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Chapter 32 – Fluttering
It was a sleep-deprived and hysterical Charlotte that Bosker discovered the next morning. She'd spent the entire night awake, the DVD had been set to loop its playback and Charlotte's attempts to sleep had been constantly interrupted by squeals, screams, smacks and begging schoolgirls. Of course the porn's soundtrack had done little to suppress her heightened state of sexual tension and she had spent almost all night alternately trying to relieve her frustration, remove her clothes or fall sleep. She'd failed on all counts.
All she had managed to do was wrench her hair out of its perfect pigtails whilst remaining constantly on edge and wide-awake. Her hair stood out from her head at a multitude of strange angles. Frequent bouts of tears, instigated by the relentless torture imposed by the clamps and punishment panties, had left the bodice of her flannelette sleeper soaked with salty tears and her eyes red and puffy. The constant tension on her labia together with the bristles had also caused her to soak through not only her panties - which clung stickily to every intimate crevice they could - but also the entire crotch of her pyjamas.
She was a sexual, emotional and physical wreck, and Bosker became her target.
As he walked in with breakfast she threw herself at his feet wailing, begging the butler to let her out of her flannelette prison and turn the godforsaken television off. The DVD was replaying the pussy-whipping scene that appeared toward the middle of the movie. Charlotte had been forced to endure it five or six times during the night, with the piercing screams of the victims permeating every corner of the room.
Despite the bizarre scene with which he was presented, the unflappable Bosker calmly put down the breakfast tray and walked to the electrical panel in the wall. He briefly knelt down and with the benefit of unimprisoned fingers he was able to quickly remove the panel and turn off the television at the power point.
Charlotte burst into a fresh set of tears, but tears of relief rather than suffering. Relief that finally the infernal movie had finished playing despite the fact that the screams and cries of the 'schoolgirls' still echoed through her mind. In an incomprehensible babble masked with tears and exhaustion she thanked the Butler profusely before offering up her hands to him, in the hope that he would release her from the mittens.
He pulled her to her feet and produced a tiny key with which he unlocked the padlocks that secured the mittens around her wrists. With the first lock undone she clasped the end of the mitten in her teeth and pulled the little white bag off her fist and proceeded to achingly clench and unclench her hand. The second wrist was unlocked in quick fashion and before long Charlotte was finally free of the mittens. She spent a few moments massaging her palms and fingers that had been achingly restrained all night and then turned her attention to the pyjamas.
Normally she disrobed in the bathroom away from prying eyes. Yet her desperate need to be out of the pyjamas and panties far outweighed any residual concerns she had for her dignity. The aging butler thoughtfully averted his gaze as she frantically unbuttoned her pyjamas, practically tearing them off in a frenzy. With the soiled pyjamas lying at her feet she quickly pulled the soaked panties down her thighs, providing herself with the first relief from the bristles in eight or more hours. She sighed in relief as the stiff nylon bristles finally ceased their unending torment of her stretched and punished flesh.
Now she gathered herself for the final ordeal. She breathed in deeply, well aware of the terrible pain she was about to incur. The removal of the clamps would free her flesh of the strain imposed by the springs, but experience had taught her that the instantaneous blood flow returning to the crushed flesh would agonisingly overwhelm her. Slowly she sat on the bed and undid the first two clamps in quick succession. She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as the pain engulfed her. She lay back on the bed whimpering for a few moments before repeating the act on the remaining two clamps.
Whilst she struggled to overcome the throbbing pain in her crotch, Bosker kept his back to her and set out her breakfast on her desk. Fresh toast, fruit, cereal and an entire pot of steaming coffee all appeared on her desk. With his various tasks completed Bosker left the room after picking up Charlotte's soiled panties and pyjamas.
She lay still on the bed for a while, relishing her freedom from the diabolical bondage that Mr Campbell had inflicted on her. Awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions she relived the events of yesterday in her mind. Yesterday morning now seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd been upset and confused, unsure of her feelings toward Mr Campbell, let alone the effect that his strict punishments had been having on her. Jane had blown the lid on a whole new world, an entire world full of people like herself that enjoyed toying with power, pain and sex.
