd want to be the first to know." "I'm not so sure about that. He's been in the studio since the doctor left..." "Oh." Clara knew what it meant when James shut himself away like that. "Well, I'll go tell him anyway." She said it with a question in her voice, looking to Abraham to agree. "He needs to know," he shrugged, "it's not as if he isn't concerned, he's just... processing a lot. You know how he loves to hate himself, and to be honest, he gave himself a pretty good reason." "But, he's making it right, I mean, we're going to get her better..." "I know that sweetness. But he... Just, you know how he gets when given the chance. Go. Tell him. Maybe it'll snap him out of it." Clara ran up to the third floor, looking for James. All three of them lived together in James' converted townhome. The townhouse had been in James' family for generations. He couldn't make himself sell the property, but had gutted and renovated much of the space. He'd created a proper recording studio in the attic, and done away with his parents' terrible aesthetic choices, removing their memory with the tacky window dressings and bland furniture. It was too big a house for just him, so he'd insisted Abe be his housemate. When Clara came into the picture, James told them nothing had to change, that they could all easily share the space. It was an unorthodox living situation, but it worked for them. *** Cecilia was not content to just slurp at soup. She scanned the room. Unlike her cell it was cluttered with lots of brickabrack. Hair combs and brushes were scattered on the bureau, dried flowers stood vigil in vases. The walls were painted a calming periwinkle and sheer, airy curtains trimmed two big windows. There were some photos on the nightstand next to Cecilia's old-fashioned brass bedstead. She bit her lip against the pain, and leaned over to examine them. In one frame was the bald man who had been at the auction with the blonde. In the other frame just behind it was a photo of the two men with Clara, all smiling jovially, bundled up against the snow that was swirling around them in the picture. Cecilia didn't know exactly what their association was, but it was possible that Clara was enslaved too. Or they were all working together. Nothing else made any sense, and that was when Cecilia knew she had stayed put too long. With great difficulty she swung her legs to the side of the bed. It took her a moment to realize she was no longer naked. Someone had dressed her in an oversized grey sweatshirt emblazoned with Oxford and black sweats that were far too long for her short legs. It was more than she had worn in days. Having something to cover herself gave her another burst of courage. Clara hadn't locked her in. She struggled to quietly reach the threshold. No one was in the hallway or monitoring her room. She could see what appeared to be the front door on the second landing just below the stairwell. The house she was in was older. From what Cecilia could tell, the walls were covered in silk, not wallpaper. The polished wood stairs looked like they would creak. She held her breath. Clinging to the railing to fight bouts of dizziness, Cecilia half crawled down the stairs. She wanted to be sick but fought back her weakness. 'When you're free you can rest. If you escape you can be sick,' at least, that's what she told herself. Cecilia heard steps above her. She panicked, not sure what they would do with her if they found her trying to escape. Cecilia never thought this far ahead, to the consequences of failure. Throwing caution to the wind, she rounded the banister taking the stairs two steps at a time. She made it to the first landing. The front door was within reach. That was when the giant bald man stood at the bottom of the staircase. He just looked amused. Cecilia couldn't let herself be caught. She could see the way out. She stumbled, losing her footing as her tiny ankle rolled and gave out. Abraham saw Cecilia falling. "Oy, watch...!" He ran up and caught her before she could tumble down the rest of the stairs. Just the impact from catching her around the waist made Cecilia whimper. Abe could hear her crying again, sobs wracked her frame as weak wheezing sounds tore at her chest. Cecilia weighed nothing to Abraham. As carefully as he could, he scooped her up. Clara was just above them on the stairs with James in tow. Clara looked concerned, but James was unreadable. "I think she thought she was trying to escape," Abraham said by way of explanation. Cecilia shuddered, wondering how they would punish her. She shouldn't have tried it. Maybe she should have waited to heal a bit. Her body hadn't been cooperative since she woke in her cell with Master, why did she think that battered and bloodied it would be of any use now? She whispered in her raspy voice. "Please don't hurt me! Please?" She sounded so pathetic. Her only chance was blown and she knew it. "Easy there," The man who was holding her had a deep voice. She felt it resonate against his chest where he held her. "Calm down. Let's get you back to bed. You shouldn't be up and about yet." "No one's going to hurt you," Clara added. Cecilia doubted that though. But there was nothing left in her that could fight. James felt awful looking at the defeated form of Cecilia sobbing and crying in Abraham's arms. Granted, Abraham was so burly that he dwarfed most people around him, but Cecilia seemed even smaller and more fragile than before. What was more, she honestly believed that they were going to hurt her. And why wouldn't she think that? He had managed to play his part perfectly at the auction. Every man there believed he was going to be cruel and heartless to her. He had threatened her and bought her for Christ sakes! He wanted to do anything to lessen the mental and physical anguish she was in. The best way he knew how to do that was to stay away. There seemed to be nothing for it though. Clara was dragging him back up the stairs and into the room they had set aside for Cecilia. Clara insisted that the guest suite she prepared for Cecilia's arrival was best for her to recover in, with its soothing beach-at-twilight colours. That arrangement had been another thing that nagged at James. He had wanted to give up his own bed and let Cecilia take his room. But he bit back the suggestion, the gentleman in him realizing how inappropriate that would seem. The three filed into the room and Cecilia looked at them wearily through teary eyes. God they were expressive! What James wouldn't do to have those eyes look at him without fear. He had put it there though, so he forced himself to endure the frightful way she took in her surroundings. Abraham handled Cecilia as if she would break and set her on the bed. "There. Don't try to get up. Anything you need, we'll fetch for you." "See?" Clara insisted, "We're not going to hurt you. We want you to get better." James didn't trust himself to speak. He just nodded. Cecilia was shaking her head. "We know what you've been though, and we're sorry we added to your hurt, but we got you out of there. You're safe here." Abraham was speaking slowly and calmly. Clara smiled and nodded, "They rescued you, Abraham and James did." James shot Clara a dark look. 'Rescue'? Ha! As if there was something heroic about what he had done. Clara ignored him, prattling on, telling Cecilia she was safe. James needed to leave the room. He caught Abraham's eye, silently communicating his frustration and guilt. Abe let him pass, and followed him out. Clara seemed to have the comforting and reassuring well in hand. The presence of the two men seemed to intimidate the girl. Cecilia had stopped paying full attention to what Clara was saying after she said 'rescue'. That was a loose term for her wasn't it? It was more like out of the frying pan and into the fire. Sure, she wasn't with Master anymore, but Clara was clearly a slave to the two men. They were both so intimidating in different ways. The bald man, Abraham, was huge and muscular, and had already demonstrated how easily he could handle her. But the other one, James, he gave her the impression that he could see right through her. He looked intelligent, giving the impression that his intellect could pin you down with a whim of his thoughts. Cecilia was even more afraid of him. The look he gave Clara was not lost on Cecilia. He knew that they hadn't rescued her. That clearly wasn't the intent. She felt anger in his gaze too. When he left, Cecilia was relieved. For now though, her situation seemed somewhat better. At least she wasn't chained naked to the bed. Clara would be of little help, she was clearly broken and in love with the two men, but maybe she had information. "What happened to me?" she strained to ask the question. Cecilia couldn't remember past the auction, and the things leading up to it were foggy around the edges. "Doctor Patel said you had a concussion, so that's why you probably feel dizzy. You've got a few cracked ribs, and... well dear, your back..." Clara trailed off, not wanting to graphically remind Cecilia of the whipping she endured. Clara didn't need to say more. That was all the prompting she needed. Master had whipped her bloody, he kicked her when she bit him. She remembered putting up a fight though. She didn't realize she had squeezed her eyes tight against the memory. Clara was comforting her, rubbing her shoulders and arms as she cried. *** James had approved the concert schedule that his agent sent over. In order to recover his finances after Cecilia's rescue, he quickly contacted his agent and said he was suddenly very interested in touring. The money for touring worldwide, visiting concert halls and appearing as a guest conductor would quickly refill his accounts, even if his stock portfolio was going to take longer to recover. He looked over the repertoire that his agent had arranged. Beethoven, Bach, Rachmaninoff... the giants in solo piano greeted him like friends from a slightly shady past. No easy pieces here. All were monstrously difficult beasts of musical canon. Good. He would let preparing for these dates absorb his attention. He had taken very light work this concert season, turning down dates with overwrought programs or ones that required lengthy travel, happy to perform now and then, but comfortable enough not to have to take anything he didn't want. That had changed. James welcomed the distraction. The Goldberg Variations, The Pathetique, Mozart piano sonatas... it was predictable, but the music was still good. He was excited to see his itinerary in Berlin would include guest conducting some Prokofiev. He could bury himself in the music and let Clara take care Cecilia. Clara was at times, too domestic and accommodating, but now he was grateful that it appeared he could rely on her to help Cecilia recover. He searched his music library and pulled out his Bach sheet music. *** Clara had drugged her. Cecilia was sure of it because she couldn't keep her eyes open. They were heavy and she felt so warm and comfortable. Languor was suffusing her limbs. Her belly was full of delicious soup, her throat soothed by the tea Clara made her drink, and now she was falling asleep. But she couldn't. Cecilia knew that the air of safety that Clara and her two masters were creating was false. They were trying to manipulate her into thinking she was safe. Clara watched as Cecilia's foolish exertion caught up with her. The poor dear was drowsing, even as she tried to finish her tea. Clara cleared the tray away, and dimmed the blinds, letting the room darken so Cecilia could sleep. Abraham peeked in as Clara was turning to leave. "How is she?" "Tuckered out by the look of it. But that's good. She needs rest." "Mmhmm" Abraham agreed. He adored his wife when she was like this. Clara's soul was so generous with its compassion. He took Clara in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "I know James appreciates you taking care of some of this." "Well, it's the least we can do after all. I'm not sure she believes me, that she's safe." "That's going to take some time. She's got trauma, and the way James and I got her out of there was... well, let's just say, I wouldn't trust us right away either." Clara nodded. Abraham had been angry after he and James returned. He wouldn't describe the scene in detail, only that it sickened him. Clara could see that affecting him as his face darkened. Chords that Bind Ch. 09: Fugue "We had to approach her like the other scumbags." Abraham explained, "They wouldn't have let us have her otherwise. Of course she doesn't think she's safe here." Clara, tilted Abe's lips towards her own and kissed him. "But she is, because of you two." *** Cecilia thought she was back in her cell. Master was waking her up with the piano again. But when she opened her eyes, she saw she was still in the light colored room, wrapped snuggly in layers of blankets. She was hearing the music. It wasn't just in her head. Faint but still distinct, Cecilia knew she'd heard it before: It was the long controlled piece. The one that accompanied the flogging and paddling Master had given her, it was orderly and meditative. The flurry of notes was impressive. Impulsively, Cecilia squeezed her legs together. No. She knew it! They were still torturing her. She looked around the room. The air vent! The piano was being piped into her room from the air vent. She felt arousal burn through her aches. They were picking up where Master left off, and she was helpless to stop them. James had started his practice with the Goldberg Variations. It was the perfect warm up piece. The pattern and melodic syncopation were meditative to him, allowing him to fully sink into the rest of the music he played. He was about halfway through the variations when Clara entered with a plate of toast and cup of tea. James was never able to get properly upset when she interrupted him like this. Sure, he was practicing and usually both Clara and Abe knew to leave him be, but he'd started practicing early enough that it was breakfast time now. Wordlessly, Clara set the plate and saucer down next to the piano and exited, her quick appearance serving to remind him he wasn't alone, and that people in the house cared about him. Cecilia needed the music to stop. She couldn't handle what it was doing to her, and couldn't comprehend that as distressed as her body clearly was, it was still capable of betraying her this way. She slumped back onto her pillows and shed more tears. This music was devastating too. Especially when it slowed down and had more feeling. Some parts were melancholy, and others vibrantly alive. She rode the waves of the music, helpless to ignore the overtures her body was making. Clara's entrance was welcome. She seemed to hear the music too. "Oh no! Did James wake you up with that? How early did he start?" Cecilia was mildly relieved to know it wasn't just playing in her head, that she hadn't gone quite that mad yet... but she shook her head. "Not sure" she croaked out. Clara saw the tears. "Is it bothering you? Do you need something?" Yes. But she didn't know what. When Cecilia didn't answer, Clara figured that tea was the best cure for everything, and poured the wounded girl a steaming cup. *** The next week and a half took a pattern of sleeping when the piano ceased, and waking when it started again. Cecilia, agitated by the music, was unable to tune it out. There was one piece that played that she had never heard before, and she liked it the best because it didn't trigger an emotional response from her, or force her to remember her captivity. Clara had kept her well rested and off her feet. Cecilia's voice was nearly back now, and it didn't hurt to talk, but she didn't know what to say. She hadn't seen the other two men since the morning she woke up, and the whole stagnant situation was strange to her. She wouldn't be healing forever. Cecilia figured that when she was better they would start making demands of her. A doctor had come to see her. He wrapped her ribs back up tightly, and seemed pleased with the progress her knitting bones had made. It had been unbelievably painful when he took a look at her back though. The gashes in her back objected to his prodding. The doctor rubbed a nasty smelling ointment that stung horribly, but he claimed it would help alleviate scarring and infection. He bandaged them back up, and checked her eyes, making sure there was no further head trauma. He said that the worst of her concussion was behind her, and assured her she'd be as good as new soon. His smile was tight though, and Cecilia didn't speak to him at all, afraid of what he would say to the two men. One morning, a few days later, after Cecilia had awoken to the sound of the repetitive piano, Clara came in looking positively buoyant. "Dr. Patel said you would be able to get out of bed today! Come with me! I've got loads of things to do, but you can help me." Cecilia didn't see this as a choice. She pulled herself out of bed and on shaky legs, stood to see that Clara was much taller, willowy even. Cecilia was still wearing the overlarge Oxford sweatshirt. "Oh no, that won't do. I'm sorry. Here... Take a shower, over here" Clara indicated the bathroom, "and I'll see if I've got anything that fits you." Cecilia was too used to being naked to feel ashamed about this conversation now. She shrugged the big sweatshirt off and went to take the longest hot shower of her life. When she stepped out wrapped in a towel, Clara was rummaging through some drawers. "I'm afraid I'm a bit taller than you... oh! This might work!" She had some comfy, cropped sweats and tossed them onto the bed without looking. She then pulled a thick jumper out of another drawer. "There. Abraham's jumpers always make me feel better. Cecilia dropped the towel without a word. Clara caught sight of the bandages that were peeling off her back from the steam in the shower. "Oh! Here, let me..." Cecilia didn't want Clara to touch her, but was afraid that if she didn't cooperate Clara would bring to two men back with her. Clara bit back a gasp. Cecilia's back had been healing, but she had been so viciously whipped. None of the deep cuts had opened though, so she removed the rest of the bandages, and decided to let the cuts get some air. Thankfully the cloth bandages binding Cecilia's ribs and midsection hadn't come undone. "I'm sorry. I know they hurt you." Cecilia bit her lip, not knowing what to say. Clara honestly believed herself to be helping her, but Cecilia bristled at the words. Clara didn't know. She couldn't be sorry for something that she didn't understand. Cecilia pulled the clothes over her naked body, enjoying the softness against her bare, sensitive skin. The pants were cropped on Clara maybe, but on Cecilia, they were still too long, Cecilia's heels were treading on the hem as she followed Clara along the hall and downstairs. There was large butcher block island dominating a working kitchen with a huge gas range, two ovens and lots of well-loved pots and pans that hung from the ceiling. Cecilia thought this kitchen was the closest to a restaurant kitchen that she'd seen in a house. "I was planning on baking a bit today." Clara was explaining, "Do you like to cook?" Cecilia nodded her head slowly, not daring to be objectionable while she was unsure of Clara's intent. "Right then!" Clara was enthused with just this tiny response. "Put on some tea and I'll get the stuff together. I was planning on making some scones for tomorrow. Maybe we can make some pasta for dinner tonight?" Cecilia nodded. The doctor had told them she was better. At least it was only domestic duties they were demanding of her. "Do you like music?" What a loaded question. Clara took Cecilia's pause for an answer. "Well, how about something a bit less stuffy? James has been practising the piano nonstop, and it's beautiful, really, but sometimes it makes me want to go slumming." Clara was pulling out a purple iPod. "Here! James can't get mad at this one." She docked the iPod into the countertop speaker setup. Abbey Road started playing as Clara started spreading flour across the countertop, dancing to the music obviously comfortable in her body and easing some of Cecilia's nerves. After spending the day kneading bread, simmering sauce, and then cooking pasta, Cecilia had lightened up towards Clara. Clara was difficult to dislike, even though she was helping the men who captured her. She had an infectious laugh and was so eager to please, that Cecilia found herself giving more than one-word answers to her questions. Hearing the Beatles, and then Sting, a bit of Adele, and then Bob Marley had also helped Cecilia relax. They were familiar and not nearly as laden with double meaning for her. Sitting down for dinner with the three of them had been difficult though. Clara ran into the big burly man's arms when he returned from work, and began effusively telling him about their day, and about the dinner they prepared. When the blonde man came into the kitchen from upstairs wearing track pants and a jumper, Cecilia's eyes immediately found the floor. Clara had told her their names before, and anxious knots twisted her stomach. She saw how Clara was with the stocky Abraham and wondered if James would demand the same affection from her. They all enjoyed their dinner, but conversation was strained and carried mostly by Clara and Abraham. James was looking surly. He wolfed down his food as politely as he could, while still making every effort not to stay in the same room as them. No one pressured Cecilia to talk. She figured they were tired of her crying and didn't want to unleash another deluge of tears. Cecilia was tired though. She looked to Clara and asked, "Can I go to bed, please?" Clara was startled by the question. "Oh! Yes, of course, you're probably tired, I should have thought of that sooner. Go on and get some rest." Clara was happy with the progress Cecilia had made today. She was going to keep trying until Cecilia felt comfortable. She was still recovering physically after all. James, however, was pulling the recluse game. Shutting himself off from everyone around him was James' way of trying to protect himself, and it usually took some berating from Abraham and manipulations from Clara to snap him out of his depression. It was going to have to wait though. Clara was most concerned for Cecilia, and was going to exert her efforts on the poor girl who hadn't yet understood that she had been rescued. To aid in the mission, Clara made a quick run of some London shops and brought back clothes that would fit Cecilia, knowing that she wasn't comfortable in her own skin, let alone the baggy clothes she was borrowing from their wardrobes. The following days progressed with a soothing regularity. Clara insisted Cecilia accompany her with all sorts of domestic duties; including a few harrowing trips to the markets and grocery stores. Cecilia didn't have it in her to protest, but she didn't want to leave the townhouse. London was bustling and chaotic and after her long seclusion and training sessions with Master, she wasn't prepared to see the rest of the world continuing as if nothing had happened. Everything was foreign to her, and to Cecilia, life, normalcy, regularity had ended when she woke in her white cell. To see that the rest of the world had continued without skipping a beat was tragic. She was the only thing that had changed, and no one could see where the alterations had taken place. Clara noticed how introverted Cecilia became when they went about town, and decided not to press the matter any further. However, Clara was a ballerina with the Royal Ballet, and the season was readying to begin, which meant she would have to attend class and rehearsal daily. When Clara invited Cecilia to come along with her to watch, she thought she had been offering a bit of escapism and companionship, but the look on Cecilia's face said that it would be more trying than fun. Clara asked Cecilia to join her in her many cross training classes (she had to attend Pilates and yoga to ensure she didn't injure herself during the course of the season's demanding rehearsals.) Cecilia shook her head and withdrew inside her mind. Clara didn't like leaving Cecilia alone now, after so few weeks adjusting to life away from the cruelty she had endured. Finally, the first day of rehearsals had come, and Clara had to leave Cecilia alone. Over the course of the last few weeks, Cecilia had been relieved that she was being used only as a domestic servant of sorts to help Clara. Clara herself had been as friendly and comforting as one could expect of a fellow prisoner, for that's what Cecilia believed. She didn't think for a minute that Clara was willingly so subservient and docile to the two men in the house, she had to have been brain washed, otherwise how could they trust her not to escape? Why hadn't she escaped? Without Clara to direct her day, Cecilia was afraid to leave her room. Then she was afraid that she was somehow neglecting some of the household duties. She wandered quietly downstairs, but didn't see anything that needed doing. The house was very orderly. She and Clara had prepared food for the week yesterday, so there was no need to prepare anything for dinner. Cecilia padded up the stairs to her room. Even though Clara had bought her some clothes that fit her better, Cecilia was still favoring the large Oxford sweatshirt she had woken up in. Once ensconced in her room Cecilia hugged her knees to her chest and started rocking back and forth. She was paralyzed with fear. Only this time, she was most afraid of herself. Without Clara there to watch over her, Cecilia was free to escape. Abraham went to some sort of work during the day, and she had only caught glimpses of James at meals. Her back was healing nicely, and her ribs were no longer sore to the touch. There was nothing keeping her there, no surveillance team, no locked doors. Only her fear. There was nothing, nowhere, and no one to whom Cecilia could escape. She didn't have funds or friends to help her. She was in a strange country, and she was certain that she would fail to be successful and bring down more misery upon herself. She was cursing her cowardice. The last trace of defiance had been whipped out of her the day she laid eyes on her new owner. She cried again, relieved she didn't have to hide them from Clara, who had been trying so hard, in her own way, to help. *** James knew he should probably check on Cecilia. Clara was entitled to have her dancing career, but James had largely been depending on Clara to watch over Cecilia. Cecilia wasn't Clara's responsibility however: that was squarely on James' shoulders. He didn't know what he was supposed to say or do, so he put it off and decided to tackle the Pathetique... God! Beethoven was a genius! As James' fingers lashed at the piano keys in the second half of the first movement, he immersed his mind in the complexities of the music, and relished freeing his thoughts from Cecilia, who distracted him with her presence. She was so quiet and reserved, so obviously submissive in her manners and attitude that he had to constantly remind himself that it was learned behavior, acquired as a means of survival, while she was being tortured. But when he left his mind unguarded, he found himself fantasizing about taking the girl's mouth and having her worship his cock on her knees... And that was why he couldn't go and see how she was doing, or speak to