Chords that Bind Ch. 11

James ignored the invitation to spill his thoughts. Instead he diverted the conversation. "I'm seeing how unfair it is to try and keep Cecilia with us all the time. She has a right to socialize and go out... Clara was right to encourage her."

"Beg your pardon?"

"I'm just concerned for her safety. I'm flying out soon. Abe, you'll look after her while I'm abroad right?"

"Of course."

"I mean really keep an eye on her? Just because I don't trust that Spanish bloke doesn't mean she doesn't have the right to see him. It's not for me to determine who Cecilia dates.

"James... wouldn't... you rather see to it yourself?" Abe understood Clara's temptation to push his best friend. James was being rather thick about this.

"Sure, but I can't. I'll be in Vienna, and then in Berlin, and then off to other places. Clara was absolutely right to try and help Cecilia this way. She won't fully recover until she can socialize and be with other people. Tonight was a good step for her."

"No James, Clara wasn't right, not the way she was handling it."

"Just because I'm incapable of being objective where Cecilia is concerned doesn't mean she wasn't right."

"She wasn't James. I'm going to be correcting that shortly. But you and Cecilia have a connection."

James eyes were fiery and his voice pointed. "Of course we have a connection! A criminal one. That's nothing but Stockholm syndrome. Hopefully, with me away, she can continue to recover from that. Seeing someone else should help with it too."

"James! You can't hold yourself accountable! You were ignorant of what was happening! It's not your fault. Cecilia doesn't hold you responsible. She practically worships you! Or are you too oblivious to notice?"

"She's afraid of me Abe! And she should be!"

Abe hated seeing his friend this hurt. Clara hadn't helped, but she wasn't the root of the issue. "James, can't you talk to her?"

James stared into his snifter. He debated telling Abe about the incident in the attic. But as he pondered that situation, he saw Clara's hand in it as well. It was totally within the realm of possibility that Clara had told Cecilia to approach him that way. He had no desire to put Abraham further in the middle of this.

He sighed. "Talk to her and tell her what Abe? "Can I take you for tea sometime? I think you're gorgeous and I'm so happy that you're here? It's brilliant luck that the trafficker I know found you for me?" It doesn't matter what I feel for her Abe!

"There. I've said it! I desire Cecilia profoundly. I could fall in love with her in a heartbeat! But anyone who approaches Cecilia with that intent right now would just be preying on a recovering victim." James was consciously lumping Sebastian into that category, even though he pretended to be accepting of Cecilia building new relationships

"James, being attracted to her isn't a crime. And maybe she doesn't want to be the victim anymore." Abe was trying to be reasonable.

"She deserves better than what I've done to her. I would never be able to trust that any relationship we have could be real or honest after what I've done."

Abe didn't know what to say to that. It was typical James: A completely sound argument based on the false premise that James was a bad person. There were reasons to believe the things James said, but somehow, Abe was unconvinced.

"I'm sorry mate. I really, truly am."

"There's no reason for you to apologise. This is of my own making. Just promise me you'll keep her safe while I'm gone."

"You know I will."

"Good." James felt at least that worry settle some. "Has Clara been waiting for you this whole time?" James asked, gesturing at the conversation.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Abraham finished his brandy. He had given himself a smaller pour for a reason. "Will you manage while I take care of the rest of this problem?" He couldn't hide all the eagerness from his voice.

James smiled despite his foul mood. Sometimes it was so hard to watch their happiness, even though he wouldn't have it any other way. "By all means. I'm not much company anyway."

Abe left the room, knowing there was nothing more he could do for his friend. He turned his mind to his naughty little wife and managed a smile. There was plenty he could do on that front, however.

***

Clara had been kneeling for a considerable time. How long had it been actually? Upon entering their bedroom Clara disrobed, unzipped her emerald dress and carefully hung up the Tom Ford creation. Donning a pair of pink rehearsal tights, a black leotard, and tying the ribbons of her pointe shoes, Clara knelt next to Abraham's armchair. This was how they started nearly all their sessions. It had seemed like Abraham kept her waiting forever. She stared around the room, taking in the space that they had created together. It was the one room in the townhouse that Clara felt expressed Abraham and herself perfectly.

