Degradation Ch. 01

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"I'm alright," she answered, her voice small.

"I want you to watch them," he instructed, "I want you to see. No hiding, now." He surveyed her for a moment, considering her position, and then retrieved another length of rope. He crossed to her, sliding the course hemp through his hands. He stopped directly in front of her. "Open your mouth."

Hannibal slipped the rope between her lips, reaching around behind her, drawing her head back, forcing her eyes to take in the stretch of sand and water beneath them. He joined the rope ends to the web holding her captive, checking that the tension on her neck did not impede her breathing. He returned to look at her adjusted position, drawing a single fingertip along the underside of her chin down to her collarbone, entranced by the taut line of her throat.

He continued around her, running his hands over her exposed flesh, fingers slipping underneath ropes to check for adequate space. He reached one arm over her back, wiggling two fingers into each of her hands. "Squeeze my fingers, Clarice," he instructed.

When he was satisfied that his rigging was secure, he stepped back to admire his creation.

"You know why you are here," he intoned.

Unable to answer, Clarice nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I'm going to leave you now, Clarice, for the enjoyment of our friends below. I will return for you after my hunt." He saw her eyes widen with fear at the thought of him leaving her alone, bound and displayed, for hours.

He walked past her and into the house.

Clarice made a small sound in the back of her throat. He was really going to leave her here! Her breathing quickened, hysteria bubbling up from her chest and spilling out of her in frenzied sobs, her wild eyes darting frantically back and forth across her limited field of vision. She began to panic, struggling against her bounds fruitlessly, whimpering through her gag until she felt the harsh ropes bite into her skin. The searing pain of the rope burn quickly brought her back to herself and she ceased her bucking, wiggling efforts. Tears stung the back of her eyes at the realization that he had left her here alone and she would be forced to stay like this for several hours while he was away on his hunt. It would be long after nightfall before he returned and she would be left, alone, in the dark, to wait for him.

She focused on slowing her breathing, closing her eyes to momentarily block out the sight of the people below her. She fought to take measured, even breaths, choking back the sobs of terror that threatened, hiccuping around her gag.

Slowly, she began to relax her muscles, allowing the ropes to take her weight, consciously unwinding the bands of tension that had collected around her joints as Hannibal had taught her. Her mind drifted back to their first experiences with bondage. She heard his voice in her head, coaching her through each step, explaining her role in this encounter, and his. She lost herself in the deep, rippling voice of her memory. Let the ropes control you, Clarice. Don't fight it. If you fight it, they will be unyielding. The rope responds to your struggle. Give in to it. Let it become part of you, an extension of your flesh, holding you to the earth, binding you to the air. Relax. You are supple and pliant, beautiful and weightless; peaceful. She sagged against the binding.

Slowly, she became aware of the sound of the surf in the distance, the cacophony of seabirds calling in the air. She focused her attention on the consistent, unbroken sound of the waves crashing on the shore. She allowed herself to be lulled by the endless rhythm, hypnotized by the persistent, invariable din of the breakers. She was floating, boundless and boneless, in-between.

Her eyes opened to the scene before her, as he expected her to. There were lots of people on the beach, but none of them had noticed her yet. She was embarrassed to think of people seeing her this way, trussed up and helpless. She found it humiliating. She struggled with the clashing desires to please Hannibal, to give herself over to the sensations she was feeling, to hold tight to her own sense of self and, with it, the accompanying sense of shame.

Finally, she simply settled for feeling the moment, unable to process any more emotions than the one she was immediately faced with. She breathed in the salty air and steadied her gaze on the incessant, eddying waves, allowing the sounds to roll her under.

HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL

Hannibal watched her from the kitchen, perched on a barstool. He sipped his espresso calmly, scrutinizing her journey of self-discovery, her internal monologue revealing itself to him in the movements of her body as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud. It thrilled him to frighten her with the prospect of spending hours alone and exposed. The taste of her fear was so compelling that he was tempted to actually do it.