her. He was disgusted with himself. Beethoven understood though; what was the Pathetique but an expression of anger and self-loathing? It was a musical incarnation of understanding and pity at oneself, the feeling of the unrequited. James appreciated the chance to indulge this feeling and transmute it; after all, this was why he was still playing these centuries-old masterpieces. The bold chords and dramatic space around the movements suited his dark mood perfectly, and he allowed himself to surrender to the greatness written across the sheet music. Cecilia was hearing music coming through the air vent again. It was the one piano piece that she liked best. It didn't hold the shadows of her long training with Master. She hadn't heard it before waking up in this house. It suited her mood perfectly. She knew better than to be curious, but she wanted to know what it really sounded like. She tip-toed up the stairs, and let her ears guide her up another flight of steps. The stairs opened to an open attic space. Cecilia stayed on the steps, unwilling to reveal her presence, wanting only to listen like some sort of musical voyeur. The piece that her new owner was playing was almost scary. It was an emotionally wrought piece that ignored how much tension it asked the listener to hold. When it finally released, Cecilia was certain that her body would tear to pieces, or the piano would snap it's strings, but instead the entire room took a huge breath, relieved to have the tension finally abate. After hearing him play the piece a second time, Cecilia resolved to withdraw down the steps and leave before she was discovered. That was until she heard a familiar titling theme sing out from the piano. She knew this one too, and couldn't make herself move. James moved to the Goldberg variations, happy to have found a temporary catharsis in the Beethoven sonata. The baroque piece was soothing after the fury of the romantic, and closing his eyes, he reveled and enjoyed the meditative quality Bach infused into the music. In her hiding place Cecilia felt her pulse quicken, out of time with the piano. Her nipples pebbled and she felt her core tingle. She had been trained to arousal at the sound of this music. She was suddenly warm and claustrophobic in her hiding place on the steps. Her body was begging for attention and Cecilia hugged herself under the sweatshirt, enjoying the play of warm skin against skin. Her nipples throbbed, and Cecilia knew she was in over her head. She was painfully aroused, only this time, there was no one to stop her from achieving orgasm. As quickly as she dared, she went down the two flights of stairs and ran to her room. She could hear the faint fugues and variations through the air vent, but her blood pumping in her ears was also spurring on her desire. She was appalled at her body, but decided she would take this opportunity to take back control of her senses. She locked the door, and stripping off everything, wiggled under the covers, enjoying the feeling of softness against her agitated skin. Her body was so obedient to the music. Finally, she was able to wrest at least this much control back from her captors. Using her hands she scraped the back of her nails down her torso, skipping over her bandaged ribs. She was already wet, and sweat broke out all along her body. She didn't understand how her body was so easily surrendering, but didn't care. There was nothing to stop her this time. Her clit was already throbbing and begging for attention. She used her middle finger to draw circles on her clit, far more knowledgeable of her body and its wants than she had been before her captivity. She closed her eyes and exhaled relief. The piano from the attic studio was piping music into her room through the air vent and already she felt the orgasm building. She hadn't come since the day Master broke her; the day she admitted her submission, her slavery. After the drought, her body was clamouring for orgasm. The piano kept her on edge, and Cecilia aggressively pumped her hips, and worked her clit, feeling her orgasm continue to build. It was like the tension she had heard in the piece when she had spied on James. The dark, dramatic strain she had secretly absorbed as James played to his audience of one, was now building endlessly in her center, and Cecilia whimpered and moaned, ready, so ready to fall, or float, or shatter, so long as she could feel pleasure this one time. James finished the Goldberg Variations and moved onto a Rachmaninoff piano sonata, wishing, as he always did when playing these pieces, that his hands were bigger, and could reach the chords easier, but he managed it all the same, appreciating the romantic Russian's style and attitude towards music. Chords that Bind Ch. 09: Fugue Two floors below, Cecilia was writhing in the desperation that had been so familiar during her imprisonment. She felt her muscles tighten and felt the sweat pool on her forehead and in the valley between her breasts. So close. But no matter how quickly she flicked at her erect clit, Cecilia didn't feel the climax inch any closer. The music changed, sounded different, fantastical and romantic, but it didn't calm her ardour. On the contrary, it seemed that any classical or instrumental piece was destined to trigger this response in her body. Without realizing she was whispering aloud, Cecilia begged, "Oh please... please!" But there was no answer. It was only Cecilia in the room, driven to sexual madness, and unsure how to achieve her satisfaction. She closed her eyes, hearing the music still, but remembering the time Master had brought her to fever pitch with some sort of cream and left her to burn. That was how she felt now. She begged inside her head, "If only I could come... please, please." The music stopped. The silence was sudden and disconcerting, and Cecilia wanted desperately for it to continue so she might reach her peak. She was panting, thrashing, ashamed that she was hoping that someone would grant permission for the orgasm she desperately needed. Finally, as the silence left Cecilia with memories of the music she heard, she felt the faintest tremble quake her wet sex. It grew softer and softer, barely calming Cecilia, but she exhaled, mildly relieved, if not satisfied entirely. It was a disappointment, that orgasm, so gentle and weak that Cecilia almost missed it. Her climax hadn't been nearly as powerful as the ones forced on her by Master. She still felt unfulfilled desire gnawing at her from the inside. What was wrong with her? Embarrassed and ashamed, Cecilia buried herself in the bed and wept profusely, giving up her quest altogether. James paused in his piano preparations to eat lunch, figuring he could check in on Cecilia over the meal, but she didn't come down to eat. Not wishing to pressure her to interact with him, James cleaned up his sandwich and crisps and returned to practice. Cecilia had cried herself out. She dozed a bit, but heard the music again, her body alerting her to the music almost before her ears could. It couldn't be happening again. But it was, James was practicing his half of the Schubert Fantasie in F minor, preparing himself to join his partner when the time came to rehearse the piece jointly. Cecilia couldn't bear anymore. She wasn't going to keep listening now that she had a choice. She didn't attempt to have another orgasm. Instead she went down to the den and grabbed a favourite classic from the shelf. Clara had told her to feel free to enjoy the library of books. Cecilia took her up on the offer. She wrapped herself in the blankets on the comfy sofa, and breathed easier in the quiet. This was so like her imprisonment before, and she didn't have the energy to break the cycle. *** Clara returned in the evening flushed and effervescent with excitement. She was being promoted to company soloist, and was thrilled at the repertoire the ballet would be performing in the coming months. Abraham opened a bottle of bubbly to celebrate. Cecilia didn't expect to be offered a flute and was taken aback when the burly bear of a man handed it to her. "Go on. Yes, you too! We have quite a bit to toast tonight! Not just Clara's promotion, I know we are, all three of us, very happy to see you mending so well Cecilia. Cheers! And may God Save the Queen!" James and Clara answered back with hearty 'Huzzahs', clearly an inside joke between the three. Cecilia uttered a weak 'cheers'. Clara was insistent though, and clinked glasses with Cecilia again, "Huzzah!" she prompted, Cecilia gave into her with a "Huzzah!" of her own. "Excellent!" Abraham rumbled "Yes! You're one of us now." Clara agreed. A frown briefly crossed James face, but he quickly erased it in favor of a neutral countenance. Cecilia smiled at the effort Clara and Abraham made, but appreciated that James' demeanor was the reflection of her true reality. Clara made a point of asking Cecilia about her day had gone. Cecilia completely glossed over her sexual frustration and illicit listening and responded that she had been reading a nice book and resting comfortably. James was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Abraham and Clara were acting as if Cecilia were a stray cat they had decided to take in and adopt from the street. He had no intention of keeping her there; he was working on trying to get her back to her previous life. He decided he was going to need to speak with Cecilia, and make it clear to her that he was going to restore her to her home as soon as he was able. Cecilia stood to clear the plates from dinner, and James did likewise, to help her. By the sink he placed his hand gently on her elbow. "Why don't you leave this for a bit? Someone else can do the dishes. I need to talk to you." Cecilia found herself staring into James eyes for the first time since he bought her. She repressed a shiver. Lowering her eyes, Cecilia murmured, "Yes Sir." James was caught aback by her response. He instantly wanted to taste her mouth and rake his hands through her hair. She looked so much healthier now, but he needed to set things straight, not take advantage of a girl he had helped victimize. "Follow me then, I've got something I need you to look over." 'My rules and protocol probably', Cecilia thought. Now that they were satisfied she was healing, they were going to make their demands. James led her to his office, the one he used at home when he had been practising law. He rarely used it now, but it had been seeing more use since he came into custody of Cecilia. The poor girl made to kneel, but James stopped her. "No, no. Please, just use the chair, here. I have some explaining to do. And... you don't need to call me Sir or kneel or anything like that. I'm not... I'm not your master. I won't punish you or hurt you. Please, just sit and I can explain." Cecilia was confused. Why would he try to trick her this way? He was going to hurt her. She was sure of it. "Look, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I mean it. I promise I'm only here to help you from now on." Cecilia was smarter than that. She wasn't going to be tricked this easily. She said nothing, not wanting to play this game with him. "Cecilia, please, just say something." The learning that had been so costly to Cecilia came back to her. Momentarily, she panicked that he knew she had tried to climax earlier in the day, but she pushed the guilty thoughts away and said, "I'm here to please you, Sir." "No. Cecilia, you're not. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not your 'Sir'. I... Look, here. I've got something I need you to sign." He handed her a very official looking document. The top read: Authorization of Power of Attorney. He wanted her to sign her rights away. That was a laugh. She didn't think she had any more rights left. When she refused to speak or react, James took a different tactic. "Cecilia, I need you to sign this. It's important. Once you sign it, I can get you amnesty here in England. Do you have a passport at all?" "No Sir." "You can leave off the 'sir'. I have your ID, but it's expired. Do you have any other identification?" Cecilia shook her head. "Now, without a passport or a visa you are in England illegally. I can't get you back to the States without those documents." Something wasn't making sense. The blonde man who bought her was talking about bringing her back to the States, back to home. Cecilia blinked, not daring to comprehend what she thought she heard. James continued, hoping that if he continued talking to her like this she would believe him. "There are organizations that can help you, they're set up to help women, who've been victims of trafficking, restart their lives, but without your documents, I don't want to risk you being locked up. Do you understand? If you give me power of attorney I can negotiate all of this for you. You'll be able to stay anonymous, you won't have to deal with anyone else, and I'll be able to use my connections to expedite the process. "I've assumed the lease for your apartment in Philadelphia. That way everything will be right where you left it when you get home. I know some people at the U.S. Embassy. Sign this, so I can get your life back together for you." James was insistent. The whole thing was so confusing. "Why? Why are you doing this? Please don't torment me with the possibility of going home. We both know you won't let me go. I cost you too much money." James sighed. "Cecilia, I know how that looked. It had to look that way. There was no other way to get you out of there." "Why? Why decide that?" "Because what happened to you was the result of a very grave mistake I made. I didn't want this to happen to you or anyone, but I set it in motion. I didn't know that Lace was going to kidnap someone to sell to me as a slave, as property! When I found out what he did, what I had done, I knew I had to help you. So I'm helping in the best way that I can." "You're lying. You bought me!" Cecilia felt anger creep under her confusion. "I know. I did that to save you! Don't you remember the first time you saw me? When I tried to untie you? I tried to get you out immediately, but Lace wasn't having it. The auction was the only way." "And after dropping ten million dollars on me, you're going to set me free?" "It was 9.75 million pounds sterling actually, and you are already free. I'm not keeping you prisoner or tying you up. You have free reign to go and do whatever you like, but since you are without proper identification, I wouldn't recommend trying to leave London just yet." Something was sinking in. "Do you mean I'll get to go home?" "Yes. That's exactly what I mean." James kept the desk between them the whole time, trying to treat the discussion professionally, as if Cecilia were his client. But at his words, she burst into fresh tears. James wasn't made of stone. He didn't want to cause her to cry, so he came around the desk and pat her on the shoulder, offering a handkerchief. He knelt in front of the overstuffed leather armchair. "Hush. Cecilia, look at me. Look at me, and hear what I am telling you. You're safe. It's over. It's all over, and as soon as I can, I'm going to bring you home." James knew he had to be making the right decision, because his heart was aching. She was so beautiful and trusting, crying there in his office. He had an idea of how hard this had been on her. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how, not without sending mixed signals to himself or poor Cecilia. Cecilia's head accounted for everything that had happened since she woke up after the auction. They had found her a doctor, had helped her recover, and made her welcome, almost as part of their family. She had been waiting for them to turn on her and abuse her anew. But now that she understood she felt sheepish and self-conscious. "I'm sorry Sir. I'm sorry!" She gasped between sobs. "Shhh, Cecilia, what for?" "I- I thought you were all going to hurt me. That you had enslaved Clara, and were going to do the same thing to me. I- I tried to escape that morning. I- I thought that Clara was training me..." Cecilia was too embarrassed to continue the rest of the things she had thought. "No. Not at all. We just want to keep you safe and get you better. You don't have to do anything you don't want. We're taking care of you until we can get you back. I promise you." James was kneeling in front of her. His position reminded Cecilia of 'supplication', but he was prostrating to her. It was a heady feeling. There was sorrow in his eyes, Cecilia saw, now that she dared to look at him. Some of her courage returned to her. She whispered, desperately hoping that she wasn't being fooled, "Swear it?" James bowed his head to her and took a deep breath, then solemnly returned her gaze. "Cecilia, I swear by the memory of my uncle, and all that I hold dear, that no one will hurt you ever again, and that I will bring you safely home. So help me God, I swear it." Yes. James knew he was doing the right thing. He had a mission now, and the look of stunned disbelief on Cecilia's face was going to hold him to it. Even kneeling in front of her, and reassuring her, James felt her surrender, her trust, and her fear. He felt powerful for the first time since this whole wretched business had started. James was not going to let her down. He wanted to brush the hair back that had matted against her tearstained cheeks, hold her until her body, as well as her mind, believed that she was safe. Instead he stood up, and pushed the documents towards Cecilia. "Do you trust me? Do you believe in me enough to sign this?" She nodded but didn't speak. James tentatively held out his fountain pen, waiting for her to give him the power he needed to help her. Her hand took it, trembling, praying that this wasn't a dream or a trap, and in elegant script signed, 'Cecilia Alejandra Lavigne'. James breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. He shouldn't have to be alone with her again after this. He had everything he needed to right what he could of the injustices done to Cecilia. He had her sign one more sheet, this one agreeing to let James sponsor her amnesty. There was a knock on the door, and James was thrilled to move on. "Thank you," he murmured to Cecilia as he let Abraham and Clara in. They took a glance at Cecilia's drying tears and had very different reactions. Clara rushed to Cecilia's side, completing the job of comforting that James hadn't finished. Abraham gave James a searching look, and motioned James out of the room and into the hallway. "What happened?" Abraham was concerned and James felt the unspoken accusation. "She knows she's safe now. I got her permission to act as her lawyer. I'll be able to get her home soon." "She didn't believe you?" "I'm not sure she does yet. She was convinced Clara was your slave, that we were trying to entrap her... but I think she wants to believe she's safe." Abraham's face softened. "Ah. Good. Going to send her home then?" "Not yet. She hasn't got a passport or a visa. I'm going to have to get her amnesty here, and then get a passport and visa from the U.S. Embassy. If I do it on her behalf, they shouldn't take her in for questioning... I know a few people." Abraham nodded, but knitted his eyebrows. "She didn't want to stay?" "STAY? Are you mad? I didn't ask her. She doesn't want to be here, she wants to be home. She's not a pet Abraham! She's-" "Lower your voice or she'll hear you." James lowered his voice again. "She's my responsibility to keep safe until I can get her back where she belongs." "Okay, okay," Abraham put his hands up, not pushing the issue. "I just wondered... I mean, I know that you... had an attraction to her... I thought maybe..." "You're mental!" James was exasperated. He turned to leave, to barricade himself in the studio with his records and Steinway, but Abe grabbed a hold of him. "I'm sorry. Forget I mentioned it, but don't you think it's better if you don't seclude yourself? Clara and I were going to ask if you two wanted dessert... She made some sabayon, and wanted to celebrate a bit more. And I don't think we should leave Cecilia alone right now either." James sighed. He let Clara drag him and Cecilia back into the kitchen for the dessert she prepared. Chords that Bind Ch. 10 Dear Readers, As an apology for a long wait, I give you a long chapter. I'm excited to say I haven't been writing here because I FINALLY got a job, and then got a promotion... I still have every intention of seeing the story through to completion. Thank you to everyone who has submitted encouragement and feedback. It makes me giddy to know you like it. You are all wonderful in suspending your disbelief. As always, please remember this is entirely a work of fiction and this author does not condone or endorse anything done to any human being without their consent. Without further preamble, Chords that Bind: Chapter 10! ~Poeticlicense91 Being promoted to soloist meant that Clara had even less free time than before. Her rehearsals ran later, and her cross training seemed longer, and she was sometimes quite drained by the time she came home, but she always made sure she spent time with Cecilia, who, after her conversation with James, seemed to be healing inside her mind, as well. Cecilia felt secretly ashamed that she had lumped the people in this house in with the monster her Master had been. Clara was sweet and undaunted by her short answers and long stretches of silence. Now that she knew Clara was honestly trying to help, Cecilia felt an obligation to be more responsive to her. Abraham was not the hulking monster she had feared would subdue her. He doted on Clara with limitless affection and smiles. James was still maintaining his distance from her. She figured she was a burden on him. She didn't want to bother him, and so kept her interactions to a minimum. Dr. Patel had come one more time, and gave Cecilia a clean bill of health. Her ribs were all in one piece, and her back was healing without any indication of illness or infection. The good doctor was also reassured by Cecilia's mannerisms. She didn't appear nearly as traumatized as she had bee when he examined her the first two times. Once the doctor had cleared her for physical activity, Clara invited Cecilia to reconsider coming to watch a ballet rehearsal. The company was performing Alice in Wonderland by Christopher Wheeldon again, and Clara was thrilled to be performing a solo this time. Cecilia thought that it was the least she could do for Clara who had been so steadfast in trying to befriend her. She agreed. Her fear momentarily banished by Clara's triumphant smile. *** Almost three months had gone since James had won the auction. He had submitted documents to a few refugee organizations and had won Cecilia temporary amnesty at his residence, naming himself as her protector and responsible for her in case of legal or medical emergencies. The U.S. embassy however, was proving to be more difficult to deal with. He called Joshua Howland, an American classmate from Oxford who worked at the embassy, but nothing could be expedited. "I'm sorry old friend. I can't do anything." Josh said over the phone. "Temporary amnesty in England is not enough to guarantee that she isn't a criminal or terrorist. You'd do better to let this girl come to the embassy herself." "You know as well as I do that you wouldn't let her leave if we did that." "We could expedite the process if she were on the premises. How did she get into the country without a passport anyway?" "You have the forms from the women's organizations. Do you think she did this on her own?" "How am I supposed to determine that without even speaking to her? What happened, and for that matter, how did you get tangled up in all of this?" "I'm her lawyer, and she asked me to keep what happened to her confidential. Stop being thick Josh! You can piece together that she was brought against her will." "If that's the case, then we need to investigate and extradite the person who did this James." "She's been through enough already. She doesn't want an investigation, she just wants to go home." "That's all well and good James, really," Josh's American accent was grating on James nerves over the phone now, "but you can't expect me to pull strings then. I've got your word and an expired ID backing the girl's identification, and you want me to just give her a passport? I don't have that kind of pull, and frankly, if you weren't a college buddy, I would have to file an inquiry. As it is, I already should have. If you want to avoid all of that, then her case will have to wait. I can't put it in high priority. I'll issue the passport and visa in due time, after I'm sure I can do it without drawing undue attention. That's the best I can do." James voice was tight. "Thank you Josh. I appreciate it. Let me know if anything changes or if I can supply you with anything else." James hung up on Joshua without another word. Bloody Americans! Everybody was a terrorist to them! They didn't clear anyone of suspicion. It was going to cost Cecilia more time, and strained his temper enormously. He strode out of his study. The house was empty, Cecilia had tagged along to watch Clara's rehearsal, and Abraham had been extraordinarily busy with some new consultant work. Hungry, but feeling lazy and moody, James pulled out a menu for Indian takeout. As he heard the phone on the other end ring, Cecilia walked through the door alone. Her face was flushed from the wind, and her hair damp from the rain. James hung up quickly, and looked at Cecilia, who had more life in her than he had yet seen. She quickly lowered her gaze, acknowledging his dominant presence without consciously knowing why. She felt just as shy around James as she had before, even if it was for different reasons now. "Sorry to interrupt." "No matter. Er- where are Clara and Abe?" "Oh, they went out for dinner, I caught a cab home- I mean- here." She seemed pleased at being able to manage the feat on her own. James caught himself smiling. "Didn't they invite you?" Cecilia felt awkward, as if James didn't want her there. "They did. I just- well, I thought maybe they might want some time alone, without me, you know? I'll just... go upstairs now..." "No, wait." James realized he offended her, even though that wasn't his intent. "Aren't you hungry? I was ordering takeout." "Well- I can just make a sandwich- Don't go to any trouble on my account." "No trouble at all. I was ordering some lamb roganjosh. Do you like Indian?" Cecilia licked her lips. "Do you have chicken tikka masala here?" James gave a real smile then. Oh the irony! Chicken tikka had been Josephine's favourite. "Of course. Care to split a samosa with me?" "Yes Sir." Her voice was quiet. Then she winced. In the few interactions she had had with James, she instinctively called him Sir. It just seemed natural, something that lingered from her training with Master. James had always corrected her, telling her he wasn't her owner, that he didn't expect it from her. This time, James didn't correct her though; he just hit the redial button and called Jade India, placing their order, requesting extra na'an, spicy mint chutney, and sweet tamarind chutney. "The food won't be here for a bit, if you wanted to freshen up." James suggested. He was pulling plates and silverware for two out of the cupboards and drawers. Cecilia felt herself being dismissed, and went to shower. She came down dressed strikingly like Clara did when she was relaxing