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

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"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.