The revelations that had been exposed yesterday had seismically shifted her perceptions of herself and the world around her. Naïve preconceptions of what constituted acceptable sexual behaviour had been smashed, and out of the shattered remains questions arose regarding her nascent relationship with Mr Campbell.
Even thinking about him now caused her to blush. Just days ago, she had hated and feared him. She thought back to her first night in the apartment. Of being forced into the ridiculous pink dress. The childish table arrangements at dinner and most prominent of all in her memory: the vicious spanking he had administered. She could still picture precisely his reaction as she had thrown her juice at him. She remembered his cold and callus demeanour and his firm hand. That night, she had thought him a monster. How quickly things change.
Within the discordant cacophony that presently comprised Charlotte's thoughts she drew an analogy between two young children, of a boy showing his affection for a girl by pulling on her hair and punching her. How similar her experiences thus far had been with Mr Campbell she noted wryly.
Last night, he had proven his lust for her body, a lust that she'd suspected for some time. She had convinced herself as well that she'd also seen glimpses of something deeper. She remembered looking up into his worried face as she'd woken from her faint last night and also that very same expression on the night that she'd first been forced to wear the clamps and panties. She wasn't sure what he felt about her, but what she was sure of, were her own feelings toward him. She was falling for him.
It was probably for this very reason that she was so angry with him at this very moment. She had wanted to explore her feelings further, to be held by him, to hold him in turn. Instead, he had attained his own release and then left her bound, tortured and sleepless.
Tired though she was, Charlotte realised that she needed to eat. Her stomach had begun to audibly remind her of her hunger. With her stomach rumbling, she dragged herself up off the bed and sat down at her desk to attack some fruit and a bowl of cereal.
She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when a knock at her bathroom door interrupted her. She started up in surprise, entirely conscious of the fact that she still hadn't put any clothes on. She shouted out to her visitor to hold on and hastily wrapped herself in a towel before opening the door a fraction to reveal a smug looking Mr Campbell.
"Oh its you. What do you want?" She crossly asked him.
"I wondered if I might come in. Now that this is your private little room I thought it best that I knock." Charlotte opened the door fully, indicating he could come in. She stared at the back of his head as he walked past, wishing that she could shoot lightning bolts at him with her eyes. If only.
She walked back to her desk and returned to her coffee. She picked up "The Adventures of Isabelle" from her book nook and pretended that he'd interrupted her reading.
"Charlotte?" He asked hesitantly. "Are you cross with me?"
"What do you think?" She said tersely, refusing to look up from the unread page before her.
"I thought that we had a wonderful evening. I came to let you know that."
Now she looked up, having decided that it was time to unload on him: "Wonderful for you maybe. You try not sleeping with the television blaring, a pair of spiky underpants on and those goddam clamps constantly pulling on your most sensitive bits. Just who do you think you are?"
Unperturbed by her verbal assault he stated point blank: "Frank Campbell."
"What?"
"You asked who I think I am. I'm Frank Campbell and you're Charlotte the pain slut. You're the dirty little girl who gets turned on by being spanked, by having your breasts crushed, by being forced to masturbate yourself in those 'goddam' panties. I am merely attempting to fulfil your depraved desires. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, but –"
"But what? Did I hear a safe word? Did I hear anything other than moans of ecstasy and screams of passion from you? No I didn't." He stopped for a moment, and then held out a hand motioning Charlotte to join him sitting on the bed. "Charlotte?"
Charlotte was still angry with him, but she felt her fury begin to ebb.
"Please come here my angel. I came here to tell you what a marvellous night I had and how much I enjoyed your company. Please come and sit down over here."
The anger that had brewed for hours started to dissipate quickly. That smile of his and calling her 'his angel' turned a blowtorch to her icy rage. Several seconds passed and she lifted herself up off her chair and took the few short steps to the side of the bed. She sat down next to him. He softly took one of her hands in his.
"Look, Charlotte, for what its worth, I'm sorry that you didn't get much sleep. But are you going to tell me that you didn't enjoy yourself?"
"No." She quietly admitted to him.
"So you did enjoy yourself?"
"Yes." Charlotte changed tack: "But – it's not fair to leave me like that. I'm so… so… so…"
"Frustrated?"