at home, looking like a curvy, off-duty dancer. She seemed to really like his old Oxford sweatshirt, which Clara had given to Cecilia without asking. It was too big and hung off her shoulders, revealing the strappy top or sports bra underneath. Her legs were in clingy black leggings with bright green socks covering her feet and calves. Cecilia caught him staring. "Is something the matter?" "No. Not at all." James shook himself, guilty for indulging his desire even with just a few glances, "I was just wondering if you danced too. You... have a dancer's build... you look just like Clara dressed like that." Cecilia blushed and shook her head. "No. Not very coordinated. I used to be a cheerleader though." "Oh." James felt lame that he had nothing to say to that. Mercifully, the bell rang, announcing the arrival of their takeout. "I'll just grab that, shall I?" James didn't wait for a reply as he ran to get the door. The plastic containers were scattered over the butcher-block island, and the two served themselves the fragrant jasmine rice and aromatic braised meat. There were three samosas in an order, and James gave Cecilia the extra one. They started eating awkwardly in silence. Cecilia cut the fried potato dumpling in half and plopped it down on James' plate with a friendly smile. He returned the smile, but said nothing. After a moment, James stood up, went to the refrigerator and peered inside. "Care for a beer? Or wine?" Cecilia looked at him shyly under her damp curls. "I'll have what you're having," she said, trying to be diplomatic and polite. "I guess, in that case, I'll open a bottle of white." He brought two marquis glasses down from the cabinet, and poured the Italian white, first for Cecilia, and then for himself. "Cheers!" James intoned, trying to be light hearted. "Huzzah!" Cecilia replied, happy that she remembered. James smiled sadly as he repeated the toast. They were about to return to that awkward silence, but James couldn't bear to hide the truth anymore. "Cecilia, I have to tell you something." "Yes?" "I've been in contact with the embassy." Cecilia's eyes lit up. Was she going to go home? "I suppose I should have kept you better informed, but I didn't want to worry you with all the mundane details. I was able to get you temporary amnesty. So long as you're in my care, and I assume responsibility for you, you can stay in England for twelve months while we secure your passport and visa." "That's good right?" Cecilia asked, all of this way over her head. "Yes, but the U.S. Embassy isn't prepared to issue you a passport or visa, at least, not immediately. I gave them documents indicating you're a refugee of... trafficking, but they aren't prepared to take me or temporary amnesty from the English government at our word that you aren't a terrorist or a criminal." "That's ridiculous! I'm not a terrorist!" "I know that. And the English government trusts me to know that, but the U.S. government is very suspicious of anyone trying to get into the States from Europe without proper identification." "But- how will I get home? Will I ever be able to get home?" "You will. The U.S. government is just going to take their sweet time about it. I have someone at the embassy who will help you, he just can't make it happen any quicker." "How long?" "Honestly? I don't know. But I swore to you I'd get you back, and I will. It's just that it's taking longer than I thought. I just thought you'd want to be updated, to know I was working on it." Cecilia felt her panic disperse as quickly as it came. She had been afraid that she'd never be able to leave, or worse, that they'd imprison her. "Okay" She said, as if there was any other response to the man who, she now understood, had saved her. James almost told her the second option, that she could more or less surrender herself at the embassy, but risk incarceration and having to undergo an investigation. Maybe that was what she should do. Joshua was an infuriating bureaucrat, but he wasn't a bad man. He'd probably look after her. But James didn't want her to have to go through the investigation. It wasn't just Cecilia he was thinking about, he would most assuredly be implicated in the inquiry if they took that route, and he didn't see how it would help Cecilia or himself to go undergo that kind of scrutiny. No. He was going to keep her safe as long as it took to get Cecilia back home, and make sure it was as stress-free for her as possible. He promised that he would see her back to America, and truth be told, the responsibility he felt for Cecilia bordered on obsession. How could he be sure of her safety? He was being just as ridiculous now. His conversation with Abe came back to him. He did want to keep her. James clenched his fist at the realization, hating himself for this continued weakness, justifying his actions to himself as being in Cecilia's best interest. She broke him out of his reverie though. "You play the piano very well. But, I guess you already know that." She had so little confidence around this man. With Abe and Clara she was able to be playful and talkative, but something about James made her uncertain about everything. Perhaps it was the strange assortment of things she knew about him, and the fact that she still didn't know how they were connected. "Thank you." James said stiffly. Cecilia felt apologetic at his reply. "Sorry. I wouldn't have said anything, but I can hear you sometimes when you play." It was true. Cecilia still heard when James roused himself to practice early every morning. She felt the music under her skin now, and felt desire course through her every time he pressed the keys, weather she knew the song he was playing or not. She had tried to come multiple times, often succeeding in the most disappointing tremours that could hardly be called a climax. But she wasn't going to tell that to James. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry if I wake you. I'll be more mindful of that." "No. It's not like that. I like it... it's beautiful." Cecilia was blushing. She couldn't recall a time she had been so honest, and so alone, with a man before. Well, before Master had taken her and tore honesty and orgasms from her, like a seam ripper tears at fabric. James felt compassion at her obvious discomfort. He decided to make himself as vulnerable as well. "I didn't always play. I was a barrister first, to make my parents proud. But my uncle, well, he was the one who taught me to play, the one who encouraged me to pursue music with an appetite." "Ohhh..." Cecilia said slowly. That had confused her. She signed his papers, giving him power as her lawyer, but didn't understand what he did. "So, that's how you're able to talk to the embassy?" "Yes. Before I abandoned the bar I was 'James M. Ashton QCMP'." Seeing the confusion on Cecilia's face he added, "Queen's counsel, member of parliament... I used to prosecute for her Majesty's government. But that still didn't satisfy my parents." James finished ruefully. "You know, I studied at Curtis too." "The Curtis Institute? In Philly?" "The very same. Before I had a healthy practice, I used to spend summers taking classes. It took awhile, balancing briefs and Beethoven, but I did graduate eventually, in classical piano performance. I've even performed at the Kimmel." "I've been there. Oh! That's amazing!" "Mmm. Small world, right?" Cecilia gulped at her wine, and nodded, not knowing what else to say. James felt strangely ill at ease. He hadn't spoken about his change to music from law before. He had just made the decision, and watched the fallout in his relationship. Josephine hadn't cared that his decision was in honor to his late Uncle Clive. She only cared that he was giving up the letters after his name. Funnily enough though, he had earned his knighthood because of music. He had been invited to Buckingham Palace on more than one occasion to play for her majesty. Oh, how he would have loved to see the pride in his uncle's face, and the distain from his parents when he was knighted, earning the 'Sir' in front of his name as the Queen's favourite concert pianist, even playing the last night of the Proms one year. Abe, and later Clara, had been supportive though, knowing without saying a word, that he was finally pursuing something that fed his soul. "Well, I guess it turned out all right, I have lots of concert dates now. It was the professors at Curtis that helped me, suggested I take auditions and put my name out there. I resisted at first, but when my Uncle was dying he made me promise to consider performing. He had an artist's soul, Clive did. 'Law is reason free from passion' said Aristotle. But Clive said that reason without passion was worthless, and since I had both, I might as well make a go of it... He was right. "But knowing the law has its advantages. Like now, I wouldn't be able to help you if I didn't know how to navigate the legal landscape." James smiled. He was done talking. That was too much information for the poor girl. She didn't care anyway. Why should she? She just wanted to go home, and he was holding her hostage to his whims and stupid nostalgic stories. Cecilia poured him another glass of wine. "Thank you", was all she said when he finished speaking. "Don't thank me. Please." James dismissed the idea entirely, "If you're done eating, I'll clean up." He put the wall back up. He couldn't afford to confide in her and get close to her. It was too easy, and she was too frail to defend herself. "I'll help." Cecilia offered, and James was too torn between being nice to her, and keeping her safe from himself to object. *** Clara and Abraham were thrilled to see Cecilia coming out of her shell. Cecilia had been coming to Clara's rehearsals and making friends with the dancers. She looked less pale and sickly, smiles crossing her face with more and more ease. She developed a rapport with Abraham that was teasing and friendly, no longer afraid he would hurt her in any way. Cecilia had more confidence, and even made a delicious lasagna for dinner one night, a surprise she concocted as a way to thank the three, for all they had done for her. James noticed the improvement as well. What he didn't notice, was that on the days that Cecilia stayed at the townhouse, she sat for hours on the stairs leading to the attic, listening intently as James poured his soul out, funneling his inner turmoil and self recriminations into his music. After the night they had shared Indian together, she began to sneak up the stairs to listen, enjoying the music in it's own right, as though drawn to it like an addict, seeking the pleasure she had come to associate with the music. More often then not, Cecilia would withdraw when her body became too fevered, as she always felt the arousal trained into her, come unbidden as James played. Always, she felt the embarrassed disappointment that she couldn't achieve the height of orgasm that she had been made to feel with Master, and was ashamed that she still sought it out. Something was wrong with her that she wanted it. One day, just as James had finished running his fingers through minor and chromatic scales, he dove headfirst into the Pathetique. He was working on memorizing the beast, and felt excitement as he heard all the right notes and chords answer his frenetic fingers. This was pleasure, sheer joy, even though the emotion of the music was a roller coaster, James felt as if he was in the perfect mindset to join Beethoven for the ride. Passion, fear, anger, pity, acceptance, rapture: James was in tune with it all as he listened to the space between the chords and the resonance that filled the room. It had been a long time since he practiced this much, had immersed himself in the minds of the greats. He was getting back the intuition that comes from being solely intent on the art he was participating in. It was euphoric to have this singular purpose coalesce. Cecilia was there; crouched on the stairwell, aware that James was playing the piece differently today. It was her favourite, and the drama in the piece combined with James' enthusiastic performance made her hot and bothered quickly. She knew this piece as well as the others now, and heard each run on the piano almost before it was played, enjoying the familiarity even as her nipples tightened under her sports bra, and her pulse settled deep in her core. Closing her eyes, Cecilia drew her hand to her neck, raking her hair with her nails, succumbing to the music more readily than she ever had. Chords that Bind Ch. 10 She was breathing deeply, and took a few steps lower, lest James hear her from her hiding place. She closed her eyes, and for the first time dared to fantasize... She was tied up again, but this time the music was different: It was the powerful piece James was playing just a few steps away from her. She felt hands caressing her body through her clothes, but they weren't her own, they couldn't be, she was tied up. She strained against the rope binding her arms above her head. Sweat was misting over her whole body. If only he would touch her. But it wasn't Master. It was James, and he was playing the music that was driving her wild. He stood up from the piano bench, but the music didn't stop, Cecilia knew the piece so well that her mind filled in the blanks. He walked towards her, and Cecilia prayed for him to untie her, to free her, as she knew he would. Instead though, he tilted her chin up and kissed her. Cecilia melted, pulling her body towards him moaning. His hands travelled down her body... At the climax of the second movement, James took a longer pause than usual. The open space pulled Cecilia out of her fantasy. She snapped her eyes open, and tore her hands away from her body. She had been poised to play with her clit. She was so wrapped up in the music and desire that she forgot herself entirely. Shaking her head, and scolding her foolishness she silently bounded down the stairs, frightened James would catch her, would know what she had been doing. She locked the door to her room, but James had begun the second movement, she could hear it again through the air vent. She was soaking wet. She threw herself on the bed and tore her clothes off, so ready to achieve the fantastic orgasm her imagination had dangled so temptingly in front of her. She surrendered to the fantasy again, it was carried on the music, and Cecilia closed her eyes, ready to fall over the edge. It was going to be different this time... His long fingers dexterously toyed with her, sending light tickling sensations down her tummy and sides. She was so small he could almost wrap his hands completely around her waist. His blue eyes were penetrating, seeing something deeper inside her than her frightened eyes, and flushed cheeks. He saw straight through to her conflicted helplessness and she was laid bare. Both knew exactly what she was. Without further teasing, James guided his talented fingers to her folds, smiling knowingly at her wetness, saying nothing, letting the knowledge hang in the air between them. He found her clit and started drawing the slow, wide circle, drawing her panting breath, quickly increasing pressure and speed. "Please? Please, Sir, Please..." He kissed her once more then nuzzled her neck, leaving kisses up to her ear, whispering; "Come for me." Cecilia finally felt it. It was so much more satisfying than the tiny orgasms she had brought herself to up until now. Release traveled up her spine, and she felt her joints loosen all over her body. It didn't last long, but it was finally a properly intense climax. Panting on the bed, Cecilia heard the music stop. She worried momentarily that she would be caught, that someone would know her secret. But that was absurd. She wasn't bound by those rules anymore. In fact, she had just freed herself in a monumental way, taking back some of the pleasure she had been denied during her incarceration with Master. She breathed easier; upstairs, James started a light classical piece that was too happy for her taste. Then why did she feel so dirty? She felt like a shameful slut. Cecilia analysed the things she imagined. Things that had been forced on her, were now somehow, in her freedom, turning her on. The uncomfortable truth was that imagining James in Master's place was scary, and she didn't want anyone to have that kind of power over her ever again, but just thinking about James made her stomach twist in knots and flip for good measure. Now that Cecilia was sure he wasn't going to rape and enslave her, Cecilia found James immensely attractive. She had been right when she detected intelligence in his gaze, and the clearness in his stare made her feel like he knew her better than she knew herself. James' unruly blonde hair was boyish, but he carried himself like a man. The elegance in his baring though, was of a roguish, semi-docile, gentleman. Now that she knew James was safe, Cecilia had a hard time putting him from her mind, and here she was, fantasizing about him. He strode into her subconscious unbidden, forcing her to look on her abduction and training with a different lens entirely. The music he played was the same, but it wasn't meant to torment her. She knew that now... It was no good. Cecilia didn't want to think too hard on what was happening. Instead she grabbed a jacket and took a walk in the bracing English air, hoping to cool her thoughts and forget what she had done. Cecilia ran into Abraham outside, who was surprised to see her wandering on her own. She rarely did so. "Care for company?" Abraham asked. "Sure." Cecilia was happy to have a friendly face with her. She wasn't really comfortable being alone outside the house, and after her brief spurt of disgust with herself, was afraid of wandering too far without anyone with her. 'Coward' she thought to herself, but all the same, was relieved that Abraham offered to join her. "Have you thought about what I asked you the other day?" Abraham asked. "About contacting my friends in the States? I have." "Well, if you want to, I can get you a phone that'll make international calls." "There's no need Abraham." "Why not? Don't you have people you want to call, let them know you're all right?" Cecilia was silent as she walked on, hoping that Abraham would respect her privacy. "Cecilia? Your friends? Family?" Abraham was trying to be helpful with his suggestions. "No. I don't." "Why not? Come on now, I'll bet they're worried sick. You should have called them to let them know by now. You don't have to be shy about asking for assistance or resource. James, Clara, me, we're all here to help you." "I haven't got anyone to call, okay?" Cecilia was angry. First with herself for the episode on the staircase and her subsequent orgasmic fantasy, and secondly with Abe for pushing this unwanted discussion. They had been so respectful of her feelings up to this point. "What do you mean? Cecilia, are your parents dead? What about your other family?" "Please don't do this." Cecilia pleaded, hoping to evoke more pity. Pity from Abraham was preferable to this line of questioning. "I'm trying to help you." "They aren't dead, but they haven't spoken to me in years. I'm dead to them, alright? I'm dead to my whole family. I haven't got any friends, and no one in America is worried about me!" "That can't be true, you're a lovely person, I'm sure that there's someone who noticed you missing. After all-" "No. No one. I appreciate it though. But I don't want to talk about this anymore." Abraham was a bit taken back by her forcefulness, but was happy to see Cecilia could still hold her ground if she wanted to. He felt terrible about making her upset. He could sense she had already been distressed over something. Before Abraham could continue badgering her about her nonexistent friends and the family that shunned her, Cecilia asked him, "So when does James perform? He's been practicing non-stop." That made sense to Abraham. James' single-mindedness when he was preparing for a performance had often driven him away from the house after hearing the same sonatas over and over. It had to be driving Cecilia nuts, with as much as she stayed in the house. "I think he'll be starting his tour next month, but who knows? Maybe we'll have you safe back home by then and you won't have to hear Bach or Rachmaninoff ever again!" Cecilia felt depressed at the thought of never hearing James play again. "Don't you like his playing?" Cecilia felt a bit defensive of James. She was coming to think of him as her savior. "Sure. Sometimes hearing him practice the same things over and over again drives me up a wall though. Doesn't it get on your nerves sometimes?" "No," Cecilia admitted, "not at all." She sounded a bit dreamy as she said that, and Abraham gave her a searching look, wondering if maybe destiny hadn't played a part in bringing Cecilia to England. *** For the next few weeks, Cecilia tried to get out of the house more often. She wanted to be free of the erotic torment that plagued her every time James played a single note, but she couldn't keep away entirely. Some mornings she woke up to the music, and closing her eyes, thought of James as she brought herself to a tension-relieving orgasm. On one of Clara's rare days off from the ballet, Cecilia thought to slyly inquire about James. Her curiosity about him was limitless, and Clara knew him very well. She wanted to know about the man who had 'ordered' her and set this sudden and strange phase of her life in motion. Cecilia couldn't make out how Master, James, and herself were all connected. But she knew she was somewhat infatuated with James, and was worried, not fully trusting her judgment as far as he was concerned. The two women were baking shortbread for the company's charity cookie exchange, and Cecilia thought it was a good time to gather more information. "Clara, how did you meet Abraham?" Clara was always happy when Cecilia was talkative. "Well, through James actually. It was my first season with the company, and at the midseason gala, the chorographer introduced me to the breakout pianist who everyone was excited to have attending. That was James." Clara added needlessly, "And James, well he took a liking to me right away, and I found him somewhat intriguing. We chatted for a bit over champagne, and he asked me to join him for a proper drink after the party..." Cecilia smiled. Once Clara got going, she always went on for a bit, and she seemed happy to tell this particular story. "So I went with him, and he had a scotch and I was sipping on my G&T, and I was getting a bit tipsy... Anyway he had a call on his mobile, and told the person on the other line to stop by the pub where we were drinking. I'd had a drink too many by that point, I was so excited to be talking with real artists and at my first gala for the Royal Ballet, as an Irish girl no less! And then there was this suave pianist talking me up. And I stepped off my barstool and lost my footing. I should have fallen right on my face, and instead these big arms caught me so easily, and set me back on my seat so gently. That was Abraham. It had been Abraham on the phone with James, his best mate." Cecilia felt envy and regret shoot through her. Clara was so in love with Abraham, it was written clear across her face. She shouldn't have judged Clara the way she did when she first woke up here. Clara had paused in her story, but after taking a second to reminisce and take a breath, she continued. "Well, I was in real trouble then. I was sandwiched between these two powerful men, ever so slightly drunk, and both of them wanted to see me again. How that went to my head! Both of them were so powerful in their own way." Clara was smiling, remembering, "They took me back to my flat though, each asking slyly to take me out." Clara giggled. "I loved having their attention. But that wasn't tenable, and I knew, I knew the instant Abraham caught me in that bar that I was his. It's not that James isn't a wonderful person; it's just that he isn't my soulmate. But it was funny to watch them try to outdo each other for a minute there. James would send orchids, and Abe would write letters... oh, those two! I love them both actually." Clara had a dreamy look on her face. She seemed to realize she'd gotten carried away. "Sorry. I just love our story though, Abe and me." "No. I like it too." But it wasn't quite everything Cecilia wanted to know. So she probed again. "James and Abraham are like brothers, aren't they?" "Oh yes. Ever since university. I'm glad I didn't come between them. I was afraid I would at the beginning though." "Are they- are they alike in their tastes?" "What do you mean?" Cecilia tried to word her question carefully. "What James-" she took a deep breath, "the things that, Master -I mean, that man-, did to me, is that what they both like?" Cecilia was beet red. Clara understood. Her loyalty to Abraham and James ran deep, and her comfort in her identity was solid, but she didn't feel comfortable being the one to tell Cecilia these things. She was trying to puzzle out how to tell Cecilia the truth without scaring her to pieces. It was such a difficult thing to explain under normal circumstances, let alone with the way Cecilia had been introduced to the lifestyle... "Actually, yes." She saw Cecilia blanch. "But it isn't like what that man did to you at all. It's something the three of us share actually." Cecilia's eyes were widening with disbelief. "Not together, not all three of us together... it's more like an identity, or an orientation, Cecilia. James and Abraham are both sexually dominant. As for me, I think you already know, I'm submissive." After having those words ripped out of her under duress, Cecilia couldn't believe how calmly, how proudly, Clara said them to her. "It isn't like what happened to you though." Clara repeated herself. "Abraham filled me in about some of the things that happened to you. Abraham doesn't do anything without my permission; he doesn't hurt me in any way. It's just, a way for us to have a deeper connection, a fiercer commitment. We can be ourselves, fully, together." Clara looked at Cecilia, who seemed ready to burst into tears. Clara made it sound so natural. "Then what about me? What about James?" Outrage was tingeing her questions now. "Cecilia, I know you haven't dealt with any of this yet, and I'm glad you're starting to be able to talk about it, really. But I'm not sure you want answers from me." Cecilia's whisper was panicked. "I do. I need to. I have to know." "I can't answer for you. No one can. But as for James, he's alpha, and dominant, and all the things that Abraham is, in that regard. But he's not a monster, and I promise you he never wanted to hurt you, or anyone. He would never engage in the lifestyle without consent. When I told him I wanted to belong to Abe, he was happy for us, invited us to share his home, be his family." "How do you know? Why did he, -Master-, why did he say James ordered me? Why did he 'train' me the way he did to fit James' 'tastes'?" "Cecilia, I don't know. You'll have to ask James." "You have to know! Please!" Cecilia was bordering on hysterical now, tears leaking from her pretty hazel eyes. "Look, I don't have all the information. I do know that once he realized you were in danger he didn't stop until he rescued you. I know he feels wretched about what happened." "Why though? Why did I end up there? Don't you- Do you submit to him?" "Oh heavens! No!" Cecilia thought she offended Clara, but she laughed