It hadn't mattered to Abraham as much as it had mattered to Clara that they create the space together. Abe was happy to let Clara do all the decorating, but she insisted, nudging him into action. The result was the perfect blend of masculine practicality and feminine aesthetic. Chocolate browns and golds made the basis of a warm colour scheme that was accented by the palest of pear green. Oriental fabrics with rich paisley textures, jacquard textiles, and a wealth of pillows threw the right amount of imperial conquest into the room. The inviting bed had a modern, straight-laced canopy, draped in fine linen. Nothing was too frilly or wantonly overdone. Clara's eyes slipped to the trundle drawers under the bed, wondering which implement would be chosen to rectify her offenses. It had been a long time since she had been punished in earnest. She shivered again. The long wait made her more anxious than it should have, and Clara wondered if she could wrap one of the blankets around her while she kneelt.

Just as she was about to cave and break her kneel, Abraham softly pushed open the door. He loved this moment. The moment when he could see the shift between the rambunctious and fiery Clara into the Clara that only he was privileged enough to see. He saw, in the space of a few seconds, her back straighten even more and her lashes flutter as she struggled to keep her eyes down when all she wanted to do was look at him. She flexed and relaxed her fingers, opening her palms that were elegantly placed above her knees. She took a large but silent gulp of air, and slowly let it go through her nose.

Clara brought a spirit of overwhelming victory to Abe every time she allowed him to bare his soul, by revealing her own. Abe focused his own breathing. After tonight he wanted nothing more that to ravish his wife, the perfect ballerina that was so responsive, so lively, and who stilled only for him. Unfortunately, he would have to delay his foremost desires. Abe couldn't recall what the last infraction was that had led the two of them to a punishment. It must have been silly indeed... maybe Clara had made them late to an engagement? This time though, was more serious.

Abe stepped directly in front of Clara, and stroked her cheek. She was motionless. Abraham crouched down to eye-level with Clara, tilted her chin up until she was forced to make eye contact. Abe kissed her passionately, holding her face, and ravishing her mouth, pulling away with a slight bite to her lower lip. Clara fought with herself not to follow him. He turned to the drawers he had built under their bed.

Clara felt her nipples harden. Between her chill and Abraham's kiss they were pebbled into points that her thin leotard did nothing to hide. When she saw rope in Abraham's hands, she felt her blood quicken, even though she was openly shivering.

Abe hadn't said a word yet, and he didn't intend to break the silence. He had a medium length of rope in his hands, and lovingly took Clara's tiny wrists. He could circle both of her hands in one of his own. The soft hemp was looped around one wrist and then brought to the other, crossing at the small of Clara's back. The lean muscles that bore the mild tension revealed the long years of effort and control that Clara had spent becoming a talented dancer. She was always in control of her body. It was both her canvas, and the finished sculpture. When Clara danced freely to music, she was in control. When she danced at the ballet, the choreographer and ballet masters were in control, but like this: Abraham was the conductor, choreographer, and audience. It wasn't dance the way other people imagined it, but Abe found the exchange, the communication, as riveting between just the two of them as it had been before a full audience.

A soft, low rumble issued the first command. "Stand Clara. Over to the bed, bend forward, legs together."

Yes, Degas had understood something about dancers when he painted them. Abe watched how even simple movement became so much more expressive as Clara sashayed to the bed.

"If only you had behaved..." Abraham sighed to himself. Not that he minded seeing his love so enticingly presented. He merely wanted to be wrapped around and in her already.

"Clara, do you know why I have to punish you?"

"Yes Sir."

"Tell me Clara."

"I kept an important secret from you." Clara didn't want to have to talk about the more serious issue just yet.

"Yes. You did... but I think you know why I have to really punish you Clara. Care to share that with the class?"

"I-I-I..."She took a big breath, "I tried to set up Cecilia."

SMACK!! Abe's big hand came down across Clara's buttocks.

Abe was disappointed. "No Clara. That is not why you're bent over waiting for a spanking. You were being manipulative Clara." Abraham's voice was steady and took on a lecturing tone. "You were playing games with James' emotions, and with Cecilia's too, for that matter. Did you think that maybe your plan might not work-which I might add, it didn't-and that their feelings could be hurt?"

Clara waited to be sure Abraham was finished talking. "No. No I didn't, but-"

SMACK! "The answer is 'no sir'." Abe rebuked Clara. "And no 'buts' Clara. James was already a bit of a head wreck over Cecilia. Now he's even more torn up over her."

