Charlotte's Search - Box Set Three

Michael

Michael

“How is she?”

James props himself, both hands knuckled on the kitchen table, head bowed. “The same. Not good. I’d say she’s gotten past denial, but I almost wish she’d cry… Get it out of her system. Instead, she behaves as though she’s in shock.”

He's mourning the loss of a daughter…

She's panicking over gaining a father...

Both bereft…

…

What a f*****g mess.

“Shock is probably the right word…” I say. “… Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent. It’s going to take time and support to get her past it.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “I think,” he says, “part of the problem is that not knowing much about him, she’s cooked up some idealised vision of Conners in her imagination…”

“The perfect father who never was?”

“As it turns out, yes.” He rubs at the back of his head. “How the hell do we deal with this?”

“Time may be the only thing that deals with it. We simply wait for her to come out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What we might try is to deal with the practicalities.”

“Like?”

“Like, when did she last have a bath? Or a proper meal?”

“Don't think she's had a bath since we got back. Just sits there wallowing in pizza boxes and boil-in-a-minute noodles. I’m happy to cook anything we can get down her, but first, we have to get her attention.” He jerks his chin towards the lounge. “You want to get in there again? Give it another try? I think this needs your touch.”

I pull up a seat, rock the chair back, cross my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this occasion, I think she needs what you give her.”

His eyes shift to mine. “You think?”

“Yes, I think. Hugs aren’t carrying this one. She needs knocking back into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might like to know,” I add, “that I turned on the heating downstairs first thing this morning.”

He Ahhhs in silence, then, “Maybe you’re right.” He stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come on then. You’d better be there too but stay in the background if you prefer.”

I follow him through to the lounge. Charlotte sits on the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced into the fire. She doesn’t appear to notice us.

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

James speaks. “Charlotte?” There’s no softness in his voice.

She doesn’t turn, maintaining her vigil of the flames. “Mmmm?”

Ram-rod straight, his arms folded, “I expect you to look at me when I address you.”

She hunches, then turns to face him. “Sorry, Master.”

“Come here.”

Charlotte uncrumples from her self-hug to stand, then shuffles across the room to stand before him. “Yes, Master?” But she doesn’t meet his eyes. Head low, her fingers wind and twist together, unwind then rewind…

Yes… humiliation…

Her hair, unwashed since God-knows-when, hangs in greasy rat-tails and her face is sallow. Clothes are creased, spotted with what look like tomato stains, and she’s still carrying traces of makeup she put on days ago; mascara gone panda-eyed.

Doesn’t smell great either…

James squares up to her. “Charlotte, I am your Master. You will behave appropriately when we speak. Your face lowered in submission is acceptable. Your head hanging in shame is not.”

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

He takes her by the shoulders, pinning her, almost shaking her. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are exactly the same person you were a few days ago.”

Still she won’t look at him. “But I’m not. I…” The words choke into a sob.

Finally crying?

Good…

For God’s sake let it out…

“The only thing that is any different is inside your head. You are not Jenny, the child victim. You are Charlotte, the woman who reinvented herself, who knew what she wanted and took on all comers to get it. The woman who took the world by the throat and shook until it gave her what she deserved.”

She’s still gulping down sobs. James continues. “Charlotte faced down everything life threw at her. I saw you do it. I saw you auction yourself to the highest bidder; to me; because doing so would take you where you wanted to go. Even though you knew it was dangerous. Even though your memories must have made that an appalling decision for you to take.” He’s still holding her, jolting her at the shoulders to punctuate his words. And each shake draws a sob.

“I saw you face down the man who terrorised your childhood and who threatened you with assault and gang-r**e. And just because that man might be, genetically, your sire… I don’t say father… that does not mean he has any power over you. Klempner has no hold over you unless you give it to him. And you are too strong to let that happen. Do you understand me?”

“Jenny didn't have choices, but Charlotte does. And one of those choices is whether or not she lets something that is part of her past control her present and her future.”

She swallows, her sobs subsiding a little.

And now, he grips her chin, forces her face up to meet his. “When you and I first met, I wanted you because I admired you. Not just liked you. Not just loved you, although all of that is true. I admired you. Your courage, your tenacity, that resilient core you have, your refusal to knuckle under. And I will not see you bend at the knee over something that does not matter. If Klempner was the sperm donor to your mother, that does not change who you are or what you are.”

And finally, she looks up to James’ face. His eyes soften at the corners. “Just because Klempner allowed his monster of a father to turn him into a monster doesn't mean that will happen to you. It hasn't happened to you. You made different choices in the past. You will make different choices now.”

She blinks tears then wipes a hand across her eyes. James draws a thumb across the streaks running down her cheeks.