instead. "It's not like that at all. Abraham is my husband. We're in a monogamous relationship. I don't have any attraction to James." "But you just said you loved them both." Cecilia was seriously confused. "I love James like a brother. He's Abraham's best friend, and one of my dearest friends as well, but no. I don't love him like that, or submit to him. Actually, I quite often tell him when he's being unreasonable. That's not to say there's anything wrong with polyamory, but that's not my thing, or Abe's, or James' for that matter." "So, what about James? Why doesn't he have a submissive? Doesn't he need one? Is that what I was for?" Clara sighed, feeling uncomfortable speaking for James, but felt she should reassure Cecilia as much as possible. "He doesn't need a submissive. Well, he does, actually, because he's so lonely... but you don't pick them up at the shops with the groceries. He could use a girlfriend. He's been single for years, ever since Josephine left him for choosing music over status." "Wait, what?" Cecilia hadn't thought there would be another woman. She assumed that had been the role she was selected to play. "James had a fiancé, Josephine. When James stopped practicing law, she left, took the ring and part of his heart with her. She only wanted James for his money and connections. When he chose to overlook those things for art, she left him. But I never met her. I met James and Abraham after she was out of the picture. James is still a bit torn up over her." "Did he want those things from her?" Clara heard steps on the stairs, and quickly started working the shortbread dough. She had been distracted answering all of Cecilia's questions, trying to maintain openness and a feeling of safety, but she didn't want James hearing this conversation. Cecilia was going to repeat her question, but Clara cut her off with a look. "You'll have to ask him the rest yourself." "Ask me what?" James entered the room. Cecilia blanched. She hadn't noticed his approach. Clara was quick with an answer. "How the U.S. Embassy is coming along with Cecilia's passport and the like?" James furrowed his brow, sighing. "Still no news unfortunately, but don't loose hope. I always keep my promises. I just came down for a drink of water." He snagged a bottle from the refrigerator. "I'll leave you ladies to your baking." James exited quickly and politely. Cecilia followed him with her eyes, and Clara noticed. When she was sure James was out of earshot, she answered. "I don't think it mattered, to answer your question. She wasn't a real submissive. She was pretending, only after him for what he could provide for her. But from what Abraham said, James was content with what Josephine gave him. Abe hadn't really liked her, she wasn't good enough for James, he claims, and I'm sure he was right." "He loved her very much?" Cecilia asked. There was longing there. Clara detected it. "He did. But apparently, that wasn't enough." Clara replied matter-of-factly. She concentrated on the shortbread, feeling a sliver of hope for James yet. "You need to talk to James. You need to get some closure. I can't help you understand because I'm a bit foggy on the details myself. But he's a good man. He's been shutting himself away because he's so ashamed. It's something he does when he's upset." Clara knew she was treading a dangerous line between comforting Cecilia, and meddling in James' affairs, but she felt it was a time to be bold first, and apologetic second. Cecilia wasn't sure about this advice. She didn't know what to do, or how to approach James. He had been so... professional, aloof even, that she thought he was trying to distance himself from her, the burden that was living in his home. But that distance was part of the allure. James hadn't done any of the things she feared. Rather, he was trying to help her. Cecilia so wanted him to be safe, wanted to trust her growing attraction to him, and the fact that he didn't force anything on her. She wanted him to want her too. She had to know the reason they had been thrust together in this befuddling way. "Sometimes, in the morning, I bring a cup of tea, and some toast with marmalade up to the attic. James forgets to eat when he's practicing sometimes. Talk to him. Then you'll have all the answers you need." Clara suggested this, knowing that James would appreciate the gesture and the intent behind the act. When the cookies were finished baking and packed in tins, Clara saw a new resolve settle on Cecilia. She gave her a hug, and felt the tiniest bit smug about leading Cecilia to James. *** Cecilia woke early, having set her alarm she showered and then dressed herself in one of the feminine dresses Clara had brought her. Satisfied that she looked decent, Cecilia ventured to the kitchen to put on a kettle and make some toast. She was going to take Clara's advice. She needed to know how and why everything that happened to her had come to pass. Maybe then she could shake the shadows that lingered and the questions that came with uncomfortable answers. Chords that Bind Ch. 10 As Cecilia carried the tray up the stairs, she heard James finish running through his scales, and start her favourite piece again. She felt her heartbeat quicken. 'Be brave' she told herself, but as the music grew louder with each ascendant step, Cecilia felt a new set of instincts kick in. She kept her feet quiet, and mercifully, didn't drop the tray or rattle the teacup in its saucer. There was a table against the wall, and Cecilia set the tray down. James hadn't noticed her come in. He was too absorbed in the music. Cecilia was glad. She didn't want him to stop, and wasn't quite prepared for the intensity that crackled in the air. He was so talented, and Cecilia felt insignificant next to his display of aptitude. Uncertainty passed through her, and without pausing for too much reflection, Cecilia knelt on the floor, assuming the position of presentation that Master had taught her. A settled contentment passed through her. She was finally going to get her answers. James finished the second movement of the Pathetique, and moved to the third, but something was distracting him. It was irritating. Something was different in the room, and after he played a natural where a sharp was called for, James stopped in frustration, wondering what was off. He breathed deeply, annoyed at letting imaginary distractions get the better of his playing. But that was it! As he inhaled, he smelled toast and tea! Except, Clara was at rehearsal already... James stood from the bench and turned around. He was startled to see Cecilia kneeling. No, she was presenting herself, dressed up, and with his breakfast laid out behind her on a tray. James felt himself grow hard. She was the image of perfect, demure, submission. This had to be a dream. He had been having lots of those lately. Cecilia featured in most of them, and that was why he had been practicing late into the night, and early in the morning. Even his dreams were unsafe to the girl he claimed to be helping. He blinked his eyes and shook himself. He wasn't dreaming. Cecilia was there in his studio. How long had she been there? James tried to gather himself. "Cecilia, get up. What are you doing down there?" Cecilia's training was taking over, replacing her fear with the type of boldness that was possible only in a submissive. "Waiting on your pleasure Sir." "No. Cecilia. Stop this. We went over this. You're free. I don't want anything from you." He watched her take a sharp inhalation. James felt bad for that, so he added: "Thank you for bringing up breakfast though." "You're welcome Sir." James took hold of her bicep, and exerted upward force, trying to bring her to a standing position. Cecilia didn't know how she knew what to say, "Sir, please." She was going to undo him. James was sure of it. He needed to get her out of there and away from him. Her breathy plea was intoxicating. She was everything he wanted, even now, so eager to please. "What Cecilia?" James made himself sound impatient, hoping to scare her away, but despising the rudeness. "Don't. Just... I wanted to know." "Know what?" James had to keep this short. They grey, merino wool dress she was wearing was soft and clung so perfectly to Cecilia's form. It was a classy fit, but somehow devilishly sexy too. "Why me?" It had been a question she'd asked a few times now, but this time she asked the only one who could answer it honestly. "Why did you pick me?" James released his hold on her and stepped back as if he had been scalded by her touch. Maybe he had, she was achy with arousal from watching him play. She felt the familiar desire course through her. "I didn't. I didn't pick you. I told you, it was a mistake. I didn't know what I was setting in motion. Lace, the man you called 'Master', runs a website that's part matchmaking service and part social networking platform for people in the lifestyle. That's what it appears to be. It's the public face of his business and the legal front for his criminal dealings in trafficking. I wrote him, hoping he could match me with a woman. I was in a bad place, I didn't know that there was kidnapping involved. I thought it was a roundabout way of dating. All of it appeared legit. He took my profile, my likes and dislikes, and he matched you to that description." Cecilia was heated. He had described his ideal woman, and someone else had determined that she, Cecilia Alejandra Lavigne, was the right match. So that meant James did want everything that had been done to her. Right? "But you came that day..." He voice was soft and questioning, but James knew she was waiting to hear his admission of guilt. "I did. I didn't know until that day that he was a criminal." "You wanted me though." James swallowed. "Cecilia, you don't have to worry about any of that anymore..." "Did he show you photos of me?" she challenged. Cecilia was irritated that he was avoiding her question. "I- yes." "And you wanted me." It was simple statement of truth at this point. James was helpless. What would hurt her more? The lie or the truth? He took a few more steps away from her. Cecilia didn't relent, matching him step for step. "Didn't you?" Something was desperate in her voice. James wasn't going to make a fool out of her. "Yes. I did." James felt relief and revulsion at the words. He was a monster for what he had done, but at least he was still man enough to admit it. Cecilia nodded. Not breathing or speaking, she gracefully slid to the floor. She had her answer. He had wanted her. The man who had become her quiet savior had looked at her from far away and desired her. It was the first time anyone had said that, admitted that, or made her feel wanted. She had been wet before, from the music, but now she felt her body tighten from the inside out and felt all her sweet spots tingle with awareness. It was much easier this way, on her knees with her eyes downcast. He had never made a single demand of her. Something had changed inside Cecilia irrevocably. And rather than try to make sense of it, she wanted to give into it. James had paid for her, saved her. She wanted him to take what he had paid for. She could trust him with her body; he had already been taking care of her well being for months now. Cecilia was shaking on her knees, drawing on her last bit of courage. "Don't you want me still?" Gods! She was shaking like a leaf. He had terrified her with his admission. James couldn't hide his iron-hard arousal, and she was reverting to behavior she had learned would keep her safe. "Cecilia, no... stop it." "You bought my freedom. Take it." Her voice wavered, but didn't break. She was so innocently seductive. He nearly forgot she was a virgin, kneeling there like a vision, the answer to all his dark proclivities. He pulled her up again, intending to send her downstairs and leave him with his guilt, but she pressed her hands to his chest, and looked at him with eyes that always seemed to be shifting into different hues. She was ready to cry. "Please," she breathed again. James bowed his head, giving into temptation, tasting her lips, probing her mouth with his tongue. After months of keeping stringent control on himself James felt all control slip from his grasp, instead firmly holding the beautiful submissive who had literally thrown her life at his feet. It was everything he wanted. She tasted so pure, letting him direct the kiss, clinging to him as if the world would disappear under her feet. He pushed her against the wall, pressing the full length of his body against her. Cecilia was frightened and exhilarated. This had never happened to her before, and now that she didn't need to have courage, it had abandoned her, letting her absorb the intensity of an unbridled James M Ashton. She whimpered as she felt the wall brace her, and felt the heat radiating off of James' body. His fingers were in her hair, and the slight stubble on his cheeks abraded her gently as she gave into James directions, finally having her first kiss. Neediness was pooling at her sex. Cecilia didn't know what else to do, so she let James take control. She was pliant and giving. James held the back of her head in one hand, and let his hand sneak under the hem of her dress. She was so warm and smooth. He could feel how hot she was. He broke the kiss for the briefest of moments to look down at her. The trust was there in her eyes, and her body was somehow already obedient to his wishes. She parted her legs ever so slightly more, giving him access, inviting. He'd mussed her curls badly, but thought she looked even sexier that way, pushed up against the wall of his studio, begging for him with her eyes. He wasn't about to disappoint her, not after that display. He brought his feet inside hers, preventing her from closing her legs or denying him access. She wasn't going to be able to change her mind. With both hands he folded her dress up, revealing her black boy shorts. Her hips swayed towards his hands provocatively. Cecilia's hands returned to his hair, her nails combing his scalp, sending silly amounts of pleasure through him. James groaned in appreciation. He sent his finger over the front of her panties, and Cecilia moaned. She was soaked. He grabbed her hand, and guided it to where his fingers had just touched. He pushed it further, underneath her panties, and withdrew it quickly, seeing her gasp as he sucked her finger into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around her finger, lapping the muskiness, giving her a quick bite. Another gasp. Beautiful. So stunning. He ached to be inside her, but not yet. He was going to reward his perfect creature first. James peeled away her wet knickers, drawing them further down her legs, and delved a finger into Cecilia's sex. She threw her head back. Cecilia had never been free to enjoy this until now. It hadn't been possible before. Now, with her conscious assertion that she was eager to submit to James, all the pleasure that had been barred to her before was at his fingertips. As James let her adjust to the intrusion, he rubbed her clit with his thumb. She pumped her hips. It was so good, so much better than what she had achieved on her own. "Thank you Sir", she whispered. "Please. More. Please let me come." She was on the brink. Cecilia felt all the stress coiling inside her. When James heard her begging he stilled. He saw the desperation and willingness on Cecilia's face, and saw himself for what he was: a predator. How had she known to ask? How had she known he wanted her to beg him first? The answer was simple: Lace had trained her to ask. He yanked the dress back over her thighs, and backed away quickly. He brought a hand to his face, ashamed. It didn't help that her scent was on his hands. He turned so he wouldn't have to face her. No! Master was punishing her again. No, no, it was James who was punishing her this time, leaving her helpless and on edge. What had she done? She thought he would be so pleased. "Sir?" No, that wasn't formal... "Master?" Cecilia wanted to know what she had done. Maybe it was because she failed to address him properly. "Don't call me that." James voice was deadly serious. He was angry. "Please? What did I do?" "Nothing. Stop it Cecilia." He wouldn't look at her. "Straighten yourself up." It was a command, and despite her unfulfilled need, Cecilia didn't delay, feeling dirty and unwanted as she adjusted her dress and pulled her panties back up. She was loosing her footing, not understanding what had happened. "James? What did I do? Why are you punishing me?" James could hear her voice trying to remain calm through the tears. "I'm not. I'm not punishing you Cecilia. You need to leave." James tried to keep his voice even, but every word was laced with anger. Cecilia couldn't believe he was sending her away. She had thought... He wanted her, didn't he? Just seconds ago he had kissed her. Her chest was swelling as if her heart were suddenly too big to be contained. "But- Sir- I- I don't understand..." "Understand this! Stay away from me Cecilia. Stay far away from me." James had lost his grip entirely. "You said you wanted me." Now was when Cecilia chose to accuse him, James thought. Not after admitting that he had been the reason Lace kidnapped her and abused her. Cecilia decided to cast judgment, decided to be hurt, because he was trying to protect her. It frustrated James to no end, but he endured her accusation. "You said I was what you wanted, that that was why I'm here..." Cecilia was trying to figure out her place in the world, and James was unraveling her understanding of everything. "Cecilia, listen to me! I'm the reason you were hurt. That's my entire fault. Don't you understand what I told you?" James needed her to hate him. He didn't deserve her friendship, let alone her submission. He hadn't earned it. "NO! I don't. Why are you-?" James cut her off. "EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING that man did to you, ALL OF IT, was because of me! Don't you understand? I did that to you. Your fear, your surrender, the spankings, the bondage... I wanted all of that from a girl who would submit to me! I'm dangerous to you! I DID that to you! You aren't safe with me! You should hate me!" James yelled at her, satisfied that she was shrinking away from him. He decided protecting her required him to say more. He needed to convince her. "I DON'T want you. Get out of my studio! Stay away from me! I don't want you after everything that's happened. There is nothing between us!" Cecilia had backed up, but felt rooted to the spot. She could barely see through her tears, but she felt James' shouts wrack her body: He didn't want her. He hated her. James wasn't satisfied yet. He stepped close to her, and for a moment, Cecilia thought he would kiss her again and stem the flow of tears and pain. Instead he pushed her roughly. Speaking as evenly as his temper would allow, he looked at her, watching her flinch as he gave her a final dismissal, "Get. Out." Cecilia bit her lip. She ran downstairs and locked herself in her room, hugging her knees. She was first afraid James would return and punish her for what she had done; becoming sad now that she knew he wouldn't. She shamelessly threw herself at him. Instead of being turned on, he saw her as trash, damaged goods. She was dirty, contaminated; the unwanted result of an experiment with unintended consequences. Cecilia felt as if she were nothing more than an obligation. James had said over and over the whole thing was a mistake. She had tried to read into it, hoping that her hero, the man who rescued her, felt something for her. But he was just being kind until he could be rid of her for good. She sobbed, heartbroken, for hours. After making herself so vulnerable she learned the truth: 'This is what you get for being a whore!' Her mother lectured her inside her mind. 'No good man will want you. He has class and talent, what would someone like that want with a useless puta like you?' Cecilia's mother was right. James had been repulsed by her behavior, and Cecilia was shocked too. What had come over her? She never acted that way before. Now she knew why. The sting of rejection hurt worse than any of the injuries she had accrued up to now. She'd never been foolish enough or brave enough. No one had ever wanted her before; it was a child's fantasy to hope that someone like James could want her. Upstairs, James was shaking. He had to get a grip. He shouldn't have yelled. But he had been so close to... Who was he kidding? He had been taking advantage of a poor traumatized girl. It didn't matter what she said, Cecilia was in no condition to make these kinds of decisions for herself yet. He had done the right thing. He knew because again, his heart was fracturing, wishing he could take back everything he had done to the poor girl. She would have been better off if he had never seen her. In the safe haven of his studio, James silently wept. Cecilia pulled herself together. She didn't want to have to tell Clara, or worse, Abraham, why she'd been crying. She washed her face, and fixed her hair. She needed to pretend nothing was wrong. She had the answers she'd been seeking: He may have wanted her before, but he didn't want her now. Chords that Bind Ch. 11 My Dear Readers, Thank you first for your encouragement, and mostly for your patience. It took much longer than I planned to get this chapter out. I hope that the long wait hasn't made this chapter a letdown. I'd like to remind readers that this author does not condone, nor encourage anything done to another human being without their consent. I hope that your spirit of suspended disbelief is alive and well. I'm excited to share this next phase of Cecilia and James' story. Until next installment, ~Poeticlicense91 As Cecilia gathered her wits, a different worry niggled her mind. Was James so mad at her that he wouldn't help her anymore? What was she going to do? She didn't have anywhere to go. Her heart was in her throat; she contemplated what she would do if James threw her out of his house. *** James couldn't be alone with her in the house. That much was clear. He couldn't trust himself, and yet he had asked Cecilia to trust him? He was a predator of the worst sort, and Cecilia didn't know what was good for her. James' punishment was fitting for his crime. As much as it tormented him to keep a distance from her, he knew it was the best thing for her welfare. He was always told that doing the right thing hurt. Now he was certain that it was true. He picked up his mobile and called his friend Mae Kwon. *** Clara returned early from class, and found Cecilia setting out plates for dinner with pasta ready to be dropped into boiling water. Cecilia seemed relieved to see her. Cecilia, rather than evading Clara's usual questions about her day, launched into questions about how the upcoming show was going. Abraham arrived as Clara finished recounting her day, and Cecilia made sure to divert attention from herself. James didn't come down for dinner at all. After cleaning the kitchen up, Cecilia climbed the stairs to her room. She was preoccupied and worried, wondering what James' absence could mean. That was when she walked straight into his chest. "Easy. Alright there?" James caught her shoulders to steady her. Cecilia flushed with embarrassment and looked at her feet. "Sorry. I'll get out of your way." She stepped aside. "Actually, I was looking for you. Can I talk to you?" Cecilia wanted nothing more than to hide. How could this get any worse? "Come upstairs with me?" That was how. "Why?" She asked, guarded. James sighed. Everything he did made things worse for Cecilia, no matter what he tried to do. "I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have yelled at you." James turned to lead them up the stairs. "No. I should apologize. I shouldn't have come up there while you were practising. I'm sorry." "Cecilia..." He turned back to her. Apparently, the discussion was going to be had on the dark stairwell. "No." She cut him off. "I'm sorry if I... embarrassed you, it was wrong of me. I'll stay away from you, and when I get back to Philly, you won't hear from me again." It was James' turn to flinch. Everything she said was exactly what he didn't want to hear. But it was the proper thing to do. "I'm still trying to get you home. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it." Thank goodness for the dimness on the stairs. James knew he had a fierce expression on his face, and was thankful Cecilia couldn't see it. "Thank you for helping me." Cecilia said humbly. She knew now that he wanted her gone. Her heart was breaking. "You don't need to thank me. I know I keep saying it, but I'm sorry." Cecilia used all her willpower to keep from crying again. "I understand. It's fine." She took a deep steadying breath. "Did you need anything else?" James was taken aback by the sharpness of the question. "No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay..." Cecilia's voice was stiffening with the effort to remain calm. "Well, I'm fine, so I'll just get out of your way, shall I?" James heard the bitterness as Cecilia threw his own words back at him. It hurt him that he had hurt her, but now he was free to keep her safe and concentrate on everything getting closer to normal. He took the punishment, knowing he deserved it, and hoped that some day Cecilia might forgive him. *** After that dreadful day Cecilia tried her best to avoid being on her own with James. It didn't take much effort, because James was doing the same thing. To that effect, he invited his friend and partner, Mae Kwon to rehearse in his studio for their upcoming performances. She was a wonderful partner, and James enjoyed the way she felt the music. Mae was a lovely pianist. Her Asian features were striking, and her technique was the perfect match to James'. Hers were the extra two hands needed to play Schubert's Fantasie in F minor. *** Clara's rehearsals were closed to the public for the last few weeks leading up to opening night. The chorographers and directors wanted no distractions. That left Cecilia with lots of free time. She had been doing more of the cooking. It kept her occupied and was a nice way to help out Clara. But now that the chicken was braising, Cecilia was bored. She tried to read a book, to pass the time until Abe and Clara came home. Dinner with them was Cecilia's favorite part of the day, and usually after, they would share some good British television with her or watch a movie. Even though she knew he felt nothing for her, Cecilia was still drawn to James' playing. Like a moth to the flame, she would follow her ears and listen as he played expertly the pieces that had branded her where no one could see. He came down for meals less and less, but both Abe and Clara found nothing strange about his behavior. James had only a month until his tour started, and his hyper-focused practising was par for the course. Sometimes Clara asked Cecilia to bring a plate of food or pot of tea up to James, but Cecilia always insisted Clara should go, that she wouldn't want to break James' concentration, making up any excuse not to be alone in that room with him again. *** A week or so passed. Cecilia had read this book already, and while it was good, she already knew the ending. From the den she heard James come down and open the door. She peeked as watched as James ushered in a pretty Asian woman. Cecilia was relieved that James was still trying to get her home, and that he hadn't told Abraham or Clara what had passed between them. But Cecilia was curious about the woman and what they were doing. Was the woman James' girlfriend? Was she submissive? Cecilia couldn't stay still, so she crept upstairs, to see what she could see. It was more about what she could hear though, as she neared the top floor, Cecilia heard the strains of a piece of music she had forgotten about. She hadn't heard it since she woke up in James' house. It was piano, but the amount of sound coming out of it was not possible. She tiptoed further up. It was fantastic and sounded like something Clara should dance to. The music was hiding a secret or story, and the melody swirled around Cecilia like a caress. It was the last piece of music Master taught her. It was the piece of her surrender and James was sitting next to the elegant woman, who was also playing the piano. It finally made sense. One piano, two players, more sound than Cecilia thought she could take. James and the woman were playing in sync with each other, nodding their heads and tapping their feet, measuring out the music with their bodies as well as their fingers. It was deeply intimate, and Cecilia's heart was in her throat, hearing the music and watching James become less guarded. There was something between him and the woman on the bench next to him. Cecilia had gone to countless rehearsals at the Royal Ballet with Clara. She had seen a synergy pass between some of the danseurs and their partnered ballerinas. It was beautiful to watch, but Cecilia felt as if she were invading their privacy. She'd asked Clara how the dancers maintained professionalism when they were so... physical... with each other. Clara responded that it wasn't uncommon for partners on that level to have relationships, and some were even married to their partners. That conversation was fresh in Cecilia's mind as she watched James practice with the woman. She detected the same energy. Even as jealousy reared it's ugly head, Cecilia knew she was wet. Arousal was part of the torture she had to endure until she could return home. First, it had been just certain pieces of music, then it was her infatuation with James, and now anything he played turned her on. He turned her on. She still fantasized about him, humiliated that she was so weak. Cecilia shook, her body's demands too much. She was overwhelmed because her heart was making demands too, and she could do nothing to stymy the ache and hunger. As beautiful as the music was, Cecilia tore herself away. If she didn't, she didn't know what she would do, and she'd been stupid enough as it was. Locked in her room Cecilia closed her eyes, remembering the things Master had done to her while he played a recording of the music. He'd trained her to be a slave. It didn't matter that she resisted; she succumbed. She hadn't known it fully until today. She was a slave: she was held captive by the music, by her desires, and no matter what anyone said, she was never going to be free of that. Lying on her bed she heard the music and sound of her submission play in her head. She wasn't going to be able to concentrate on anything until she quieted her burning sex. She fantasized that James wanted her, had tied her up so that she couldn't escape, so that no one else could touch her again. He played the piano watching her body's reaction as he played the chords that resonated inside her chest. She was naked and unable to fight, held in her kneeling position by rope. James caressed her bare breasts. He palmed her pussy, wordlessly claiming her, teasing her for a moment before he returned to the piano and continued his practice and her torment. He did this over and over until Cecilia was begging him, interrupting the beautiful music, to let her go. "You know I can't do that." Cecilia shuddered. His power over her was tangible and flooded her senses. His voice was just as gorgeous as the rest of him, just as passionate as his playing. She wailed and begged him more. He shook his head, mocking her wordlessly. She bowed her head, helpless to convince James to free her. He played once more, and Cecilia closed her eyes, focusing on his talent and precision. Finally he finished the piece uninterrupted. Cecilia begged him one last time. "Alright." Instead of untying the ropes though, his fingers moved to her naked pussy and toyed with her. She was so close, so close... "I'll free you. Come for me." Cecilia did, and it went on and on. It was the most satisfying orgasm she'd ever had on her own. When she felt herself come back down, she cried. That was the closest she could come to what her heart desired, and she hated herself for all of it. *** After dedicated practicing with Mae, James began running through the Rachmaninoff cello Sonata with Natasha. Her legs went on for days, and she had symmetry in her face that Michelangelo carved into marble. Natasha had missed her calling as a supermodel. It wasn't that she wasn't a brilliant cellist; it was just that she was as haughty and difficult to work with as a model, and as gorgeous as well. She was a rigid perfectionist and wasn't open to variations or different interpretations of classical pieces at all. She had immense dedication, but her attitude often got in the way of her artistry. She always performed best with James, who seemed to be one of the only musicians on the planet capable of handling her ego. Perhaps it was because Natasha was in love with him. At least, that was what Cecilia thought as she spied on the Russian playing the most beautiful music she had ever heard with James. Neither of them needed sheet music, and instead they constantly glanced at each other, moving from measure to measure, movement to movement with bows of heads, dramatic retards, and intent, driven, syncopation. Cecilia hated the woman. She couldn't stay to listen to the whole piece. To her eyes, the icy blonde Russian was throwing herself at James. And James was responding to her better than he had to Cecilia. Cecilia wasn't talented enough, or smart enough, and she certainly wasn't beautiful enough: that was the message she got as she watched James interact musically with Mae and Natasha. *** Opening night for Alice in Wonderland sent an excited air throughout the house. James, Abraham, and Cecilia were excited to go to the Royal Opera House to support Clara. Cecilia had been nervous, missing Clara as she endlessly rehearsed, and worried about being in close proximity to James. Hopefully she wouldn't have to sit next to him. Clara had helped her pick out a dress to wear over a month ago. The event was black tie, and Clara had been her usual, bubbly, helpful self, dragging Cecilia with her to Harrods's making a day of getting tea, and selecting a gown. Cecilia had had fun that day with Clara, and was happy with her gown then, but now she felt ridiculous. Walking down the steps to join Abraham and James, she thought the royal blue silk was too clingy, the neckline too daring, and the weather too cold for such a dress. Watching Cecilia hold the railing and come down the stairs, James held his breath. She was always attractive, but the pains she had taken to blow her hair out and line her hazel eyes with kohl made her look ethereal. The off-the-shoulder cut of the gown bared her shoulders, and exaggerated the lines of her bare neck and collarbone. What he wouldn't give to be able to collar her, and add the finishing touch to the look. James shook himself. He couldn't think like that, but he didn't look away, watching the way the deep blue silk wrapped around her torso like a glove, ending in a whimsical handkerchief hemline that was so ladylike, yet so tantalizing, allowing him momentary glances of her shapely legs. Cecilia was looking at the floor again, James noticed, and then heard Abe complimenting her. James didn't trust himself to say anything, all the words he might have said growing thick on his tongue. "Well, we don't want to be late." James said briskly. It was a distracting drive in the S4. Abe insisted on squeezing in the back to allow Cecilia to sit in the front. James didn't want to pay attention to the road. Abraham was pointing out the buildings in London to Cecilia, who hadn't yet seen them lit up at night. Once at the Royal Opera House, Cecilia had enough to look at to stop being self-conscious. The opulent theatre was breathtaking, and Cecilia marveled at the exquisite detailing and extravagant décor. But when she pulled her eyes from the ceiling, she was met with another, very pleasing sight. James had checked his topcoat. He was in a black tux, holding a bouquet of white roses. He managed to look at home and comfortable in his crisp shirt, perfectly tailored vest, and jacket. His shoes were polished to a high sheen, but his thin Knightsbridge tie was already pulled a bit loose, as if there was something about the man that refused to abide by all the rules. Cecilia found him devastatingly handsome, and while they waited for an usher to take them to their seats, she caught herself finding new angles from which to appreciate James. The roses, she quickly found out, were for Clara once the performance had ended. He really did know how to be debonair when he so chose. Abraham watched James watching Cecilia. She did look exceptional, not a scratch or bruise marring her beauty. From the outside Cecilia appeared recovered. The poor girl had made good progress, but he knew that the battle with her inner demons was far from won. He sighed and glanced at his best mate. He knew James well enough to know he was smitten. The poor blighter was far too chivalrous to make a move. It was a shame, because he was beginning to think that Cecilia felt the same thing for James. For tonight though, he pledged to stay out of it, enjoy his wife's performance and have all three of them unwind a bit. The usher led them to their seats. Clara had used her comp tickets to secure them prime box seating. Abraham made sure Cecilia sat between himself and James, not wanting her to feel left out. Once they settled, Abraham took another glance at the two. Yes, there was something there, but he wasn't going to dwell on it. Dance was Clara's passion, and while Abraham had had little appreciation of ballet before he met his wife, he took great pleasure in seeing the joy that vibrated through Clara's entire being when she danced. The lights dimmed, and the orchestra sounded their obligatory tuning, preparing for the brief overture. Alice in Wonderland was an easy ballet to follow, assuming one was familiar with the Lewis Carol classic. For that reason, the three hadn't felt the need to study the program. However, when a familiar, long-limbed ballerina dressed as Alice took the stage, Cecilia opened her program. A loose sheet of paper fell out immediately. It read: In tonight's performance of Christopher Wheeldon's Alice in Wonderland, Soloist Clara Finnegan Kendrick will perform the role of Alice. Cecilia gasped in excitement. "Clara is Alice!" she whispered as loud as she dared. James noticed too, and handed the insert to Abe. The three of them looked at each other with huge grins, and then did a double take back to the stage. Clara was breathtaking. She convincingly mimed her part, but her dancing was unbelievably compelling. The audience was with her the entire time, laughing, gasping, and applauding after particularly difficult pirouettes and leaps. At intermission, the three just sat breathless and ecstatic. This was huge for Clara's dancing career, and she had surprised them all. "Did you know about this Cecilia? You've been watching rehearsals." Abraham asked, stunned at the wonderful surprise. "No. It's news to me, but I wasn't allowed to watch the final rehearsals... Something must've changed." Cecilia was so happy for her new friend. Clara clearly deserved the part, and she was such a darling that no one could begrudge her the good fortune. "I'll tell you one thing Abe," James finally spoke up, "They couldn't have found a better Alice. Tell me that isn't the most perfect role for Clara, and I wouldn't believe you." Abraham let out a hearty laugh. "You're right about that! Precocious, mischiefy, curious... That's Clara to a tee." The second half of the ballet was just as enjoyable as the first, and just as expertly performed. When the time came for curtain call, Clara had the audience on their feet, throwing roses, and shouting "Brava!" James clapped a beaming Abraham on the back. "That's your wife mate." "Damn straight that's my wife..." And then Abraham yelled those words, adding to the cheers from the audience. (Some of whom heard, and looked back disapprovingly at the man who clearly didn't belong at the Royal Ballet.) Abraham, James and Cecilia waited somewhat impatiently for Clara to come out of the dressing rooms. When she finally emerged in a striking tea-length emerald dress, complete with a full tulle skirt, Abraham ran to her, lifted her up and spun her around. He wasn't nearly as graceful as the men who had been partnering Clara on stage, but Clara looked more at home in his arms than anywhere else. "Why didn't you tell us?" Cecilia asked, feeling Clara's infectious energy. "It was a surprise then?" She asked with a straight face. They all laughed then, causing everyone to look at the two couples sharing some inside joke. People stared, some admiring, some a tad jealous of the two beauties in blue and green, flanked by two well-groomed and confident men. The Telegraph was doing a story about the show, and the photographer waltzed over to take a photo of the evening's star. Then he wanted a photo of Clara with her husband, and then Clara insisted on taking one with James and Cecilia. Cecilia moved to lean in next to Clara, but Clara had other ideas. "Go next to James there. That's it." The photographer agreed. "You all make lovely couples." He said when he had his pictures. Chords that Bind Ch. 11 Cecilia swallowed and pulled away from James. "Oh, we're not..." But the man had already left. *** Clara decided that Cecilia needed more fun in her life. At the same time, she decided James needed to forgive himself and rejoin humanity. The ballet was hosting a post-performance reception at Guy Savoy and all the company members and their families were invited. This was the perfect opportunity to encourage Cecilia and James to come out of their shells. Clara was forming a cunning plan. *** James hated these sort of things... No, he didn't hate the idea per se, but pre-arranged, work-related, cocktail parties usually had some sort of friction or awkwardness. Clara was unique in the dance community. She wasn't dramatic or attention-hungry like many other dancers. James found that attitude wearying in the small population of world-class artists who usually attended these things. At least James knew how to handle these people, and had a reputation in the community that preceded him; Abe felt entirely like a fish out of water. He was married to Clara, and James was his best mate, but Abe's appreciation for dance and classical music was based on his relationships rather than a burning passion of his own. Perhaps that was key to the delicate synthesis the three maintained. Regardless, Abe would have been more at home with a pint of bitter and some bangers and mash at the pub. Clara was the belle of the ball tonight. The artistic director, the choreographer in residence, the principal dancers, all invited Clara into their exclusive fold. For once, Abe didn't have to awkwardly answer questions about his job, or pretend to have profound thoughts on obscure dance pieces: He was perfectly at home with Clara on his arm getting the attention she had earned after decades of hard work. He beamed and was quite content to sip at his beer and play dutiful husband for once. Lord knows, Clara had been enormously supportive and he was happy he could do the same thing for her. James camped out at the bar. He handed the bartender a twenty-pound note. "Lagavullen neat. Keep it open." From this vantage point at the bar, James could stay inconspicuous. He was avoiding lots of people. He needed to maintain distance from Cecilia, but he also wanted space from a few people he knew at the Royal Ballet; one development coordinator always wanted him to play the piano for a benefit performance, and some of the dancers tried to cross wits with him, believing James to be too conservative with his ideas about music and dance. He inhaled the peaty liquor and hoped to God he would be left in peace. Clara had never been so popular at these functions. She knew that it likely would not last, but she intended to enjoy her success while it lasted. Usually, no one paid this much attention to a soloist, but Hilary Strand and Sebastian Echeverria, both principals, were chatting with her as if she was one of them. Clara frowned to see Cecilia standing conspicuously alone by some flower arrangements. The vivid blue of her dress gave her away; there was no possibility Cecilia could blend in the way she looked tonight. Enjoying having a coterie of people looking to her, Clara decided to use the newfound popularity to do Cecilia some good. She interrupted the self-congratulatory nature of the conversation around her. "You've all met my friend Cecilia, yes?" "Si, por sopuesto. She's been to rehearsals." Sebastian responded. His eyebrows lifted as his gaze travelled to Cecilia. "I was going to have her join us." Clara moved to lead the group over to Cecilia, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. The artistic director was behind her. "Clara," he cleared his throat, "I have someone you should talk to... you know Diana Shiley?" Diana Shiley was one of the biggest benefactors of the ballet. Her opinions and thoughts about the direction of the company were taken very seriously. That the artistic director wanted Clara to speak with Ms. Shiley was rather portentous. Maybe more good things were coming her way. Sebastian beamed at her, revealing teeth that were almost too white. "Well, Clara you go and chat with Ms. Shiley. We'll keep Cecilia company." Sebastian had admired "Clara's shadow," Cecilia, from afar. Tonight she looked most tempting. Cecilia watched the graceful approach of the two dancers. Hilary seemed to waft over, as if floating Cecilia's way, while Sebastian made purposeful strides towards her. He had an uncanny ability to always maintain a virulent masculinity in his dancing, even though ballet leaned towards the effeminate. He had ease and comfort in his gait, completely in control and at home in his body. The Spanish danseur had spoken to her a few times at the rehearsals she visited. He often danced shirtless. From a distance, Cecilia had appreciated and admired his tanned physique and dexterous strength. A safe distance away at the bar, James noticed the flamboyant Spaniard saunter up to the sapphire-clad Cecilia. The waifish ballerina that was with them did nothing to alleviate James instincts. Sebastian was too close to Cecilia. Yes, he was definitely invading her personal space. Where was Clara? Someone should be there to look out for Cecilia. As he wondered about Clara's whereabouts, Abe approached James at the bar. Abe seemed to be practically jolly. "Clara's doing very well it seems." "Indeed." James barely looked at his best mate. He was too busy watching Sebastian flirting with Cecilia. The other dancer seemed to be encouraging him. "Wells Bombardier please," Abe ordered. "I reckon Clara just might have pushed her career into hyper drive tonight. I wish she had let us in on the secret though." "Mmm... perhaps..." "I may have to take that in hand later..." Abe expected his friend to make a sly comment, or at least smile knowingly. James didn't even respond. Abe looked to see what had caught his best friend's attention. "It's good to see Cecilia coming out of her shell more. Seems like she's making friends." James sniffed. "I'm not sure Don Juan over there has friendship in mind..." Abe cocked an eyebrow, took a long draw of his bitter and steeled himself for what he was about to say. "And, if he is? I recall you saying you had no intentions as far as Cecilia's concerned." "I haven't. That doesn't mean I like the look of his intentions." "It would appear that Cecilia might not mind." Cecilia was laughing at something the Spaniard said. James scowled. That one spent too much time on his appearance. His long hair was tied back with a ribbon of all things, and he had spent some serious time and energy whitening his teeth. Most women found Sebastian devastatingly handsome; James found the man shallow and self-serving. And now he was tucking a lock of Cecilia's hair behind her ear. James entire bearing tightened. He didn't know where Clara was, and it was unfair of him to think of her as Cecilia's chaperone, but someone should be on the watch for Cecilia. He drained the scotch, turned to the bartender. "Two flutes of Mumm please." "Right away Sir." The champagne glittered in the crystal flutes. Abraham gave James an amused look, that James choose not to remark upon. It was merely a protective maneuver, to make sure that the Spanish dancer didn't cause any further damage to Cecilia. She'd been through so much already because of James' foolhardiness. James wasn't about to let any further harm happen on his watch. On his approach, James groaned inwardly as he heard Sebastian over-emphasize the roll in his "r's", playing up his accent as he spoke to Cecilia. "...I think you would really enjoy the food and atmosphere. But how rude of me!" The Spaniard continued, "Can I get you a drink? Cecilia was fumbling for words when James answered for her. "I'm afraid I've already seen to it, Sergio." He handed Cecilia the flute, placing himself between the over-confident Spaniard and the angel he needed to protect. It was an overt display, but James found he couldn't care less. "It's Sebastian, actually." Sebastian corrected James, detecting the slight for what it was, even if Cecilia hadn't caught it. "Right, sorry." James willed Sebastian to take his dismissal. Turning to Cecilia he whispered with warmth into her ear. "It's champagne. Cheers!" "Huzah!" Cecilia whispered conspiratorially back, happy to have something as simple as an inside joke with her rescuer. James relaxed some now that had inserted himself between Cecilia and Sebastian's questionable intentions. He clinked his glass with Cecilia, feeling a bit smug. Hilary introduced herself and conversation returned to the usual "Did you enjoy the performance?" and other thinly-veiled attempts at fishing for complements. James had never been more relieved to be caught in a meaningless conversation. Cecilia honestly seemed to be enjoying the evening, and James found a contented pleasure in viewing the event through her un-jaded perspective. He mentioned his appreciation for the ballet's music, and Cecilia asked about the score, the conversation becoming more intimate as they strayed into James' area of expertise. James felt more in control with Cecilia distracted away from Sebastian. Her honest interest and curiosity in music made her that much more engaging. Even though James had made himself Cecilia's self-appointed chaperone, he couldn't help but assert his own desire to have her all to himself. Sebastian hadn't given up though. Apparently James had interrupted a dinner invitation. "Cecilia, you must not toy with my emotions... Won't you say 'yes' and join me for that wine dinner? It's at Pizzaro." He indicated the glass Cecilia was sipping from, "If you like champagne, you'll adore cava. It doesn't give you a headache like the French bubbly." He smiled charmingly as he gave James a look that a matador gives to a bull. James held his breath as Cecilia swallowed, blushed and managed to say, "I'll have to think about it. It does sound lovely though." She felt weird having this conversation while James was there. James, for his part, squeezed a fist in triumph behind his back. Cecilia had opted for a polite letdown Sebastian persisted. "Por favor muñeca." Wanting to end the conversation while James was there, Cecilia nodded, "Okay, okay. Sería mi gusto." Cecilia could sense James next to her as she agreed to Sebastian's invitation, but tried to ignore the stabbing pain that had hoped to have an invitation from James instead. Sebastian flashed his overly white smile at Cecilia and James. Hilary started gushing about a vegan tapas bar she had recently visited, and the tension eased in the little group as the subject changed. *** Clara leaned her head against Abraham's shoulder, enjoying the small intimacy amidst the hyper-social gathering. They were at the bar, momentarily removed from the rest of the fray. But Clara watched her plan unfold as Sebastian and James each sought to catch and maintain Cecilia's attention. Clara smiled at Abraham's closeness, crossing her fingers that her plan worked. She sighed, giving the tiniest voice to her anxiousness. Abraham noticed. "What's wrong sweetness?" "Nothing love. Just enjoying the moment." "I'm so happy for you. Do you think there's more to come?" "Ms. Shiley seemed to think so. I hope she's right..." Clara sounded wistful. "There is one little matter we need to settle." Abraham suddenly sounded businesslike. "What's that?" "I think Alice was very naughty getting into so much trouble in Wonderland. Don't you?" She felt a firm squeeze to her bum. Clara gasped, but Abe was all smiles. When she didn't respond Abe taunted her further. "And I think Clara wasn't on her best behavior... keeping news like that a secret from me." Clara bit her bottom lip, trying not to beam while her dominant husband was pretending to be serious. "And, I'm curious if you were planning on telling me that you were setting Cecilia up?" Oh dear. That one was a bit more serious. Clara decided to wait to see how much of her plan Abraham had divined. "What do you mean?" "Now's no time to be coy. Look over there." Clara looked in the direction in which Abe had nodded his head. James was on Cecilia's right, and Sebastian was on her left, the two each trying to gain access to her personal space. Hilary seemed put out to be left out of the game, struggling to reassert her presence with the two handsome men who had eyes only for Cecilia. Cecilia didn't seem to enjoy the attention as much. Clara looked up at Abraham through her downcast lashes. "I was only trying to help Cecilia." Abe smirked. "With whom were you setting her up?" It seemed like it was confession time. "Either one?" Clara said quietly. When Abe remained silent, Clara explained further. "Cecilia needs to get out more, make some friends. She shouldn't have to stay at home all the time. I thought it'd be good for her. Honestly. She needs to get used to being around people again. And..." "And...?" Abraham probed. "Maybe James needed a kick in the pants. Don't tell me he doesn't have any interest in her." "So you decided to set Cecilia up to make James, our James, my brother, jealous?" "That's about the gist of it." Clara tried to sound strong as she admitted her devious plan. "Clara!" Abraham was shocked at her scheming. It was so manipulative and not in Clara's nature at all. Clara at least, had the grace to pretend to look penitent. "What am I going to do with you?" "Wait to see if it worked?" Clara suggested hopefully. Abraham sighed and looked back over to his best friend and the vibrant girl they had so recently rescued. "Let's salvage the evening while I puzzle out what to do with you." He