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.