Tears glaze her eyes, and she blinks rapidly to clear them away. “It hasn’t ever done me any good. I losteverythingbecause of it.”
I stroke my thumb along her jaw, trailing my eyes over her delicate features, her sloped nose, her full lips, and her heart-shaped face that adds to her child-like innocence.
“It’s also what will get you through this and back on track toward the dream you want to pursue.”
“How?” she asks, defeat deep in her voice.
“First off, it’s what made you enjoy what we did this morning—coming face-to-face with Killian again. It’s what brought you out of your mind, your anxiety, and all those festering norms and morals.”
“We have norms and morals for a reason.”
I stroke her cheek. “Sure. But sometimes, they are constricting to a degree of suffocation. They will be for you if you don’t let go of them.”
She stares off to the side, and a whole minute ticks by before she asks her next question. “Are you gonna let Killian abuse me again?”
“It won’t be abuse this time. He won’t leave you on your own.”
She draws a heavy sigh and presses her fingers to her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. Leaving me on my own is not what made it abuse.”
“Trauma isn’t always defined by what happens, but by what follows. The way people respond, or fail to, can shape the damage as much as the event itself can. If Killian hadn’t shown you that video and had given you the care and connection you needed to feel safe afterward, it might never have become traumatic for you. You should think about that.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can tell from her flickering eyes that she’s listening.
“I’ll gradually involve Killian more in the piano lessons and let him play with you occasionally—under my supervision. It will give your nervous system a chance to rewire, to start associating him with something other than the trauma. I won’t send you upstairs until I believe you’re ready. Down here, it’s my domain—my rules. Upstairs, he’s in control. But understand this: if I think he’s going too far, Iwillstep in, no matter where you are.” I give her a moment to process before continuing. “As for the piano lessons, we’ll continue like we’ve done this far, but without your work intervening. You do, however, have to quit and solve the issue of your two-week notice. I suppose it is two weeks?”
She nods.
“I suggest you hand in your resignation over email while also notifying your manager that you’re unwell and won’t be coming in. I’m sure he will easily accept that explanation since he’s already on the brink of firing you.”
Her jaw hardens, and she keeps staring stiffly into the distance. After a minute, she says, still not looking at me, “What about my flat?”
“That’s up to you. I don’t mind if you keep it, but I assume you can’t afford it since you won’t have any income for the next seven months. If that’s the case, I’ll have someone pack it up and put all your things in storage. I’ll pay for the space until our time here is up and the competition is over. We can go there tonight, and you can pack the most necessary things. If you don’t have the appropriate clothes to fit your new dress code, I’ll order some for you. Anything else you need, I’ll take care of. You’re under my roof now; that means you’ll obey and follow my rules, but it also means that you’re my responsibility.”
I give her a minute to let it all sink in before I prompt, “Do you understand?”
She nods.
“Good. You have an hour now to do whatever you like. You may roam the bedroom, the music room, and the living and kitchen area however you like—except for the two closets on the left in the bedroom. Then go practice ‘Die Moldau’ for an hour, and I’ll be in at four o’clock to hear it.” I tap her thigh. “Off you go.”
She scrambles off my lap as if I’m the plague. I’m tempted to spank her for it, but I’ll hold back for now. She needs time to come to terms with this new arrangement. With the way she’s been reacting to my touch and my dominance, I’m thinking she’ll be putty in my hands within two weeks. Killian might be a different matter, but I’ll get her there as well.
19
The Screams
Jenna
The first thing I do after Ian has let me go is head to the entryway to get my phone from my purse. But my phone is gone. My nerves twist as I search for it, already knowing I won’t find it. Ian must have confiscated it. As if that’s not enough to drive my nerves through the roof, I’m worried about bumping into Killian. I can hear him playing upstairs, so it’s easy to keep track of him, but I still worry he’ll suddenly pounce.
He’s playing one of Liszt’sTranscendental Études. If I weren’t so nervous, I’d probably roll my eyes. It’s not that I don’t like Liszt—many of his pieces are high on my list of favorites—but Killian always picks flashy pieces that show off his technical prowess. I much prefer the more expressive, emotional music his dad plays.
The butt plug keeps moving inside me as I go, and when I finally give up and leave the entryway, I’m hot and flushed, my pussy begging for attention despite just having gotten plenty. But that seems like the least of my worries right now.
Part of me wants to march into Ian’s office and demand my phone back—or at least my panties—but he made it very clearhis office is off-limits, and I’m not eager to risk a punishment. I already feel vulnerable enough after everything that’s happened today and with the butt plug shifting inside my ass, a constant reminder of the humiliation. I also don’t doubt Ian meant what he said about the next punishment not just being ten smacks with a bare hand. The episode over his spanking bench last weekend was brutal enough; I have no desire to discover what worse entails.
All these thoughts make my belly twist, stirring waves of nausea, so I decide to go lie down for a while in the bedroom. But rest doesn’t come easily as my mind keeps spinning, so I end up in the music room half an hour early, hoping the piano will grant me some peace of mind. Playing Schubert’s Impromptu in G-flat major helps somewhat. It’s one of the pieces I always come back to whenever I feel down. Even though it’s been months since I played it, the notes flow effortlessly from my fingers, and it has the usual calming effect.
Once the clock strikes two, I shift my focus to “Die Moldau.” Although I wish I were playing the primo part with the melody instead of just the rapid flowing accompaniment, the music still touches me deeply.