gave Clara a spank on her bottom and they went to rejoin James and Cecilia. "Well don't you two look cozy over here," Clara said. She had intentionally left the second individual ambiguous, but Clara saw Cecilia's eyes flash towards James. "How's it going?" "Muy bien, Clara." Sebastain had clearly been under the impression that she had been addressing him, "How was your chat with Ms. Shiley?" "Very pleasant, but probably not as stimulating as what you've been discussing." "No. Perhaps not. Cecilia has just agreed to have dinner with me, so I do believe I'm having all the fun." Cecilia nodded and blushed. Clara was encouraged to see the plan working. Whatever happened, Cecilia was going to at least start interacting with more people since her ordeal. "Where are you going?" Clara probed further. Abraham saw James clench his jaw. This meddling had gone too far, regardless of Clara's intentions. To set his friend at ease, he went to Cecilia on the pretext of taking her empty glass, returning with it replenished and flanking her other side creating more distance between Cecilia and Sebastian. Abe gave Clara a stern look. She swallowed and dropped that line of conversation. Maybe she had needed a more cunning plan. Eventually, Sebastian left. Having secured the promise of seeing Cecilia again, he withdrew from the knot of people with an extra lift in his gait. Hilary soon politely made her exit. James was frustrated. Every time he tried to refocus the conversation, Sebastian managed to steer the discussion back to himself. James had had enough and was relieved to see the back of the Spaniard. He was quite ready to go home. It had been a rollercoaster of an evening. Cecilia examined the turn of events in the car as they drove home. She admitted to herself that she was rather pleased with how everything had turned out. She hadn't made a fool of herself, her new best friend had danced magnificently, and someone as self-possessed as Sebastian Echevarria had asked her out to dinner! In the safety of her mind, she allowed herself the luxury of thinking that she may have even cut a good figure at the after-party. The only flaw had been that it had been Sebastian, and not James, who had flirted with her. But James had been by her side for most of the evening and didn't seem to mind her. They had spoken and laughed... Both of them tacitly agreed not to mention the incident. She shouldn't hope for more. For tonight, it was enough. Clara spent the short car ride home wondering what Abe had in store for her. James' brooding silence was palpable to both Clara and Abraham. They both knew him well enough to know that he was exerting heavy thought to the evening's events. Clara hadn't counted on James becoming this consumed by someone else expressing interest in Cecilia. This was bad. She hadn't meant to cause him pain... just to push him a bit. When they arrived back at the townhouse, James rounded the car to help Cecilia out. She nearly forgot to breathe when he offered his arm to walk her back inside. Maybe it was foolhardy to be in such proximity to Cecilia, but James felt he could maintain control. Besides, after such strain had been put on his self-control tonight, he wanted to prove that he could still be a gentleman. "That dress is quite becoming on you. You look lovely tonight." He had been wanting to tell her that all night. "Thank you for coming and sharing a drink with me. I don't usually have that much fun at those sort of things." "No. Thank you... James." Once inside, James gave Cecilia's hand a gentle pat. For a moment, Cecilia thought she saw a look cross James' face, as if he were going to say something, but he merely unwound his arm from her grasp and gave her a bow, the perfect gentleman. How her heart ached for there to be something more between them. Clara started for the stairs when Abe clasped her wrist. His voice was low in her ear. "You know where and how I want you... I'll be up soon." The playfulness from earlier had evaporated into a tangible heat wherever his eyes gazed on her. Clara shivered. She scurried up the steps to their room, flashing a backward glance at Abraham, who still did not seem amused. James leaned against the doorjamb that connected his study to the foyer. He watched Clara climb the stairs behind Cecilia. He didn't like to intrude on Clara and Abraham's relationship. It was something he took great care to respect. After he was sure Clara was out of earshot, James broke into Abe's lust-filled line of thought. "A word Abe?" "Yes." Abe nodded soberly. James eschewed the formality of his study and moved to the den, pulling his tie loose and shrugging his jacket off. "Where do I begin James?" "How about telling me that you had nothing to do with that?" "With what?" "Clara was baiting me, Abe. And I don't know if it was for my benefit or that damn Fabio-wannabe's." "Ah... that... well, James I'm seeing to it as we speak. And no, I had nothing to do with it. When I saw what she was playing at, it was too late to tactfully stop it. You'll notice that I did try to create some distance for you both." "I thought so." James settled onto one of the couches, debating if he could pour himself a nightcap. Abraham settled that question quickly, by digging a dusty bottle of brandy out from behind a bookshelf cabinet. James grimaced at the familiarity between the two of them. He was never able to keep much hidden from Abe. The man just knew him too well. Abe left to get some snifters, and returned, pouring James an extra finger of brandy. "Here, you need it." "Thanks." James said, inhaling the heady scent and taking a sip as he listened. "James, you know I'm sorry for what Clara was trying to do. I know how you feel about Cecilia. It's no big secret. She was only trying to help, but she never should've meddled." James was tight-lipped. "Come off it James! You could cut the tension between you and Cecilia with a knife. It's okay to admit it..." Chords that Bind Ch. 11 James ignored the invitation to spill his thoughts. Instead he diverted the conversation. "I'm seeing how unfair it is to try and keep Cecilia with us all the time. She has a right to socialize and go out... Clara was right to encourage her." "Beg your pardon?" "I'm just concerned for her safety. I'm flying out soon. Abe, you'll look after her while I'm abroad right?" "Of course." "I mean really keep an eye on her? Just because I don't trust that Spanish bloke doesn't mean she doesn't have the right to see him. It's not for me to determine who Cecilia dates. "James... wouldn't... you rather see to it yourself?" Abe understood Clara's temptation to push his best friend. James was being rather thick about this. "Sure, but I can't. I'll be in Vienna, and then in Berlin, and then off to other places. Clara was absolutely right to try and help Cecilia this way. She won't fully recover until she can socialize and be with other people. Tonight was a good step for her." "No James, Clara wasn't right, not the way she was handling it." "Just because I'm incapable of being objective where Cecilia is concerned doesn't mean she wasn't right." "She wasn't James. I'm going to be correcting that shortly. But you and Cecilia have a connection." James eyes were fiery and his voice pointed. "Of course we have a connection! A criminal one. That's nothing but Stockholm syndrome. Hopefully, with me away, she can continue to recover from that. Seeing someone else should help with it too." "James! You can't hold yourself accountable! You were ignorant of what was happening! It's not your fault. Cecilia doesn't hold you responsible. She practically worships you! Or are you too oblivious to notice?" "She's afraid of me Abe! And she should be!" Abe hated seeing his friend this hurt. Clara hadn't helped, but she wasn't the root of the issue. "James, can't you talk to her?" James stared into his snifter. He debated telling Abe about the incident in the attic. But as he pondered that situation, he saw Clara's hand in it as well. It was totally within the realm of possibility that Clara had told Cecilia to approach him that way. He had no desire to put Abraham further in the middle of this. He sighed. "Talk to her and tell her what Abe? "Can I take you for tea sometime? I think you're gorgeous and I'm so happy that you're here? It's brilliant luck that the trafficker I know found you for me?" It doesn't matter what I feel for her Abe! "There. I've said it! I desire Cecilia profoundly. I could fall in love with her in a heartbeat! But anyone who approaches Cecilia with that intent right now would just be preying on a recovering victim." James was consciously lumping Sebastian into that category, even though he pretended to be accepting of Cecilia building new relationships "James, being attracted to her isn't a crime. And maybe she doesn't want to be the victim anymore." Abe was trying to be reasonable. "She deserves better than what I've done to her. I would never be able to trust that any relationship we have could be real or honest after what I've done." Abe didn't know what to say to that. It was typical James: A completely sound argument based on the false premise that James was a bad person. There were reasons to believe the things James said, but somehow, Abe was unconvinced. "I'm sorry mate. I really, truly am." "There's no reason for you to apologise. This is of my own making. Just promise me you'll keep her safe while I'm gone." "You know I will." "Good." James felt at least that worry settle some. "Has Clara been waiting for you this whole time?" James asked, gesturing at the conversation. "As a matter of fact, yes." Abraham finished his brandy. He had given himself a smaller pour for a reason. "Will you manage while I take care of the rest of this problem?" He couldn't hide all the eagerness from his voice. James smiled despite his foul mood. Sometimes it was so hard to watch their happiness, even though he wouldn't have it any other way. "By all means. I'm not much company anyway." Abe left the room, knowing there was nothing more he could do for his friend. He turned his mind to his naughty little wife and managed a smile. There was plenty he could do on that front, however. *** Clara had been kneeling for a considerable time. How long had it been actually? Upon entering their bedroom Clara disrobed, unzipped her emerald dress and carefully hung up the Tom Ford creation. Donning a pair of pink rehearsal tights, a black leotard, and tying the ribbons of her pointe shoes, Clara knelt next to Abraham's armchair. This was how they started nearly all their sessions. It had seemed like Abraham kept her waiting forever. She stared around the room, taking in the space that they had created together. It was the one room in the townhouse that Clara felt expressed Abraham and herself perfectly. It hadn't mattered to Abraham as much as it had mattered to Clara that they create the space together. Abe was happy to let Clara do all the decorating, but she insisted, nudging him into action. The result was the perfect blend of masculine practicality and feminine aesthetic. Chocolate browns and golds made the basis of a warm colour scheme that was accented by the palest of pear green. Oriental fabrics with rich paisley textures, jacquard textiles, and a wealth of pillows threw the right amount of imperial conquest into the room. The inviting bed had a modern, straight-laced canopy, draped in fine linen. Nothing was too frilly or wantonly overdone. Clara's eyes slipped to the trundle drawers under the bed, wondering which implement would be chosen to rectify her offenses. It had been a long time since she had been punished in earnest. She shivered again. The long wait made her more anxious than it should have, and Clara wondered if she could wrap one of the blankets around her while she kneelt. Just as she was about to cave and break her kneel, Abraham softly pushed open the door. He loved this moment. The moment when he could see the shift between the rambunctious and fiery Clara into the Clara that only he was privileged enough to see. He saw, in the space of a few seconds, her back straighten even more and her lashes flutter as she struggled to keep her eyes down when all she wanted to do was look at him. She flexed and relaxed her fingers, opening her palms that were elegantly placed above her knees. She took a large but silent gulp of air, and slowly let it go through her nose. Clara brought a spirit of overwhelming victory to Abe every time she allowed him to bare his soul, by revealing her own. Abe focused his own breathing. After tonight he wanted nothing more that to ravish his wife, the perfect ballerina that was so responsive, so lively, and who stilled only for him. Unfortunately, he would have to delay his foremost desires. Abe couldn't recall what the last infraction was that had led the two of them to a punishment. It must have been silly indeed... maybe Clara had made them late to an engagement? This time though, was more serious. Abe stepped directly in front of Clara, and stroked her cheek. She was motionless. Abraham crouched down to eye-level with Clara, tilted her chin up until she was forced to make eye contact. Abe kissed her passionately, holding her face, and ravishing her mouth, pulling away with a slight bite to her lower lip. Clara fought with herself not to follow him. He turned to the drawers he had built under their bed. Clara felt her nipples harden. Between her chill and Abraham's kiss they were pebbled into points that her thin leotard did nothing to hide. When she saw rope in Abraham's hands, she felt her blood quicken, even though she was openly shivering. Abe hadn't said a word yet, and he didn't intend to break the silence. He had a medium length of rope in his hands, and lovingly took Clara's tiny wrists. He could circle both of her hands in one of his own. The soft hemp was looped around one wrist and then brought to the other, crossing at the small of Clara's back. The lean muscles that bore the mild tension revealed the long years of effort and control that Clara had spent becoming a talented dancer. She was always in control of her body. It was both her canvas, and the finished sculpture. When Clara danced freely to music, she was in control. When she danced at the ballet, the choreographer and ballet masters were in control, but like this: Abraham was the conductor, choreographer, and audience. It wasn't dance the way other people imagined it, but Abe found the exchange, the communication, as riveting between just the two of them as it had been before a full audience. A soft, low rumble issued the first command. "Stand Clara. Over to the bed, bend forward, legs together." Yes, Degas had understood something about dancers when he painted them. Abe watched how even simple movement became so much more expressive as Clara sashayed to the bed. "If only you had behaved..." Abraham sighed to himself. Not that he minded seeing his love so enticingly presented. He merely wanted to be wrapped around and in her already. "Clara, do you know why I have to punish you?" "Yes Sir." "Tell me Clara." "I kept an important secret from you." Clara didn't want to have to talk about the more serious issue just yet. "Yes. You did... but I think you know why I have to really punish you Clara. Care to share that with the class?" "I-I-I..."She took a big breath, "I tried to set up Cecilia." SMACK!! Abe's big hand came down across Clara's buttocks. Abe was disappointed. "No Clara. That is not why you're bent over waiting for a spanking. You were being manipulative Clara." Abraham's voice was steady and took on a lecturing tone. "You were playing games with James' emotions, and with Cecilia's too, for that matter. Did you think that maybe your plan might not work-which I might add, it didn't-and that their feelings could be hurt?" Clara waited to be sure Abraham was finished talking. "No. No I didn't, but-" SMACK! "The answer is 'no sir'." Abe rebuked Clara. "And no 'buts' Clara. James was already a bit of a head wreck over Cecilia. Now he's even more torn up over her." Clara gulped. Her plan had gone all wrong. "I'm sorry Sir." Abraham heard genuine contrition in Clara's voice, but he hadn't even really started. "Clara, for being manipulative with our friends' feelings, you're going to get twenty with the crop." Clara breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Tears had welled up in her eyes at the thought of causing either James or Cecilia more pain. Abraham stepped away from her to retrieve the crop from the drawer under the bed. SMACK! Abraham surprised Clara when she felt his hand make contact with her bum. Over and over his hand came down. It was a warm-up, which was both good and bad. Clara knew that he wasn't planning on being gentle when he finally did use the crop, but also knew that the spanking from his hand would ensure she made a steady and bearable ascendance to the place where her punishment would eventually meet pleasure. Abraham was never cruel or unduly mean, even when she earned a punishment. Abraham preferred using his palm to anything else when he played with or punished Clara. It was intimate and reassuring way to both punish and be punished. But punishment was less about what he or Clara wanted and more about what was called for. The crop was a suitable implement, but Abe insisted on warming Clara up; he enjoyed the feel of her flesh warming as his hand roughly groped her muscular behind. Her skin absorbed the blows, catching a ripple as the force dispersed along her whole ass. Just to keep her on her toes, Abe varied the target, catching her thighs below where they met her bottom. Clara was a good girl and didn't cry or beg, but Abe could hear the sharp intakes of breath and gasps. He could see the redness beneath the translucent pink tights he had her wear. She appeared such an innocent, but they both knew the farce, and Abe enjoyed the glow that was blooming across her backside as Clara took her spanking. Clara hadn't been told to keep count and was thoroughly distracted when Abraham paused. Her attention had been on the wetness building between her legs. Apparently, Abraham's mind had followed her own and she felt his index finger wiggle between her legs and trace a firm line across the front of her sex and over her clit. She cursed the fabric of her leotard and tights, wishing for better contact. Clara was no longer cold. Her bottom already stung, tiny pinpricks made themselves known, reminding Clara that her punishment hadn't even properly begun. Abraham chuckled. As his finger gently teased Clara he saw her rise slightly and flex her hips as she made to follow the stimulation. Abe chuckled and playfulness crept into his voice. "Do you honestly think your performances tonight warrant that kind of attention Clara?" Clara blushed, her face and décolletage making a noble attempt to match her red ass. She felt his finger again, and she spread her legs, giving him better access. SMACK! "It wasn't a rhetorical question Clara." "No Sir." Clara answered quickly. "Since you seem so eager, I think you can spread those legs wide for me." Abraham felt his raging hard-on throb further as Clara complied with the request. Damn she was perfect, and there were benefits to her dance training... "Farther Clara. En pointe." Clara's flexible frame exceeded what most people could physically handle. She whimpered. Abe groaned as her calf muscles lifted, her quads and glutes hardened and her heels left the ground entirely. The position opened Clara's hips, and let her torso bear even more of her weight on the soft bed. Abe saw the innocence begin to leech out of the tableau. Clara's wetness was seeping through her thin covering, and when he moved to see her face, her eyes were pleading, conveying the very same dark desire Abraham felt, mixed with remorse now that her punishment was going to begin in earnest. Abe didn't let his gaze soften, much as he wanted to. Instead, he looked her straight in the eye and said. "Count them Clara." He looked so disappointed in her. Clara was willing to do or say anything to make that look leave his face. As aroused as she was, as desperate for the punishment part of her evening to end, she knew that if he chose to exceed the count she would be more than willing to submit to it, if only he could look at her with the longing she felt, but didn't yet deserve. Legs spread, bottom stinging, Clara now understood how short-sighted her plan had been. Thwap! The crop landed on her pert little ass with breathtaking speed. She tried to clench her bottom, but her wide-legged stance prevented it. "One Sir." Thwap! "Two Sir." The impact was harder than she remembered, perhaps because she hadn't needed to be punished in so long. Thwap! "Three Sir." The fourth hit the sensitive curve where her thighs joined her bottom and she lowered her heels, squeezing the muscles. "Back in position Clara. That one doesn't count. On your toes." Clara made her legs assume the previous position, feeling the true purpose of her position: to increase her helplessness against the crop's impact. There was no way to brace herself for each blow. Thwap! "Four Sir." "Better. Hold that position for the rest of them, or they won't count Clara." "Yes Sir." Thwap! "Five Sir." On and on. At ten, Clara felt her bottom become sore underneath all the stinging of her skin. Thwap! "Eleven Sir. Please, I'm sorry!" "I know. You're over halfway done." Thwap! "Continue." "Twelve Sir. Please? No more?" "Be good Clara." Thwap! Clara wanted to be good, she did. Tears finally leaked out of her eyes. She sobbed, "Thirteen Sir" She felt tremours course through her legs. She knew that all she had to do was say her safeword if she felt that her punishment was exceeding her ability to endure it. Clara had to be very mindful that their play didn't push her body too far. She already pushed physical limits at class and rehearsals, so it was important that she didn't overdo it and risk injury. She had performed a demanding piece tonight, and her body objected to further strain. Thwap! "Please. Fourteen Sir! Please... please... Yellow!" Tears spilled over and Clara eased off her toes. The tension and tremours already started to fade as she let her heels bare more weight, and moved her feet fractionally closer together, relaxing her hips. Abraham was right behind her, rubbing her back. "Clara? What's wrong?" "My legs and my feet. I couldn't hold them like that any longer... I-" "Shhhh... Clara is it any better like that? Do you need me to stop?" "N-n-n-no Sir. I just couldn't hold that position any more. There are six left... I know... I need them... It isn't red... just yellow." "Clara, are you sure? You know you don't have to..." "I know. But I- I do. I do have to, to make it better." Abraham swallowed at these words. He did understand, but he was unwilling to entertain even the possibility of doing Clara an injury. "No love. You can have the other six later, tomorrow perhaps. I won't have you hurting yourself or not being on your leg because you were trying to be tough for me." Abraham unwound the rope from Clara's wrists. More tears threatened to spill from Clara's eyes. Her spanking and cropping honestly hurt, but she felt mildly ashamed: She was disappointed that she had had to stop Abraham short. Intellectually, it was a foolish sentiment. She knew that he would have been upset if she hadn't been honest about her body's limits tonight. Abraham helped Clara sit up on the bed. She sat upright like a long-limbed China doll. He looked her straight in the eye as he pulled the ribbon of her pointe shoes loose. With practiced ease he took the slipper off. He heard Clara's sigh of relief. After performing tonight, he had been asking too much of her body. He took her fragile right foot in his hand and started to firmly rub it down. Clara leaned back at the pleasure of the impromptu massage. His large hands kneaded the delicate tendons in her ankle and then erased potential muscle spasms that were hiding in her calf muscles. Clara closed her eyes and moaned. Then Abraham moved to her left foot. By the time he finished with her feet, Clara was half melted. Abraham kissed her tenderly, and guided her to turn around. He peeled off her black leotard. Her pink tights followed. Without them, Abe could see just how red Clara's backside had become. He gave it a little pinch, enjoying Clara's squeal. He scooped Clara's naked form up and carried her to the bathroom, turning the shower on, waiting for hot water. When the room filled with steam he set Clara down, and gave her bottom sharp encouragement to step inside. Abe divested himself of his formal clothing, tossing the uncomfortable garments in a heap on the floor. His cock was raging, demanding that Abraham do something and NOW. Instead, Abe ignored his lower half and started to wash Clara, scrubbing off the sweat and makeup, massaging her tired muscles, letting her body relax. When Clara was clean from head to toe, she seemed to drift back to earth. She felt so much better now. Still, her properly tanned backside and lovely massage from Abraham had her on edge. She kneeled in front of her husband on the glass tiled shower floor, and without asking for permission, slipped her mouth over Abraham's iron rod. The hot water beating down on Clara was glorious, and she closed her eyes as she employed her tongue to enflame Abraham even further. Her hands glided up his thighs, gripping him tightly, as she let his cock free just long enough to lave at his heavy bollox. The burly man groaned. Clara was supposed to ask permission to pleasure him, but at the moment, all Abe had the capacity to care about was that she didn't stop. With more concentration, he felt his wife and submissive begin to ease him further and further into her mouth, seeking to swallow him entirely. Clara groaned as he nudged the back of her throat. Her cheeks hallowed and sucked hard across his shaft. The vibrations and vacuum Clara created had Abe panting quickly. Chords that Bind Ch. 12 Dear Readers, I know I've been away for a while. My hearty apologies! Thanks for hanging in there with me and Cecilia (and Clara, and Abe, and James). I hope you all have lovely holidays. I'm crossing my fingers this makes it up in time for Christmas, but if not, just remember that there are 12 days... Here's the usual disclaimer about this being a work of fiction, so not to take everything so, so seriously. Your suspended disbelief is appreciated. Please know I don't condone or endorse anything done to another person without their consent. Also, a last thank you to the lovely comments and feedback I've received, especially those of you clamoring for the next installment. You really did spur me on to get this done. Xoxo Poeticlicense91 *** The next morning Clara woke, still nestled next to Abe, her tired feet snuggled under his legs for warmth. The soreness in her bottom throbbed a bit. She rolled over and saw Abraham was already awake and lucid, watching her sleep. She hugged him and whispered "Good morning Sir." "Mmm... morning sweetness. How'd you sleep?" "Fine Sir." His hand gave her bare bottom a squeeze. Clara wiggled and moaned. "How about your bum? How's that feeling?" Clara endured her husband's teasing and pretended to feel nothing. "Just fine thanks." "Oh really?" He gave her a sharper pinch. "Ow! Ouch! Okay, it's sore Sir." "Good, wouldn't want to hear that I was loosing my touch." Abe smiled. The warmth and familiarity they