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."