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.