had after a session was wonderful, as was the knowledge of his forgiveness. Her misdeeds were over and forgotten now. Clara made to climb out of bed. She was going to start running a hot shower when Abe motioned over to her, pulling her into a surprise kiss. "There's one more thing Clara." Clara raised her eyebrows. She had momentarily forgotten that she had another twelve with the crop due to her. But that wasn't what her husband was referring to. As he lay in bed and looked at his wife sitting next to him on the edge of their bed he said gently, "You need to apologize to James, Clara. I wasn't the one you hurt yesterday." Clara swallowed. "He knows?" "Yes Clara." "Okay. I'll talk to him." "Clara, don't push him. He isn't ready. I tried myself last night. He isn't there, and all it will accomplish is to hurt him all over again." Abe knew her so well. She nodded. "Yes Sir. I'll apologize." "Good girl. I'll join you in a few." *** After her husband left for work, Clara made some tea and pulled out some clotted cream and scones to bring James some breakfast. She knew she owed him an apology. James heard someone climb the stairs and stopped playing, nervous and anxious that Cecilia had decided to come to him again. Relief and disappointment mixed when he saw Clara. Although he was still hurt by Clara's weak machinations, he wasn't mad at her anymore. He knew everything had been well intentioned. He had set himself up for this sort of punishment. It was no more than he deserved, and he couldn't fault Clara for doing what she thought was helpful. "James?" Clara seemed uncertain and oddly self-conscious. "Can I interrupt?" James hadn't slept well. His practice was already showing signs of his fatigue. "Sure Clara. Go on and sit." He turned, sitting on the piano bench, facing the small loveseat in the studio. She did, sitting on her hands. "James, I think you know what I did last night..." Clara paused, waiting for James to cut her off or start reprimanding her. Instead he nodded and let her get the words out on her own. He'd already forgiven Clara. "I thought that maybe if... well... if maybe you had a reason, you would finally go after Cecilia." As Clara spoke more, the words came easier. "And it wasn't right of me to try to make you jealous or manipulate you. I'm sorry for being so careless with our friendship and your feelings." "I appreciate it Clara. I know. I forgive you." Clara hadn't realized how close to tears she was. She jeopardized not just her friendship with James, but Abraham's as well. James saw her contrition and stood to give her a hug. It was a bit self-serving, because he needed one badly. He had a firm grip on his emotions. He hadn't appreciated Clara's actions, but her intent was warming. "Please don't do it again though." Clara disentangled herself, calmer now. "No. I promise." "Thank you." James was so hurt. Clara could feel all the sadness in him. But Abe had specifically told her not to push him or say anything further. "Thanks for the tea Clara." "Think nothing of it." Clara got up to leave James to his practising. "No. Really Clara. I appreciate your friendship. I love you and Abe, and I know you only ever try to help." She smiled at James. At least in his loneliness, James knew he had his friends. *** James was going to leave tomorrow. Nearly everything had been settled. He had his bags packed, his itinerary confirmed, and felt fully prepared for his performances. He just had one more thing to do. He picked up his mobile and called Josh. " 'Lo James. How are you?" So like Josh to pretend he didn't know why he was calling. "I'm brilliant Josh. And you?" James couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Alright James. I know why you're calling. I'm making progress." "How much longer Josh?" James was impatient. Every day that delayed Cecilia's homecoming was a day he failed her. "Just another month or so." James rolled his eyes. "It's been months. How is that supposed to be progress?" "James... Listen, it's getting done. I got her clearance for her passport a few days ago. That took some doing since her license is expired. I had to renew it for her. Do you know what that means?" From the tenor of his voice, it sounded to James as if Josh had been doing some things of questionable legality. That changed things. It was a lucky thing that Josh had always been gifted with computers. James softened his voice. "That is some progress. Very good then. Thank you for the update." "James, I'm going above and beyond for you. I know you never ask for favors unless they're for someone else, but please don't doubt me." James was a bit abashed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I do appreciate your help in this." "The visa will be the last thing we need. I'll call you as soon as I get it sorted. We have to be patient. I don't want to draw attention to Cecilia's suddenly renewed license, her new passport and her request for a visa. We want to keep her under the radar." "Right. I'll be abroad for a few months starting tomorrow. But do let me know as soon as it is ready. I owe it to Cecilia." "I promise James. Safe travels." James ended the call. It was something to tell Cecilia. It should reassure her while he was gone that he wasn't planning on keeping her here in London indefinitely. *** The mood was different as the four of them sat down for dinner tonight. Cecilia thought James was looking in better spirits than he had for weeks. It was probably because he was leaving tomorrow. She wondered if getting away from her was part of his good mood. Clara was always working to make sure people around her were enjoying themselves. To that end, she made beef Wellington for James for a 'bon voyage' dinner. Abraham was somber. He knew it was a mistake for James to leave Cecilia here while he shielded himself from his feelings. But after Clara's meddling, he had resolved to do no further harm that way. Clara's meal was a triumph and James enjoyed it immensely. He raised a glass to her. "I'm going to miss you all. But I think I'll be back before you miss me, or my incessant playing that is. Thank you for being my family, and making it always worth coming back home." James was feeling sentimental. The last months since retrieving Cecilia had been trying for him, but he had never felt such warmth for Abe and Clara. Soon he'd make good on his word to Cecilia and he could start healing. But not before. Cecilia was quiet as they ate. James noticed and decided now was a good time to share Josh's update with her. "Cecilia, I had a call with the embassy." That caught her attention immediately. "Josh said he's secured your passport. He's working on getting you a visa and then you'll be set to go back to Philadelphia." James smiled as he delivered this news to her, Cecilia noticed. He was ready to get rid of her. This made her feelings all the more muddled. She didn't want him to leave now. After the lovely evening they had shared at the opening night of "Alice", Cecilia had hoped they'd at least be able to grow a friendship. But in the intervening weeks, he maintained his cool distance. Now, Cecilia greatly feared that if he left tomorrow she'd never see him again. If her visa came through while he was away she had no doubt that James would have Abe put her on a plane as soon as possible. James read the look of disappointment on Cecilia's face as impatience. "Well, I know it's taking longer than you'd like, but even the Americans get something right now and then." The jest didn't go over as well as he'd thought. Clara and Abraham both didn't want to think about sending Cecilia away, especially while James was on tour. Cecilia asked, "Any idea how long that will take?" "Josh was evasive. Still a few months in the offing is my best guess." Abraham diverted the discussion of Cecilia's departure. "So what's your favorite piece that you're performing this time James?" "I get to do the Pathetique a few times. It's definitely a standout, even if it is a bloody difficult piece. Natasha and I are playing the Rachmaninoff in Berlin and then across Eastern Europe." Cecilia had learned over the months the names of the pieces she had learned when she was trapped with Master no—Lace. James had told her his name, but it was hard to think of that man by any other name. The Rachmaninoff cello sonata was devastatingly beautiful. But it was the Beethoven piano sonata that had become her favourite as well. She sighed audibly. "What's wrong Cecilia?" Abe never missed a trick. Why was that suddenly so annoying? "Nothing..." There was nothing to loose by giving air to the thought she had, so she said, "I was just thinking how amazing it would be to hear you play in concert James." "Oh..." James found this awkward. His mind turned to the time she had come to the attic while he was practising. Ordinarily, he would have just invited her to come listen while he rehearsed. But he had literally pushed her out of the studio. He knew she had a genuine appreciation for music... it was part of what had trapped her with him to begin with... "Perhaps you'd like to hear me when I get back home? I'm finishing the tour here in London. I could get you a good ticket." Cecilia's heart was beating so hard. She would get to hear him properly, even see him one more time? "I'd love to. After all, I got to see Clara dance." A real smile graced Cecilia's features and the mood lightened over the dinner table. The next morning, Cecilia woke to say a last goodbye to James. She knocked on his bedroom door. It was the first time she had ventured into his personal space since the disastrous encounter in his studio. The door was ajar, and she peeked inside. Everything was orderly and neat. James had already left for Heathrow. *** The house it was eerily quiet. James' presence was conspicuously absent. More than just the music was missing. Cecilia found herself very lonely. Even though she hadn't seen much of James before, she felt abandoned. A tangible connection she felt when James was in the house was gone, and Cecilia was bereft in his absence. "You're being ridiculous Cecilia." She scolded herself. "What? Did you want James to bring you along? Did you think you could travel the world with him? You can't even get home right now. You should want to go back to the States. You should want to leave this all behind." But she didn't. Cecilia was secretly dreading going back. She had more of a life here then she had in Philadelphia. James had seen to it that Cecilia had clothes and a mobile, and told her to make herself at home in his townhouse. "More silliness! You already know how much you cost him. You don't even earn your keep. Why would he, or any of them really, want to keep you around?" This voice sounded suspiciously like her mother again, but there was something relaxing about her self-deprecation. That was a normal part of her life before she'd been abducted. She must be getting better. *** Clara bounded home invigorated. The next production was a company premier: A Streetcar Named Desire. Clara had foolishly left her umbrella at home today and was caught in a late afternoon rain. It did nothing to dampen her spirits, even if it did soak through her light pullover and thin leotard. Clara opened the door to the townhouse and shook off her wet outer-ware. She bent over to pull off her tartan-patterned rain boots, and was startled by Abe's nonchalant appearance. He leisurely leaned against the corridor, wearing track pants and a fitted t-shirt. "Hello Sweetness." Abe was grinning widely. "Hello..." Clara answered coyly. "Well?" Abe prompted "Yes?" "Is that how you address me little girl?" "No Sir." Clara shook her head earnestly. "That's better. We wouldn't want to have to add to the day's tally on account of you forgetting something as simple as that, would we?" Clara was a bit confused. "No... Sir?" "I'm disappointed Clara. Did you forget about your punishment? I didn't." Clara had not quite forgotten. She just hadn't remembered to remind Abraham. She was caught. Her punishment had been delayed numerous times. It seemed today was the day. "Go on little girl. Up the stairs with you! You'll catch pneumonia in those wet clothes." Clara didn't quite move quickly enough, and felt a sharp smack on her bum. She yelped and scurried up the stairs. Abe admired the view from below, and followed his wife at a more leisurely pace. He had prepared the bedroom ahead of Clara's return. Usually, Abe liked to make Clara kneel and wait for him, but he was feeling spontaneous. When Clara made to kneel, he instead guided her to the bed while starting to peel off her clothes with purpose. Clara helped by stepping out of her leotard, leggings and leg warmers. Once completely bare, Abe encouraged Clara to lie face-down on the bed over a stack of fluffy pillows that presented her bottom beautifully. Clara's insistence that they create the space together had been tiresome at first. He had no desire to pick out paint, but there were other benefits: the functionality of their bed, storage, concealed hooks, and wall-mounted rings met their needs perfectly. Cuffs, already attached to rope at the four corners of the bed, were laid out. They were quickly buckled around Clara's wrists and ankles, tethering her limbs to the corners of the bed. Her body was positioned over the pillows, offering up her bottom. There was a fair amount of slack. Abraham took a moment to admire and assess. He was determining exactly how the rest of her punishment would be meted out. Clara knew better than to break the silence, but she started to squirm self-consciously. Abe looked over his array of implement options. The crop, the wooden paddle, a strap, and a flogger were the finalists. He decided to reserve judgment a bit longer, and let Clara participate in the choice he made. "Clara, why are you tied down like that?" "Because I've been bad, and I want you to forgive me. I meddled in affairs that didn't concern me." She didn't try to deflect. Her manipulations in regard to James were the reason for her initial punishment. "That's right Clara. That's the right answer." Abe decided that Clara's honest answer to that question was worth refraining from using the strap. "Clara, do you remember how many spanks you have left?" Clara bit her lip. Sighing, she told him, "Twelve Sir." "That's more than I remember sweetness. Why is that?" Abraham wanted to hear her say it. "Because Sir, I came without permission. It was originally six, but... my lack of control doubled the number." Clara was blushing. It wasn't often that a ballerina admitted to losing control of her body. Abraham breathed deeply. He took great pride in being able to overwhelm Clara's beautiful composure. "That's right Clara. Good girl. Tell me: What do you want me to use to properly spank your naughty bottom?" Abraham's playful, premeditated interrogation was making Clara's pulse quicken. She loved the way he asserted his control. His praise of her answers made her feel bold. She knew what she wanted him to punish her with: "The flogger Sir." "Interesting choice." Abraham mentally crossed the flogger off the list. It was the easiest and most sensual of the available implements; Clara wasn't off the hook yet. That left the crop and the paddle. Clara could hear Abraham pondering. She may have overestimated her say in this. The flogger wasn't much of a punishment. She knew that. In fact, it was her favorite, but hope springs eternal. Abraham had recently used the crop. That narrowed it down. He reached for the wooden paddle. Variety, they say, is the spice of life. He laid it gently across Clara's cheeks, rubbing the smooth surface against her bum. She shivered. It was cold. "I think this is more appropriate however." Abraham brought the paddle around so that Clara could see. This one stung like the Dickens, with holes drilled through the polished wood. Clara breathed deeply and closed her eyes. "Yes Sir," she said, hanging her head. "At least twelve isn't too many. It will be over quickly." Clara thought to herself. Abe moved out of her line of sight. She braced herself, clenching her bottom. She waited. A minute passed by. Then two. She relaxed her body and... "SWACK!" "One Sir," Clara gasped. The pain lit up all of her nerves and the sting settled across her skin. The pillows supported Clara's taught little body. Instead of the next stroke, Clara felt Abe's fingers part her sex. She was already wet. She could hear him murmur approval. She arched her back, feline, forgetting her spanking for the moment. Abe pressed a finger inside, then a second. He pressed her clit with his thumb. She let out a tiny whimper. "Such a bad little girl. You shouldn't be enjoying your punishment Clara." Abe started circle her clit more insistently. "Mmmm... yes Sir, I mean- no Sir. Oh!" "SMACK!" "Two Sir." The impact distracted Clara. Abe came around and palmed her breasts. Reaching underneath her, he found her nipples already standing out, demanding attention, so Abraham obliged. Clara turned her head and tried to nuzzle her husband, looking for a kiss, more contact, more closeness. Instead, he gave her pink tips a sharp twist and a pinch, and moved away. His hands found her stinging buttocks and he pet her gently, taking the sting away. He didn't warm her up this time, so the motions were soothing and Clara wanted to purr in contentment at the direction her punishment had taken. Abe felt hot-blooded and in control. Clara always followed his lead so willingly. He dipped his fingers between her folds again. She was already so hot and bothered. He played with her more, longer this time. Clara was panting. She used the slack in the ropes to pull her body closer to Abe and to the sinful stimulation. "Oh Sir, please?" "No Clara." Abe slowed his fingers, just lightly touching her. "You aren't being a very good girl. You're here because you came without permission. You should be asking for your spanking, not an orgasm." Clara stilled with shame. Abraham however, continued his digital exploration. Clara struggled to remain still. She bit her lower lip, and shied away from his hand. She had some room to move, but was unable to escape him. She didn't want to come without permission, but Abraham wouldn't relent. "Please? Please Sir?" Chords that Bind Ch. 12 "What are you asking for sweetness?" "Please let me come?" "No Clara. Your punishment isn't over. You can't come yet. Not until you have your spanking." Abe was pushing her. Clara starting to whine. "Then spank me!" Clara couldn't see, but Abraham was grinning broadly. "That's not how you ask little girl." "Please Sir, may I have another spanking?" There it was. "Yes you may. You best keep count Clara." He took hold of the paddle and brought it down sharply against Clara's upturned bottom. "Ohhh! Ummm... Three Sir!" Abe immediately set down the paddle and started playing with Clara again. He tickled her feet, which had her struggling valiantly. Then he switched tactics and rubbed her calves. Clara groaned. It felt so good. Her muscles worked so hard, and to have Abe rub them down was heaven. Her emotions frayed as Abe had his way with her body. She stretched into him again, eager for more attention. Then Abe groped her chest and rolled her nipples, making Clara hunger for more intimate contact. She wiggled her bottom in invitation. Instead of entering her though, Abe steeled himself and began rubbing her sex. "No. Please. I want to come." Abe fingered her all the more vigorously. Clara couldn't escape it. He hadn't said what the consequence would be for coming without permission, but last time it had doubled her remaining punishment. "Stop. I can't." "Shhh Clara! I'm having my fun with you. Don't interrupt me." Abe enjoyed the earnest anguish in her voice. "Sir, please... please may I have a spanking?" "Of course Clara. Good girl. Good girls ask for their punishment. They don't ask for pleasure they don't deserve." Clara understood now. Abe was going to play with her and bring her to the brink. The only thing she could do to stop from falling over the edge was to ask for another spank. "SMACK!" "Ouch! Ahh... Four Sir?" Clara was having trouble keeping count. Her bottom was throbbing now. No sooner had she finished her count then Abe returned to his activities, abandoning the paddle and pulling the pins out of Clara's hair. Her chignon gracefully unraveled and her strawberry-blonde hair spilled around her shoulders. She felt strong fingertips delve into her hair and massage her scalp. Clara moaned wantonly. Somehow every little thing Abe was doing to her now was massively sexual. Abe combed her hair with his fingers, and watched the tension melt away from her body. He wound the length of her hair loosely around his fist, turning her head. He bent over her bound form and nibbled on her ear. "Mmm... I love you like this Clara." Clara had to agree. She loved feeling him like this. His control was addictive. She nuzzled her cheek against Abe and was rewarded as he kissed down her neck. She wanted to pull herself free so she could touch Abraham, touch him and drive him as wild as he was making her. Too soon he was palming her breasts again. She moaned and started to thrust her bottom towards him. Abe resisted the temptation. He held back and began to finger his wife. Clara wanted to sob. He could make her feel everything all at once. Her breasts felt magnified from his hands' attention, and her sex was sopping. He found her clit again and Clara threw her head back. She didn't want him to stop. If felt so good and it muted the stinging spanks. She tamped down her plea. She knew now that Abe wouldn't be granting permission. She tried to close her legs, but it was useless. Her helplessness to avoid the building pleasure was worse than the helplessness she felt from the spanking. "No. Please! Please may I have a spanking Sir?" "SMACK!" "MMMffff! Ahhhh! Oh, it's- it's four, Sir. No! Five, it's five." Clara hated the holes in the paddle. They made the stinging worse. She wanted to rub the sting away, but her hands couldn't reach that far. "Clara, if you can't keep a proper count, we'll have to start over again." "No. No. It's five Sir! I promise." Abe didn't answer. He just started to toy with Clara again. He had no intention of starting from the beginning, but he enjoyed the heightened panic that he elicited from his beautiful submissive. Her bottom was taking on a nice rosy hue now, and he could feel heat radiating from her skin. Abe wanted to see her better. Deftly, he untied Clara's cuffed wrists. Before Clara had time to react, she was stretched with her arms reaching up, kneeling on their bed. Abe had tied the rope overhead and fixed her arms to the canopy. She pulled, testing the new bonds, trying to reach out to her dominant husband. There was not enough slack, so Abe remained out of reach. He had taken off his shirt, and was bare-chested, glistening with sweat. He traced the lines of Clara's arms, shoulders, neck, collarbone, and torso slowly, reverently. Her splayed thighs were soft to the touch, but toned and firm. Abe marveled at the fact that she was his. He moved closer, and firmly gripping her hair, kissed her full on the mouth. It was a relief, if an incomplete one, to feel this possession. Clara yielded everything to Abe in a kiss. His hands spanned her back, feeling the sinew and strength in her pixie-like body. Clara wanted his track pants OFF. She could see his cock was eager to enter her, and the fabric was getting in the way. She pulled on the bonds above her head, putting most of her weight on the canopy above her, arching her back and thrusting her hips forward. Abe leaned back out of reach. She was putting on quite a show of lust, but he wasn't halfway through yet. He moved forward and kissed her again, his hand brushing her waist and crawling to the apex of her thighs. "MMmmm... Oh, please Sir." Clara was begging him. His middle and ring finger pierced her center and his thumb pressed firmly on her swollen clit. "Shhhh!" he hushed her, and resumed ravishing her mouth. Clara was dangerously close. Panicked, she pulled back from him. He had built her arousal so quickly. She reveled in his control, and loved the feeling of helplessness that came from feeling his hands on her. Abraham covered her whole mound in the palm of his hand, and was rewarded with vigorous grinding from Clara. She was spiraling out now. Her desire had been quickly stoked and her control was slipping with every touch from Abraham. "Please... please," She was breathy and begging. Clara wanted permission to come, but instead she gasped, "Please Sir, may I have a spanking?" "Good girl, yes you may." Clara felt his hands withdraw, a relief and a punishment in itself. Abe picked up the paddle, and his wife struggled like a trapped animal. He brought it before her eyes. "Why don't you kiss it Clara?" He suggested, almost innocently. Clara moaned. He was prolonging this on purpose. She kissed the smooth surface. "SWACK!" "MMMMmmmm..." The intermittent spanks had first jolted Clara out of her arousal, but now they egged her on. "Count Clara." Abe saw her dreamily blink her eyes and struggle to remember what count she was on. "Six!" she cried out, happy that she could still hold on to the number. "Six what Clara?" Abe secretly loved teasing Clara when she got like this. It helped keep her rooted with him longer. "Sir!" "Put it together..." Clara's brows furrowed and she frowned. She hated when Abe teased her and then spoke to her as if he was placating a child. "Six Sir." "Better Clara. You're halfway there." So much for a quick spanking, Clara thought. Abraham was outdoing himself on prolonging this punishment. It was irritating that he could pretend to be so self-possessed. She knew he must be achingly hard by this point. She wanted to address that. But Abe's hands were working their magic again. Before he could get her worked up even more, Clara cried out, "Please may I have another spanking Sir?" "In a moment Clara. Take your time. There's no rush." Abe was being positively evil now. He caught a look at her face and could see the frustration written there. Clara wisely, refrained from speaking what was on her mind. In response to her angry countenance, Abe moved further away from Clara, leaning back against the pillows piled against the headboard. Clara was wondering what he would do next. He settled back and pulled down the waistband from his track pants, revealing his raging erection. He couldn't wait to bury himself in Clara. She was visibly wet, practically dripping, but it was a punishment after all, one she had earned because she hadn't been able to control herself. Abe was happy to give her a lesson in that control. Arrogantly, he put one hand behind his head, and started to stroke his cock with the other. He groaned. His own arousal was becoming painful and it was a relief to finally acknowledge it. Clara knew exactly what he was doing. "Please! Please can I have a spanking sir?" She wanted to be the one imparting pleasure on her alpha husband. He was making her watch as he stroked himself. If she could hurry him up and get this infuriating punishment over with, she could make sure she was the one to give him pleasure. Abraham loved the urgency in her voice. His hands left his shaft. He abandoned his track pants altogether, shucking them off and grabbing Clara's hot bottom. Roughly he kneaded her flesh, and made her moan. "What was that Clara?" He gave her rear sharp pinches, enflaming her further. "Spank me Sir! Please?" "Certainly Clara." Abe enjoyed being overly polite while he had his wife in such a rude and compromising position. The irony was not lost on Clara, but she was past objecting. "SMACK!" "Seven Sir" Clara was whining. "Please may I have a spanking Sir?" "What will you do for me if I give you what you want little girl? Hmmm?" Clara didn't know how to respond to that. She wasn't really in a position to bargain. Her voice caught in her throat. She felt a sharp pinch on her clit. "Ohh! No! Stop! I can't think! I don't know! Just spank me please!" It was the only thing she knew would bring this punishment to an end. Abe grinned evilly. Her desperation was such a victory for him. His hand traced her folds, and came away shiny with Clara's essence. He held her chin tenderly and looked deeply into his wife's eyes. With his thumb, Clara felt her husband trace her lower lip. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth ever so slightly. Her tongue wet her lips, and suddenly, Abe's index and middle finger were filling her mouth. She closed her lips around his wet fingers, and started licking and sucking on his digits, tasting herself and attempting to coax him into lovemaking: any lovemaking, so long as he stopped these teasing torments. God she was amazing. Abe was using every ounce of his dominant creativity on Clara, and she was close to undoing him. It was some sort of diabolical battle of wills. Clara, with her helpless struggles and wanton instincts, was trying his control. He couldn't give in now though. He really was being quite unfair, putting her in this predicament, but he couldn't muster enough sympathy to end it early. He was going to play it out to the end, no matter how much effort it took on his part. Clara opened her eyes, and renewed her efforts to suck on Abe's fingers. She looked at him lustily, wordlessly tempting him to take her now. Abe withdrew his fingers. Clara momentarily felt triumphant; sure that Abe would loosen her bonds and allow her the privilege of servicing his cock with her mouth. At least that was what she fantasized he would do. "SMACK!" Abraham broke her fanciful reverie and gave her the spanking she'd requested. "MMMggg! Ah, seven Sir?" Clara felt different areas of her body light up with awareness. Abe caught her off guard with that last one. He was still behind her, and reached around with the paddle still in his hand. With the handle, he probed Clara's sex. The rough, impersonal wood was a further shock to Clara's system. She couldn't decide weather to avoid it or seek out more friction. Abe solved that problem by wrapping his other arm around her waist and holding her still. She could feel the perspiration on his chest and on her back. He was kissing her neck and nibbling her ear. "Don't you want to be a good girl Clara?" No! She wanted to yell. Her desperation was going to shout down her good sense if her husband didn't relent soon. But she always wanted to be a good girl. Saying anything else would be a lie, and Abe would know it. "Yes Sir. Mmm... so good... Sir? May I?" "May you what Clara?" "May I please have another spanking?" Her voice was soft and pleading. The fight was almost out of her. Abe could hear it in her voice. "Yes Clara." He let go of her torso and swung the paddle. "SWACK!" "Eight Sir." Clara tried to keep her voice even as she absorbed the pain. Abraham grabbed her chest from behind again. Clara arched her chest towards his hands and thrust her bottom, feeling Abe's iron rod prod her red cheeks. She was devilish that way, offering herself up, beginning to coat his cock in her arousal. Abe grunted through clenched teeth. "No Clara. He smacked her bottom with an open palm. "And that one doesn't count. Be. Good." He wasn't sure if he was telling Clara or his cock to behave at this point, but his willpower wouldn't last under that kind of assault. Clara whimpered. "Spank me!" Clara's voice was desperate, demanding even. Abe did nothing. He pulled away and let her think for a moment. She was not the one to be shouting orders, and he would not oblige that tone. He said nothing waiting to see if she would alter her request. A moment later she breathed deeply, almost reduced to tears. "Please Sir. I'm sorry. Please spank your submissive." Better. A pinch to her nipples to make her gasp, and then: "SWACK!" "Nine Sir." Clara's panting was driving Abraham insane. He was punishing himself now. To remedy that he lay back down in front of Clara, and started to jerk himself off. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop at this rate. He tossed his head back and closed his eyes. Clara drove him wild. The hunger in her eyes was heated now. She wanted to replace his hands with her mouth or her wet sheath. She started licking her lips suggestively, moaning to get his attention. It worked. Abe straightened up and wordlessly moved towards his bound wife. "Please spank me Sir? Please may I have another?" Clara thought he was going to fulfill her request. Instead she felt him behind her, FINALLY guiding his cock into her sex. Placing monumental control on himself, Abe barely penetrated Clara. She was so wet and slick he easily teased her swollen sex with his cock. He wasn't giving any attention to her clit, and instead of entering her, he was teasing her even worse. There was no way to move or adjust that would get her the penetration she sought. She felt fingers just brush her. "Clara, you are a bad and dirty girl still. No good girl enjoys her punishment this much!" "Then please, please spank me!" She was almost done. The pain from the spanking wasn't even the worst part of her chastisement. She wanted to stop feeling caught in a limbo. She had to exert control over herself while Abe made her subject to his own will. She just wanted to surrender now. As she thought this she felt the bite and smarting blow. "SMACK!" "Ten Sir." Her voice came out small and weak. She was going to try to communicate her surrender, but Abe silenced her mouth with his own again. She felt the realness, and the rawness between them. A couple of tears leaked out from her golden lashes. Abe nuzzled her cheeks. She was beautiful, and all his. He had to be the luckiest man in the world. "Please Sir? Please spank me again?" Without breaking the kiss, he swung the paddle, which landed squarely on her bum. Clara cried out at the concentrated blow. "Ohhh...Thank you Sir. Eleven." With one more left, Abe decided to go for broke. He pinched her clit softly, alternating pressure, and focusing all of Clara's attention. She shuddered. "Please let me come Sir!" Clara was tired of this game. "No yet. You're not done yet." Abraham was punctuating his sentences with small circles on her clit. She felt so slick; He couldn't wait to be inside her. "Be good Clara." "Yes Sir. Please may I have another spanking Sir?" Abe grit his teeth and withdrew. He put slightly more force behind his swing. "SMACK!!" "Twelve Sir. Thank you Sir." "Good girl Clara. Your punishment is over." Abe was relieved it was over. He needed to be inside her properly. Clara just moaned incoherently. Abe stood to release Clara's arms. Once freed, she clung to Abraham, pressing herself close. Her fingers firmly traced his shoulders, and she passionately kissed him, as he had been kissing her. He broke the kiss just long enough to free her ankles, and she rewarded him by wrapping her legs around him too. Abe tumbled them both on the bed, and wasted no more time. Once inside her again, Clara asked, "Please? Am I allowed to come yet?" She squeezed him tight. "You can come for me Clara." Abe ground his hips and thrust deeply. Clara shook her head, overwhelmed by the long build up. Abe held her hair, and slowly pumped into her. Clara wouldn't stop moaning, and her powerful legs pulled him deeper. Her cunt clamped down and spasmed. Clara cried out, and with another movement from Abe she fell apart at the seams. The incredible undulations in her body set Abraham off a second later, and he released all the tightly managed control he'd been holding. Animalistic groans and masculine appreciation sounded deep from his throat. The two stilled as the aftershocks from their lovemaking slowly grew less frequent and intense. Abe held Clara closely. She was slowly coming back from subspace, and he intended to be with her as she made the descent and recovered. He felt pleasantly drowsy, and smiled as Clara wiggled her fingers and toes, collecting herself. She smiled up at Abe who was watching her so intimately. "You know I love you? Right?" "You know I love you right back sweetness?" "I do." "Good". Abe nuzzled her hair and neck. She was falling asleep in his arms. He followed her lead and let go. Together man and wife drifted off to sleep. *** It was two weeks or so after James departed for his first stop in Vienna that Clara became concerned. Cecilia was more withdrawn, much the way she had been when she had first arrived. Clara wondered if Cecilia had also detected her machinations to set her up. Was Cecilia mad at her as well? More than that, though, Cecilia begged off joining Clara at ballet rehearsals. It was an awkward predicament for Clara when Sebastian cornered her after a class. "Clara, I've been waiting to see Cecilia. But she has not been here. I wanted to see if she still wanted to have dinner with me." Clara felt her voice catch in her throat. If she encouraged Cecilia to see Sebastian was she meddling again? James was out of the country... "I'm not sure I should get involved Sebastian. That's up to Cecilia." "Por supesto. Conozco. I want only to ask her again, but she has not been here." Clara didn't know what to say. It was odd that Cecilia hadn't been attending rehearsals, but she was under no obligatation to follow Clara everywhere. Sebastian persisted. "Well, tell her I asked after her." Politeness dictated no other response: "Of course. I will." *** Cecilia was spending her hours alone in James' attic studio. She hugged her knees into herself, and listened to a recording of Schubert's Fantasie for four hands in F minor. Clara had given Cecilia her old iPod, and Cecilia wasted no time loading the device with music, mostly pieces she had come to adore since she had woken up in England a few months ago. Where possible, she made sure they were recordings of James. When she listened to that music in this room, she felt as if she closed a bit of the distance between herself and James. It was pitiful, but she missed him. The nagging arousal and sexual frustration she brought onto herself by listening to the music intensified her sense of loss. She refused to give up the music; it was her drug of choice. She avoided accompanying Clara to rehearsals because it freed up time for her to enjoy the solitude without intrusion. Chords that Bind Ch. 12 James' studio was eclectic. The attic space was dominated by his grand piano. The refinished wood floors were somewhat creaky, and were dotted with large area rugs that had medieval patterns. An old loveseat sat in the far end, next to shelves lined with CDs and vinyl records. Adjacent the improvised sitting area was James' recording equipment. On a desk of glass and stainless steel was a sleek Mac Pro, several portable hard drives, and expensive looking equipment flanked by large studio monitors. In the two dormer windows James had fitted individual-sized window seats. The one closest to the piano was Cecilia's favorite perch. As the Fantasie ended, Cecilia looked at the time. She should leave the attic soon before Clara or Abraham got home. She didn't want to answer any awkward questions about why she was in there. Little did she know, Abraham had come home early. Abraham had noticed Cecilia's withdrawn behavior. When he arrived home earlier than expected, he took the opportunity to check on Cecilia. The townhouse was quiet, although he could smell the aroma of tonight's dinner. He thought to find Cecilia in the kitchen. When that failed he looked in the den. After peeking into her empty bedroom, Abraham was concerned. He made himself check the other rooms before he grew alarmed. Abe shouldn't have been surprised to find Cecilia in James' studio. Cecilia's tiny form was folded on the window seat of one of the house's dormer windows. It would have been easy to miss her. Abraham was briefly relieved. He took his promise to keep Cecilia safe seriously. However, one glance told him that Cecilia was not coping well. Abe didn't want Cecilia to feel like she was being spied on, so he withdrew quietly. He and Clara needed to do something. That night the three of them enjoyed the delicious meal that Cecilia prepared. (She was becoming quite the cook.) Clara noticed Cecilia's long silences and slow smiles too. After they finished a re-aired episode of Top Gear, Cecilia excused herself and bid them goodnight. When he was sure Cecilia was out of earshot, he turned to Clara, who was snuggled next to him on the plush sofa. Her hair was damp from her shower, and her short robe did nothing to hide her dancer's form. "Clara, have you noticed anything about Cecilia's behavior? She doesn't seem right. I'm concerned." Clara nodded, unusually grave, "Yes. I don't it's healthy at all. She's becoming reclusive almost. It was better before James left. But now..." Abe caught her unspoken suggestion. Cecilia missed James. He thought the same thing, but there was nothing he could do about it. "We need to get her out of the house. She's alone all day." "I always invite her to come with me. I don't want to force her into anything she doesn't want to do." "She's not in the best place to determine what's in her best interest." "I know. But what do we do?" Abe shrugged. "Maybe we need to make sure she gets out more. We can set an example: introduce her to some friends; take her to see more of London on the weekends... That's the best we can do I'm afraid." Clara leaned in closer to Abe. His concern for Cecilia's well-being was genuine and it made Clara love him even more. "Okay. We're just going to have to do our best." *** Cecilia was naked and kneeling at James feet as he practiced. It was getting harder to practice because she kept nuzzling his legs and interrupting his foot's movements on the sustain pedal. He would spank her for that soon: after he finished practising. She was making him incredibly hard. He would see to that soon too. He didn't finish though. In between movements he gave up, and covered the ivory keys. He looked down and pretended to be stern and disappointed. "Didn't I tell you to be good down there? You got in the way of the sustain pedal. I made 13 mistakes because you were misbehaving." Cecilia hung her head. He couldn't wait anymore. "Across my lap Cecilia. That's 13 spanks you're due. Be good and count them." She did. Then he started spanking her bare bottom with his palm. Cecilia counted. Her tiny voice was clear as a tinkling bell as he punished her cheeks. "Please Sir, may I have another?" "Sir? Sir!" James started. The attendant caught him daydreaming and startled him. "Sir? May I offer you a drink?" James closed his gaping mouth and gathered his wits. The attendant was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. "Thank you. Yes." James took the flute and the attendant left him in peace. He stared out the window and sipped the bubbly. He sighed and wished it were something stronger. The view outside his window was beautiful. He was somewhere between Vienna and the German boarder on his way to Berlin. His first set of engagements had been successful, and the next stop was a two-week stay in Berlin to play with the Berlin Philharmonicker. He was particularly excited to guest conduct a Prokafiev symphony. Natasha would be meeting him there to perform the Rachmaninoff cello sonata as well. She would be travelling and performing with him on his tour until they reached their final joint engagement in Tokyo. But first he had a seven-hour train ride to get there. It was more scenic to take the train, but the solitude left James with lots of time to think. Well, he wasn't thinking. He was fantasizing about Cecilia. At least he was far enough away that he couldn't possibly act on his desires. Now that seizing Cecilia was an impossibility, he could feel how much of a toll his tightly reigned control was taking on him emotionally. He was lonely. He had been lonely, but somehow Cecilia's addition to the household made him more aware of it. The distance was diluting his guilt, and he remembered what had driven him to make such poor decisions in the first place. It was time to free himself of his self-imposed bachelorhood. He wanted a partner. Clara and Abe were wonderful friends, but he needed his own relationship. *** Clara was being considerate. Again. This was the third time this week Clara had invited her out. This time it was for cocktails with some of the other dancers in the company. Cecilia sighed. Clara came home from rehearsal looking radiant and refreshed, as if she hadn't spent the last six hours demanding physical perfection from her body. She cheerily told Cecilia to get dressed and come out for drinks. Cecilia had been spending most of her days in James' Oxford sweatshirt and yoga pants. Her curly hair was knotted and frizzy. She hadn't seen any point in cleaning up when she spent most of her day alone. Now she stared at the wardrobe and struggled to find something to wear. "Abraham is working late so I thought we'd have a ladies' night," Clara came into Cecilia's bedroom wrapped in a fluffy towel. She pulled a plum cocktail dress out of the wardrobe and flung it onto the bed. "You haven't worn that one yet. Go on, it's time to get out of the house. You've been cooped up too much." Cecilia didn't have time to respond as Clara sashayed out of her room to continue getting ready. This was the last thing Cecilia wanted to do, but she couldn't bear to let Clara be disappointed. She showered and tamed her unruly mane of curls. The purple halter was tight in all the right places and Cecilia felt self-conscious in such a revealing dress. She was never allowed to wear anything like this growing up and hadn't had the nerve to try once she left her parents' house. Once she finished getting herself presentable, Clara ran in wearing a cranberry mini dress. She grabbed Cecilia's wrist and dragged her out into the London night. Clara's energy was infectious and Cecilia found herself smiling as Clara brought her up to speed on the inner workings of the Royal ballet. They were meeting up with a few other up-and-coming dancers in the company. It was a quick cab ride to the swanky cocktail lounge that the other ballerinas had chosen as their first stop. Once out among people, Cecilia retreated behind a fixed smile. She didn't know how to interact with these beautiful creatures. They all held themselves with inhuman grace. The ballerinas ordered strong martinis and cocktails; clearly, they were out to burn off some steam. Clara hoped that a cocktail or two would be enough to help Cecilia relax. She was aware of the good face Cecilia was putting on the outing. Cecilia had demurred every invitation to get out of the house so far, and so today Clara had been more assertive than was her wont. Now that Cecilia was out of the house, Clara had every intention of getting Cecilia to enjoy herself. "Cecilia, let me introduce you to everyone. This is Gabrielle." Clara motioned to a striking girl with blue eyes and raven hair. "This is Jennifer." A tiny ginger inclined her head. "Meet Alicia, and Sophie." These dancers were exactly the same height, but the similarities ended there. Alicia was dark and had fierce, proud features, while Sophie's porcelain complexion and almond-shaped eyes couldn't have been more different. "And this is Mackenzie." A long-limbed brunette with a pixie cut winked in acknowledgement. The angelic faces of Clara's fellow ballerinas smiled easily. Clara decided to continue with the assertive direction. "Two Sapphire gimlets please," she said to the boy taking the order, "and give the other one to Cecilia." Cecilia tried to decline the drink when the server handed her the lime-coloured martini, but Clara cut off her objection. "Cheers Cecilia, we're so happy you came out with us tonight!" The other girls clinked their glasses. Clara was moving up in the company. That much was clear to the other dancers, and so they took their cues from Clara. "Do tell me where you found that dress Cecilia. It's so becoming on you. Not that I have the curves to pull it off..." Mackenzie asked. The feminine chatter went on from there. Cecilia became less and less guarded as the night went on. Clara was secretly pleased with herself. By the time she was on her second martini, Cecilia was laughing at scandalous stories the dancers had begun sharing, all trying to outdo each other. The unspoken competition ended with the girls laughing so hard tears ran down their cheeks, and more than one had to retouch their mascara before hopping to the next bar... The dancer named Gabrielle was very conversant. "You'll have to come work out with us sometime Cecilia. It's so much fun. Not class of course, but swimming or yoga. Besides, if you're going to keep up with us when we go out, you'll need to build up your endurance." "I'm not sure... I'm not very in-shape." "Nonsense. Come with us tomorrow," Gabrielle prodded. "Clara will bring you. Right Clara?" Clara nodded enthusiastically. This was going well. Gabrielle tossed her raven hair back. Her blue eyes were seductive and her small mouth made the most perfect smile. "See? It's all sorted." Cecilia was feeling the pressure to acquiesce. "Sure. Tomorrow then." Cecilia was not used to so much alcohol, but it felt good to feel her inhibitions lower. She did look good tonight. The British ballerinas were tall and willowy, but they barely had any curves. Cecilia felt out of place with her petite Latina build, but they all seemed to envy her in that regard. The second bar they went to was a regular hangout for the dancers. The barkeep poured them all shots of Sambuca in between drinks. Cecilia was feeling pleasantly buzzed and faintly dizzy. Clara kept a keen eye out for Cecilia and saw that it was time to get her some water. Soon after, the rest of their coterie was ready to call it a night. "We do have class and workouts tomorrow," they chided themselves, loathe to leave, but mindful of their positions. On the walk home Cecilia was more than a little unsteady. Clara debated hailing a cab, but Cecilia was laughing and chatting animatedly. It seemed the G&T's combined with the Sambuca did their job and made Cecilia far less reserved. Clara was somewhat concerned. She wasn't sure how much Cecilia usually drank. Cecilia didn't seem to mind at all. She was laughing, most certainly a bit blotto. She clung to Clara's arm and giggled at her wobbly ankles. Clara was happy to see such a carefree attitude in Cecilia, even if it was alcohol-induced. Suddenly, Cecilia seemed serious. "What do you think James is doing right now?" The question came from out of the blue, and Clara didn't know how to respond. "Well, I don't know. It's rather late." It was only half past eleven, but James wasn't one for raucous partying. "He's probably practising." Cecilia said matter-of-factly. "Maybe with one of his girlfriends." "Who?" "Those women he plays with. The one plays piano and she's pretty. But the blonde, the cello player, she's gorgeous. I bet he's with one of them right now." Cecilia had affected a rather poor London accent. Clara bit her lip to keep from laughing, but didn't know what to say to that either. She knew James rehearsed with other musicians from time to time, but he had never been involved with any of his musical partners. "I wasn't aware James was seeing anyone." Clara tried to keep her voice as even as possible. She opened Pandora's box when she tried to set Cecilia up with Sebastian. Her promise not to meddle meant she couldn't do anything to alleviate Cecilia's jealousy or suspicions. "Maybe not. But the blonde one probably wishes otherwise..." Cecilia's new accent was awful, and Clara was exerting some serious effort not to laugh. Just then, Cecilia's heel caught in a crack in the pavement. Clara grabbed her arm tightly to keep her from falling. "Watch out!" Then she did start laughing. "Oh! Good catch Clara! If I were less clumsy you could be my dance partner." Cecilia did a terrible approximation of a pirouette and started laughing too. Clara decided they definitely needed to take a cab home. *** Cecilia was slow to wake the next morning. Someone shook her. "Wake up! Come on Cecilia. No time to waste." Cecilia rolled over. "No, no, no. Up! Let's go." Clara pulled the covers off Cecilia, and she curled up tightly in a ball. "Mmmm... No, stop..." "None of that now. You said you'd come and do yoga with me and the rest of the girls last night." "No I didn't." "Yes, you did. Now come on! You'll make me late." Clara was glad Cecilia had agreed to the invitation, and wasn't about to let the opportunity to get Cecilia out of the house go to waste. She threw some yoga gear onto Cecilia's bed. Cecilia tried to get up. The clock on her bed said 6:00 am. She slumped back into bed. It was too early for this. Clara flicked the light on and blinded Cecilia. "Okay, okay. I'm getting up." "That's right. You promised Gabrielle. I have a mat you can borrow. Grab a water bottle. The studio's a ten minute walk, you can wake up on the way." Cecilia was hung-over. The last thing she wanted was to go do a yoga class with a bunch of perfect ballerinas, but Clara still wasn't taking no for an answer. It was kind of irritating, her bright cheerfulness, but Cecilia found even at this ungodly hour, that she couldn't hold it against Clara. Clara urged Cecilia to drink as much water as possible on the brisk walk to the studio. Cecilia begrudgingly listened to Clara, and found her fuzzy-headedness started to fade. Cecilia hadn't known what she was signing up for when she agreed to take a yoga class with the corps of the Royal Ballet. Sweat was pouring off her body in less than 10 minutes, and the instructor quietly modified some of the more intricate poses for her. Cecilia was out of breath and embarrassed by the end of the hour and half class. Her body protested when it was time to come out of savasana. Clara tossed her a towel. "You did really well. Was that your first class? I didn't expect you'd keep up with us." "Then why did you invite me?" "That's the point: you'll get stronger." "It's not my first class. I took a few in college, but I haven't been in a very long time, and I never advanced very far." The ballerina that invited her to come in the first place, Gabrielle, shook her head. "You could have fooled me. You are so flexible already. I'm glad you came today! I was afraid we scared you off with how much we drank last night." Sophie answered, "Well, no more alcohol in the system now! A little vinyasa is the best morning hangover cure I know." ***** "Unless it's a wake-up call from that husband of yours" Gabrielle lifted her eyebrows suggestively and looked over at Clara, who smiled and blushed. "Well, good point. Vinyasa is the second best hangover cure. But you'll all have to settle for yoga. Abe is mine." "Come on Cecilia, let's get a green smoothie." Gabrielle said. "You'll need something for recovery after last night and this morning." And with that, Cecilia followed her new friends out of the yoga studio.