"YES!" And she was, she could still feel the stickiness between her thighs.
"Well how about this. I'll make you a promise: spend the day with me. It's Sunday after all so neither of us have to be anywhere or do anything. We'll go up on the roof if you like, there's a garden up there that's quite nice. I'll make you a special dinner, and then after that I promise that we'll look after that itch of yours." The last few words sounded ominous to Charlotte.
"How exactly?"
"Does that really matter?" He asked her in turn.
"What if I say no?"
Mr Campbell released her hand and stood up. He walked to her wardrobe before answering her question. "Then I guess I'll just take this back," Hanging in the wardrobe was a tasteful peach coloured sundress and a pair of sandals. They were the first normal clothes that Charlotte had seen since her arrival. Mr Campbell took the shoes and dress and began walking toward the exit. "You say no, and I suppose you can spend the day staring at the walls in here. After you're bored with that and you come to spend your mandatory hour with me this evening; we'll ceremoniously burn this lovely new dress and then you can play human mannequin for me while I design you a nice little romper, or maybe a play dress for the nursery with some pretty bloomers…"
"No wait!"
Mr Campbell stopped just outside the bathroom and turned back toward her: "Yes?"
"Please don't go."
"I won't, if you agree to spend the day with me. Is it that hard? I thought we could have a nice day together, just talking, getting to know each other some more."
Charlotte knew she had to be careful with her phrasing: if he misinterpreted what she was about to say he might walk out with the dress. A dress that a week ago she wouldn't have been seen dead in. But now, after a procession of frills, ruffles, ribbons and bows she wanted nothing more than to wear that plain cotton sundress.
"Sorry Mr Campbell. I didn't mean that I don't want to spend today with you. I'm just so frustrated and tired after last night. I'd love to come with you. I was just worried about certain itches and how exactly you plan on scratching them."
"Does it matter? I already have my hour each night." He approached her slowly, menacingly. "Let me be abundantly clear Charlotte my pet," he cupped her chin with his hand and stared straight into her soul, "In that hour I will do whatever I see fit to do to you. Whatever.
"Now that been said, I have promised that I will take care of your itch, a promise that I think is entirely generous considering your rude behaviour toward me just now. In fact I would be completely justified in denying you any sort of release for a week and then seeing whether you complain about a handful of hours on a Saturday night. Now really, you have a very simple choice to make."
He released her chin and held out the sundress, offering it to her. She looked at it appraisingly. What could be worse than the frustration of last night, she wondered. More so, he was right about his hour. She had agreed to give him the hour each night and according to their agreement the only barrier to his behaviour was her safe word.
Suddenly her options became crystal clear.
Refuse his request, lose the sundress and maybe spend time in the nursery, struggling not to disgrace herself inside the confines of a diaper. Refuse to accept the first piece of non-infantile clothing he had ever offered her. Maybe instead he'd make good his offer to deny her any release for a week or more – that concept didn't even bear thinking about.
Or she could accept his proposal. Get the nice new dress and spend a pleasant day outside on the roof. Plus he'd promised to relieve her of the frustration that a night in the panties had caused her. It was just the question of how exactly he intended to relieve her that made her worried.
She took the dress.
There was a third option that she didn't even consider: leave him and run away home. But the thought never even crossed her mind.
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The stairs ended in a plain metal door. Charlotte had ascended the stairs behind Mr Campbell and watched as he turned the metal handle and leaned into the heavy door. It swung open slowly throwing bright beams of sunlight into the gloomy stairwell.
Charlotte stepped through the door and looked around the wonderful garden. Partly under the protection of a greenhouse and partly open to the elements - the garden was simply breathtaking. A wide boulevard paved with gravel ran through the centre and at its very centre stood an eight-foot high fountain. An angel holding a Grecian urn poured crystal clear water down about her feet, which fed the various streams that wound in and out of the rest of the gardens. Small paths ducked off the main boulevard winding through archways of creepers, amongst abundant ferns and over decorative wooden bridges that spanned the small trickling streams. Over toward one corner stood a quaint gazebo providing a vista not only of the luscious and unspoiled trees and plants but also over the edge of the building and onto the bustling metropolis of the city.