Her voice hollow, “He said he was sorry…”

James snaps, outrage in his tone. “He has no right to say that. Sorry? What’s different for him to be sorry about? He abused a child. The fact that it turns out he sired that child makes no difference. ‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough. Sorry doesn’t even come close to good enough.”

Her head hangs again, her voice small. “He’s in prison.”

He knocks her chin back up with a finger. “So Klempner’s locked up. What of it? That’s to punish him…”

Keep your anger under control…

From behind, I wave my palm down a couple of times.

Cool it…

James scowls at me but moderates his tone, gentler now as he speaks to her.

“… And to keep him from doing more damage than he already has. Do you think that gives him any kind of right to salvation? How would a man like that ever earn redemption?”

Her voice is trembling. “I always thought… even when it was at its worst… I thought that somewhere out there, she must be there. My mother. And she’d been with my father. With Frank Conners…”

And finally, we’re getting it…

What she’s thinking…

What’s really upsetting her…

“… and they'd have been happy together while he was still alive. Before Klempner murdered him. And there must have been some reason that she left me there. With him. She couldn’t have just abandoned me. But if he was my father… Klempner… Maybe that’s why she did it. Maybe she was so… horrified… that I was his… Maybe she simply didn’t want me. She just left me with him…”

She raises eyes red-rimmed and swollen, looking first at James, then at me. “Do you think he r***d her?”

Is that what’s bothering her?

She thinks she’s the child of r**e…?

“No,” James snaps, his voice decisive. “Klempner’s admitted to a lot; murder, enslavement, terrorism, but he denied r**e. Given his willingness to admit everything else, I’m inclined to believe him. I don’t think he forced your mother.”

She uncoils a bit, weeping again, but now it has the sound of release… I move to stand behind her, wrap my arms around her. She shudders, her weight relaxing back into my arms.

“You're right.” Her voice is still shaky, but some calm is returning. “You’re right. With everything else, he would have no reason to lie.”

James stands back, letting me hold her. “That’s better. I know you’re unhappy, but at least we’re talking about it now.” He nods me to the cabinet. “Michael, why don’t you open a bottle of wine. I think we’ll share a drink and then you…” He plants a long forefinger on Charlotte’s chest… “… are going to have a long soak in the bath. Michael or I will join you if you wish. Or you can be by yourself if you prefer. After that…”

“After that, Master?”

“After that, we are going to share a meal…”

“I’m not very hungry, Master…”

“So, we will share a small meal. Now, sit by the fire, get warm and drink your wine.”

She submits, sits and returns to staring into the embers. James lays a hand on my shoulder, murmuring, “Can you keep her company for a while. I want to get the basement ready.”

“Of course. What are you planning on doing?”

“I’m going to take her to the edge then tip her over.”

“Don't overdo it.”

“That's what you're there for. “

*****

She has her bath, returning an hour or so later scented of lavender and rose. We drink, but not too much. We eat, sharing Charlotte’s favourite treats; cheese, bread, olives, strawberries and cream. She sits on the rug by the fire, not hitting the food the way she normally does, but nonetheless, she eats.

Then she sits, inert, leaning back against my legs as I stroke her hair.

Over her head, James c***s a brow to me, tilts his head. I nod.

He rises, takes Charlotte’s hand and pulls her upright, then kisses the fingers. “You are going to go downstairs now, undress and wait for us. Michael and I will join you in a few minutes…” She hesitates… “And the next words I expect to hear from you are ‘Yes, Master’.”

She bows her head. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.” I pass her a glass of Rioja… “Now, drink your wine… And I want you to have another glass after that.”

*****

Downstairs, in the basement, James’ ‘playroom’, the demesnes of a Master, she’s waiting for us. As he instructed, she’s naked, kneeling, head lowered and the glass she took down with her, empty.

She’s goosing a little. The heating hasn’t quite dispelled the chill yet, but that won’t matter. With what James has in mind, I’m sure she’ll soon be warm.

And the hearth glows; old logs dropping to embers, new logs flickering new flames. The light shimmers gold and amber. Candles reinforce the honeyed glimmer, sending dancing shadows over wall and arch.

James gestures me towards her and then to a ceiling hook. “Charlotte, stand up.”

She rises, chewing her lip, trembling slightly…

Cold?

… Or nervous?

Stepping close, I wrap arms around her, holding her against myself, giving her the heat of my body. One hand winding into her hair, with the other I caress the smooth skin of her back and shoulders, “Shhh… It’s alright. Calm down.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Remember your safety words. You may need them.”

She jolts. Her eyes dart. “Is he angry? Is he going to punish me?”

“No. No, he’s not angry... You’ve done nothing to be punished for. But he is very concerned for you. We both are.”

“What then?”

How to say this?

“He’s going to take you out of yourself, then we’ll both bring you back home. You understand?”

