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!