Charlotte ran out down the main boulevard, the skirts of her light cotton sundress billowing out behind her. She spun around taking in this wonderful place. A light spray of water hit her face as an automated sprinkler system issued a fine film of sparkling droplets onto a bank of ferns before her. Turning back toward the stairs she watched Mr Campbell walk up from the stairwell, a broad grin covering his face as he witnessed her reaction to his garden.
"This is all yours?" She asked.
"Certainly is, came with the apartment. Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful, it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."
"Come on then, I'll show you the rest of it."
Mr Campbell led her through the garden, showing her down each little winding path. Indicating the various types of plants that grew here. He pointed out the part of the garden that took its influence from the rainforests of Brazil and how a combination of humidifiers, greenhouse technology and thermostats enabled the plants to survive through the harsh city winter. Seamlessly the garden morphed as they walked through it, one minute looking at the carefully protected rainforests of Brazil and the next staring up at a black willow that wouldn't have been out of place in the countryside up-state.
Charlotte was shocked not only by the existence of such a garden but at its location on the roof of a high-rise in the middle of the city. "How did you do all this?"
"I didn't – the previous owner was a millionaire and a botanist. You're looking at his life's work." Mr Campbell then explained how the botanist had died and that he had in turn bought the botanists former apartment. As he recounted the story, including the details of the vicious bidding war that had broken out between the half dozen prospective purchasers, they reached the Gazebo.
Someone, probably the butler, had laid out food and drink for them. Charlotte sat down on one of the benches and looked over the table spread. Soft cheeses, crackers, fresh and dried fruit all sat in the centre of the table. Mr Campbell took a seat opposite her. As she looked back across the expanse of the garden Charlotte sat back, pleasantly relaxed after her stroll with Mr Campbell.
Various pleasantries and small talk took up the next quarter of an hour with Charlotte and Mr Campbell slowly grazing on their morning tea. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, a far stretch away from the highly charged incidents of the last few days. Charlotte felt herself becoming more and more comfortable in his company and very much enjoying their interactions. She was spreading a slice of brie cheese over a cracker when Bosker appeared from the stairwell. He approached the table and passed Mr Campbell a brown paper bag before disappearing again back into the apartment.
"Charlotte, I know that I agreed to provide you with an allowance and also to get you some new clothes. Given the timeframes involved I haven't had the chance to arrange everything completely to my satisfaction. Therefore I took the liberty of acquiring the dress you're now wearing and some other incidentals until we find the time to make more appropriate arrangements. Therefore, I hope you don't mind, but I got you these."
He handed the brown paper bag across the table, which Charlotte graciously accepted. The bag contained magazines.
"I know how much you like your sport, so I hope these are okay for the time being."
She sorted through bag: Sports Illustrated, Slam magazine and a couple of other magazines of varying interest were inside the bag. Her heart leapt with joy that he'd been so considerate, but through the euphoria a small nagging doubt tugged at the back of her mind.
"I thought you didn't like me being interested in sport?" She asked cautiously.
"I never said that. Rather I said that I disapprove of you partaking in sports, unless we're talking about horse riding or some of the more appropriate pursuits for a lady. I see no difficulty however in you following your chosen sports."
"Does this mean I can get cable in my room – the play- offs are coming up."
"No it doesn't. However, I might be open to negotiation at a later stage." The way he uttered the word negotiation tripped alarm bells.
"You mean negotiations like yesterday?"
"Possibly."
She put that thought to one side and pulled out Slam magazine. "Do you mind if I have a quick flick?"
"Go right ahead."
She quickly flicked through the pages, taking particular note of the last week's results. Her team was still well placed for the play- offs and she began to wonder exactly what she'd have to put up with to be allowed to watch them. Mental images of various tribulations ran through her head reminding her that she was still desperately excited. Mr Campbell seemed to sense her agitation and surprised her with a question out of left field.
"Charlotte, I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now."
"What's that?" She responded nonchalantly while she still had her nose stuck in the magazine.
"Why is it that you shave yourself?"
It took a moment for her to respond, the sudden change of topic took her entirely off-guard. She thought carefully before answering. Charlotte had been shaving her pubic region for so long that it was now second nature; he may have just as well asked why she brushed her teeth. She carefully answered: "I don't know. I've always done it. Ever since I started growing hair."