“Alright.” But there’s still a tremor in her voice.

My hand cupping her cheek. “You can always say ‘No.’ Do you want to? No-one is going to force you.”

She falters, then dumbly, she shakes her head. Taking her hand, I lace my fingers with hers. “Come on. You’ll be fine. And you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. You trust James, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then trust him now. Let him take you the way you need to go.”

Passive, she follows me as I lead her to where James waits, a flogger in one hand, swishing it casually.

I suppose to any that didn’t know him, he might appear severe, frightening even, but as his eyes follow her, I see the softness there…

… the pity…

Positioning her under the anchor point, I press my lips to hers before, loudly enough for her to hear clearly, “Rope, cuffs or spreader?”

“Cuffs will be fine.”

As I walk by him to the racks, quietly, “She’s jittery. Be careful.”

“I will,” he murmurs, “And she’ll be more herself afterwards.”

“Just what I told her myself.”

A pair of cuffs are a snug fit to her wrists; a carabiner and a length of rope connect her to the hook, restraining her tautly upwards. “Open your legs, Charlotte.”

Meekly, she obeys, and I check her colour; hands, fingers, face, then casting across to James he micro-nods me to her.

Moving around her, I let my hands drift over her upstretched body; her hips, her waist, her breasts. Muscles tremble and quiver. And she smells cool, with no scent of arousal. Drifting fingers between her thighs I test her, then “I’ll just be a moment.”

I head for the cupboard where I keep a*****e of massage oils. Passing James, I murmur, ‘Dry.’ He slow-blinks understanding.

A little neutral oil on my palms and I run my hands over her again; seducing her, coaxing her arousal. My hands on her waist, my fingers almost encircle her as I work her spine with my thumbs. Then slipping upwards; her ribs, her muscles, her shoulders; gradually I ease her, rubbing in, digging into the tension knotted there, making her feel me; making her know I am there.

And all the while, as I massage her, soothe her, James stands to her fore. My hands on her, she watches him. He moves unhurriedly, deliberately; removing his jacket to hang it neatly over the back of a seat. His tie is next. Tugging at the knot, he loosens it, unravels it, then unfastens the top button of his shirt before draping the tie over his jacket.

Reaching around, I cup a breast, nuzzling into her hair and her neck. “You’re so beautiful. I never forget how beautiful you are. Or that you are my wife. Or that I love you. And I will never let anyone hurt you. Never. And neither will he.”

She watches him, her breathing accelerating as I caress her. My hands cupping and stroking, my chest pressed to her spine, I love her with my body.

James, one at a time, removes his cuff-links, again setting them to one side, then unbuttons his shirt and kicks off his shoes. Barefoot now, stripped to the waist, he takes up the flogger again, holding it in one hand, resting it on the other as the tails swing by his thighs.

And he watches. And he waits.

Her Master…

Her tension is easing; the anxiety flowing away, the tremble dying away. And slowly, smoothly, the perfume of her arousal curls up and out and around, like smoke in the air, hazy and drug-like. One hand rubbing circles on a n****e, I venture south again with the other…

… and this time, she’s warm; dampening…

That’s my girl…

I slow-blink to James, still silently watching, toying with the flogger. He eye-points me away from her and I position myself to watch, close enough to see her face clearly and to hear her.

Pushing the flogger into his belt, he approaches her, standing to her fore. His hands cupping her face, he kisses her, at first softly, but then with increasing passion, forcing her mouth open with his.

Then, still pinning her cheeks between his hands, “You are mine,” he says. “And you are Michael’s. You are not his. You have never been his. You never will be his as long as you exercise the choices which are yours. You understand me?”

Charlotte swallows and nods. Already, she’s wearing that semi-mad expression she has for him.

When she looks at him like that, she's already halfway there...

The flogger handle under her chin, he tilts her head back. “Say it. I want to hear the words.”

Her breathing ripples. “I’m not his. I’m yours. And I’m Michael’s.”

“Good. That’s better. And the last point…” James pushes up with the handle. “…The most important point is that you are yours. You belong to yourself. No-one ever succeeded in taking that from you, even as a child. You have always been too strong to let that happen. Don’t let it happen now.”

She doesn’t reply, but her eyes are huge green-rimmed pools, pupils dark as the night sky.

He regards her for a long moment, then lowers the flogger, releasing her. “That’s better.” He touches her arm. “You’ve stopped trembling. That’s good too. Now…” He stands back, flicks the tails over her belly and breasts, a mere kiss of supple leather that sends a shiver over her skin… “… this is where you fly…”

He moves around behind her and with a twist of the wrist, catches her on the calves with the tails. She jolts and gasps…

Did he mean to start that hard…?

But he repeats the motion on the other calf. It’s got to sting, and she whimpers.

*****