Clara gulped. Her plan had gone all wrong. "I'm sorry Sir."

Abraham heard genuine contrition in Clara's voice, but he hadn't even really started. "Clara, for being manipulative with our friends' feelings, you're going to get twenty with the crop."

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Tears had welled up in her eyes at the thought of causing either James or Cecilia more pain. Abraham stepped away from her to retrieve the crop from the drawer under the bed.

SMACK! Abraham surprised Clara when she felt his hand make contact with her bum. Over and over his hand came down. It was a warm-up, which was both good and bad. Clara knew that he wasn't planning on being gentle when he finally did use the crop, but also knew that the spanking from his hand would ensure she made a steady and bearable ascendance to the place where her punishment would eventually meet pleasure. Abraham was never cruel or unduly mean, even when she earned a punishment.

Abraham preferred using his palm to anything else when he played with or punished Clara. It was intimate and reassuring way to both punish and be punished. But punishment was less about what he or Clara wanted and more about what was called for. The crop was a suitable implement, but Abe insisted on warming Clara up; he enjoyed the feel of her flesh warming as his hand roughly groped her muscular behind. Her skin absorbed the blows, catching a ripple as the force dispersed along her whole ass. Just to keep her on her toes, Abe varied the target, catching her thighs below where they met her bottom. Clara was a good girl and didn't cry or beg, but Abe could hear the sharp intakes of breath and gasps. He could see the redness beneath the translucent pink tights he had her wear. She appeared such an innocent, but they both knew the farce, and Abe enjoyed the glow that was blooming across her backside as Clara took her spanking.

Clara hadn't been told to keep count and was thoroughly distracted when Abraham paused. Her attention had been on the wetness building between her legs. Apparently, Abraham's mind had followed her own and she felt his index finger wiggle between her legs and trace a firm line across the front of her sex and over her clit. She cursed the fabric of her leotard and tights, wishing for better contact. Clara was no longer cold. Her bottom already stung, tiny pinpricks made themselves known, reminding Clara that her punishment hadn't even properly begun.

Abraham chuckled. As his finger gently teased Clara he saw her rise slightly and flex her hips as she made to follow the stimulation. Abe chuckled and playfulness crept into his voice. "Do you honestly think your performances tonight warrant that kind of attention Clara?"

Clara blushed, her face and décolletage making a noble attempt to match her red ass. She felt his finger again, and she spread her legs, giving him better access. SMACK! "It wasn't a rhetorical question Clara."

"No Sir." Clara answered quickly.

"Since you seem so eager, I think you can spread those legs wide for me." Abraham felt his raging hard-on throb further as Clara complied with the request. Damn she was perfect, and there were benefits to her dance training... "Farther Clara. En pointe." Clara's flexible frame exceeded what most people could physically handle. She whimpered. Abe groaned as her calf muscles lifted, her quads and glutes hardened and her heels left the ground entirely. The position opened Clara's hips, and let her torso bear even more of her weight on the soft bed.

Abe saw the innocence begin to leech out of the tableau. Clara's wetness was seeping through her thin covering, and when he moved to see her face, her eyes were pleading, conveying the very same dark desire Abraham felt, mixed with remorse now that her punishment was going to begin in earnest.

Abe didn't let his gaze soften, much as he wanted to. Instead, he looked her straight in the eye and said. "Count them Clara."

He looked so disappointed in her. Clara was willing to do or say anything to make that look leave his face. As aroused as she was, as desperate for the punishment part of her evening to end, she knew that if he chose to exceed the count she would be more than willing to submit to it, if only he could look at her with the longing she felt, but didn't yet deserve. Legs spread, bottom stinging, Clara now understood how short-sighted her plan had been.

Thwap! The crop landed on her pert little ass with breathtaking speed. She tried to clench her bottom, but her wide-legged stance prevented it.

"One Sir."

Thwap! "Two Sir." The impact was harder than she remembered, perhaps because she hadn't needed to be punished in so long.

Thwap! "Three Sir."

The fourth hit the sensitive curve where her thighs joined her bottom and she lowered her heels, squeezing the muscles.

"Back in position Clara. That one doesn't count. On your toes."

Clara made her legs assume the previous position, feeling the true purpose of her position: to increase her helplessness against the crop's impact. There was no way to brace herself for each blow.

Thwap! "Four Sir."