As his gaze crawled across every inch of her smooth skin, he wished he could take the flogger to her. He imagined the rich snap of the straps against her back, heard her gasp in his ears at the first contact. He pictured her back arching against the ropes as he flicked the leather thongs over her pussy, dancing over her clit. He sighed; that would definitely attract attention. He chuckled mirthlessly to himself; another time.

He glanced at his watch; another fifteen minutes, he thought, taking a sip of his coffee.

HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL

Clarice's muscles had begun to cramp, she had to fight now to maintain the steady breathing she had gradually achieved. The ropes that had cradled her an hour before now chaffed against her skin, leaving her raw along the pressure points. Her position was becoming uncomfortable, the strain on her neck from the rope bridle causing her to tense repeatedly. She didn't know how she would survive hours of this torment.

She focused instead on the look of pride she hoped he would wear when he returned to set her free, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. She couldn't articulate the depth of her feelings for Hannibal; she wasn't even sure she fully understood them herself. She had been drawn to him, magnetized by her desire to understand his mind, enthralled with the ability he had to meld his sophisticated killings seamlessly into the rest of his life, making them just pieces in a much more elaborate picture of the whole man. Ravaged, principled, refined, exacting and persistent. Did he understand her with the same penetrating profundity that she had managed to unearth in his own humanity? She wanted to believe he did.

The sun was making it's sure descent below the distant line of the horizon. She tracked its path with her eyes, her skin cooling as the setting sun stole the warmth from her flesh. She shivered at the breeze passing over her skin.

Clarice startled in bewilderment when he moved suddenly into her field of vision. He hadn't left her alone. She sagged with relief against the ropes holding her.

"You did very well, Clarice," he crooned appreciatively.

She smiled weakly around the gag, content that she had pleased him.

Hannibal unhooked the working ends of his rigging, lowering her gently to the floor. When she was fully down, he moved along her body, untying knots to free her. He released her from the gag last, massaging the tight muscles of her neck before helping her up to sit in the circle of his legs.

He pulled her back against his chest, rubbing his palms along her skin, coated with a thick arnica cream, massaging feeling back into her limbs. Clarice winced at the stinging sensation tingling along her nerves as they came back to life. Her skin was red where the ropes had bound, raw where she had struggled. He smoothed his long hands over her jaw, massaging the tender joint at the base of her mandible. She relaxed back against his broad chest, the linen of his shirt soft against her spine.

She sighed, dropping her head back onto his shoulder, turning her face to nuzzle into his neck. "I thought you'd left me," she spoke low, her voice nearly swallowed into his skin.

"I know," he replied, "You were meant to."

He smoothed his hands over her naked flesh, both soothing and exciting her with his touch.

"I would love to get you to the point where I could leave you like that," he admitted. "To go on a hunt knowing you were...bound and helpless...totally dependant on my return..."he trailed off dreamily, his hands lingering gently over her breasts. "It would enhance the pursuit for me immeasurably."

Clarice shivered in his arms and Hannibal came back to himself. He gathered her in his arms and rose from the floor, carrying her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom. She expected him to set her on the bed and was surprised when he strode past it, into the master bathroom. Her eyes took in the flickering candlelight reflecting off the clean white marble. He lowered her tenderly into a deep whirlpool bath, brimming and resplendent with mounds of fragrant, glistening bubbles. He knelt on the tile beside the tub as she reclined into the water, her expression tranquil.

"I'm going now, love. I shall return for dinner in a few hours."

"Hmmm..." she sighed, her head lolling to one side, cheek resting against the cool edge of the tub.

"If you're hungry before I arrive, I've left a snack for you on the island. You needn't wait up for me; I may be rather late." He kissed the side of her head.

"Hannibal," she roused herself. "Be careful."

"Always, darling," he placed his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to meet his kiss.

Leaving her to relax in her bath, Hannibal went in search of his prey.