"So you don't know why?"
"It just feels right."
"Do you like the way you look like that?"
She wondered where he was going. Didn't he like her shaving? "I've never thought of it. I just do it. Why? Don't you like how I look?"
"No, it's not that at all Charlotte. No I like it very much, it's most appropriate. I was just curious, that's all. I wanted to know why you decided to shave yourself. It seems like a very feminine thing to do for someone who worked towards deliberately being anything but feminine."
She breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she had thought he didn't like how she looked. She'd had visions of leaving herself alone and having to grow some unruly bush. The thought of wiry hair sitting down there irked her, wouldn't it get tangled, sweaty and knotted? Yech! Just the thought made her feel squeamish.
"I just did it. I woke up one day and there it was. I suppose it was because of school now that I think about it. All the girls used to talk about their pubic hair and compare notes. It was like, you know, if you had it then you were a woman or something. They all sort of competed between each other arguing about who had it and didn't. I never wanted to be like them. If getting hair meant I was a woman then I decided I didn't want it. So when it did come I got rid of it. I guess I've done that ever since." She explained at length.
"I see. Well I like it a lot. I wonder: have you ever thought of doing something more permanent than just shaving?"
"Like what?"
"Well it must be annoying to have to do that every day. There are other options. Far more permanent options." He let the last four words hang in the air.
"What – like waxing? I heard that hurts."
He smiled at that: "I wouldn't have thought that was a problem for you." He suggested suggestively, she blushed before he continued: "No – I was thinking of electrolysis. Most of the time the hair never grows back. Ever."
She thought about it. She didn't see shaving as a problem for her. Sure every once in a while she might get an ingrown hair, but nowhere near as many as when she'd started all those years ago. Shaving to her was just part of her daily routine. She did it mechanically without any conscious thought.
"Why would I do that?" She asked, curiously.
"Well surely it would be preferable to shaving every day?" He responded.
"I don't mind, I just do it."
"Well I'd like you to consider it. As I said I like you like that, it's most appropriate. But I would like you to seriously consider making yourself permanently hairless."
"What is electro-thingy anyway?" She didn't see what his fascination was but nonetheless if it made him happy she'd consider it. She didn't think she'd ever want a horrid bush down there ever anyway. So what harm could it cause?
"Well you'd have to go to a beauty parlour to get it done –"
"Huh? No way, I don't want someone seeing me naked!" A hint of outrage quivered in her voice.
"No, it's not like that at all Charlotte, these people are trained professionals, they do it all the time."
"But someone would still see me, I don't know about that."
"Look, it wouldn't be that bad honey. I'd come with you if you like." He waited for a moment before continuing. "What they do is take a tiny little needle and push it into the hair follicle, then they pass electricity through the needle that kills the hair, root and all."
Charlotte imagined the types of needles she'd encountered in the past, imagining something akin to a tetanus needle. Slowly her vivid imagination built the picture for her. She was strapped into a chair, entirely naked facing a window that looked out onto a busy street. Hundreds of pedestrians walking passed the shop and staring at her nakedness. Then a matronly nurse appeared with a huge needle, which was attached to thick electrical leads…
"I'm told it's relatively painless if it's done by a professional." He tried to reassure her.
"I don't know, it sounds kind of yucky."
"If you're worried about your modesty we could always get someone to come here." He suggested.
"Can I think about it?" She replied, still imagining huge needles being stuck into her pelvis. Now her wayward mind had the nurse standing at the wall about to throw a huge switch like those that she associated with electric chairs.
"Of course you can."
"That was a strange thing to ask Mr Campbell. What bought that on?"
"Curiosity, nothing more."
Their afternoon returned to normality after that exchange. Charlotte read through her magazines while Mr Campbell opened a book and the two of them sat in the garden reading quietly. Occasionally one of them would look up from their reading material and look about, catching the eye of the other and in that way many a suggestive glance was past between the two. Charlotte remained on edge and felt the tension rising through the afternoon. Soon she would submit to him again. Soon he would have his hour, an hour that he had promised would provide her with the relief that she so desperately sought. But at what cost?
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