"Better. Hold that position for the rest of them, or they won't count Clara."

"Yes Sir." Thwap! "Five Sir."

On and on. At ten, Clara felt her bottom become sore underneath all the stinging of her skin.

Thwap! "Eleven Sir. Please, I'm sorry!"

"I know. You're over halfway done." Thwap! "Continue."

"Twelve Sir. Please? No more?"

"Be good Clara." Thwap! Clara wanted to be good, she did. Tears finally leaked out of her eyes. She sobbed, "Thirteen Sir"

She felt tremours course through her legs. She knew that all she had to do was say her safeword if she felt that her punishment was exceeding her ability to endure it. Clara had to be very mindful that their play didn't push her body too far. She already pushed physical limits at class and rehearsals, so it was important that she didn't overdo it and risk injury. She had performed a demanding piece tonight, and her body objected to further strain.

Thwap! "Please. Fourteen Sir! Please... please... Yellow!"

Tears spilled over and Clara eased off her toes. The tension and tremours already started to fade as she let her heels bare more weight, and moved her feet fractionally closer together, relaxing her hips. Abraham was right behind her, rubbing her back. "Clara? What's wrong?"

"My legs and my feet. I couldn't hold them like that any longer... I-"

"Shhhh... Clara is it any better like that? Do you need me to stop?"

"N-n-n-no Sir. I just couldn't hold that position any more. There are six left... I know... I need them... It isn't red... just yellow."

"Clara, are you sure? You know you don't have to..."

"I know. But I- I do. I do have to, to make it better." Abraham swallowed at these words. He did understand, but he was unwilling to entertain even the possibility of doing Clara an injury.

"No love. You can have the other six later, tomorrow perhaps. I won't have you hurting yourself or not being on your leg because you were trying to be tough for me." Abraham unwound the rope from Clara's wrists.

More tears threatened to spill from Clara's eyes. Her spanking and cropping honestly hurt, but she felt mildly ashamed: She was disappointed that she had had to stop Abraham short. Intellectually, it was a foolish sentiment. She knew that he would have been upset if she hadn't been honest about her body's limits tonight.

Abraham helped Clara sit up on the bed. She sat upright like a long-limbed China doll. He looked her straight in the eye as he pulled the ribbon of her pointe shoes loose. With practiced ease he took the slipper off. He heard Clara's sigh of relief. After performing tonight, he had been asking too much of her body. He took her fragile right foot in his hand and started to firmly rub it down. Clara leaned back at the pleasure of the impromptu massage. His large hands kneaded the delicate tendons in her ankle and then erased potential muscle spasms that were hiding in her calf muscles. Clara closed her eyes and moaned. Then Abraham moved to her left foot.

By the time he finished with her feet, Clara was half melted. Abraham kissed her tenderly, and guided her to turn around. He peeled off her black leotard. Her pink tights followed. Without them, Abe could see just how red Clara's backside had become. He gave it a little pinch, enjoying Clara's squeal.

He scooped Clara's naked form up and carried her to the bathroom, turning the shower on, waiting for hot water. When the room filled with steam he set Clara down, and gave her bottom sharp encouragement to step inside. Abe divested himself of his formal clothing, tossing the uncomfortable garments in a heap on the floor. His cock was raging, demanding that Abraham do something and NOW. Instead, Abe ignored his lower half and started to wash Clara, scrubbing off the sweat and makeup, massaging her tired muscles, letting her body relax. When Clara was clean from head to toe, she seemed to drift back to earth.

She felt so much better now. Still, her properly tanned backside and lovely massage from Abraham had her on edge. She kneeled in front of her husband on the glass tiled shower floor, and without asking for permission, slipped her mouth over Abraham's iron rod.

The hot water beating down on Clara was glorious, and she closed her eyes as she employed her tongue to enflame Abraham even further. Her hands glided up his thighs, gripping him tightly, as she let his cock free just long enough to lave at his heavy bollox. The burly man groaned. Clara was supposed to ask permission to pleasure him, but at the moment, all Abe had the capacity to care about was that she didn't stop. With more concentration, he felt his wife and submissive begin to ease him further and further into her mouth, seeking to swallow him entirely. Clara groaned as he nudged the back of her throat. Her cheeks hallowed and sucked hard across his shaft. The vibrations and vacuum Clara created had Abe panting quickly.