Bound by Consent (8 page)

“Very unlikely. Besides I have this.” I waved the second metal bar to reassure her. “My guess is this exit is one way only, an emergency escape that locks automatically to prevent unauthorized access. Did you see what happened when we stepped away from the door?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” Bryana relaxed visibly, seemingly happy to accept my reassurance. “I’m ready now.”

I said a silent prayer, for a blessing from Lady Luck, then pressed the timer and the lights came on. “Let’s go!” I urged her. “Hold onto my arm and keep moving no matter what happens. I have no idea how far away the next light switch is, or the exit for that matter. We just have to walk fast and hope we get there in time.”

The exit turned out to be quite a distance away, much farther than I’d expected. Three more sections of lights awaited and, despite the unpleasant impression of walls pressing in on us, I paused to time-test each one before venturing into the unknown. We emerged into fresh night air from what appeared to be a non-descript storm drain. The muffled clang of the iron grill as it shut behind us was music to my ears. Before we moved away from the spot I posted the metal strut back through the grill. I didn’t want to get nabbed by the police for carrying a lethal weapon.

“Where are we?” Bryana shivered against me, her teeth chattering, despite a warm breeze that rustled softly through the leaves of the clump of trees enclosing the small open space where we stood.

Good question.

“I’m not entirely sure.” I looked around trying to get my bearings, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. With the sky way too cloudy for moonlight to play a part, we were enveloped in a cocoon of darkness. Although we certainly weren’t miles from anywhere nor isolated in the heart of the countryside. Hampstead Heath was an oasis of green space in the heart of a big city bordered by the adjacent densely populated suburbs of Highgate and Golders Green to the north with Camden, Westminster and the City of London to the south. However, the reflected amber glow of distant street lighting merely accentuated the depth of shadow out here on the Heath.

“We’re not that far from a road. See...” I pointed through a small gap in the trees toward an arc of light in the night sky. Although several hundred yards away, seeing the vehicle’s headlights gave me fresh hope. Based on the location of the club plus the distance we’d walked along that passage, I guessed it was Spaniards Road or even better North End Way. Either road promised a cruising black cab and safe transport back to Docklands. No point in me wishing for the moon and the means to call for a pick-up though, in accordance with the club’s strict ‘no cell phones’ policy, we had both left ours back at the apartment. Now, of course, I was glad that we’d done so or our phones would still be languishing in a locked box at the reception desk. I shuddered at the thought. Thankful that foresight had saved me the bother of having to front up at the club tomorrow to retrieve them and the potential risk of being asked to show identity or explain our unorthodox exit. I’d had one lucky escape from that nightmare scenario, and another in finding the way out of the club. Now I just needed a final bit of good fortune to get us both home safely.

“Come on.” I took Bryana’s hand and started walking briskly toward the road but after a just few paces, she stumbled and nearly fell. “Hey! Watch your step.” I placed a steadying arm around her waist then pulled her close and silenced her sobs with a soft kiss. Bryana relaxed against me. For a moment I forgot where we were and drowned in the pleasure of her lips, so sweet, so tempting. Her proximity and the heightened tension of the whole episode had awakened a sleeping dragon that now breathed the fire of lust into my body. It was a small step in my mind to make use of our secluded position and the soft bed of leaves. No, with some reluctance, I forced myself to resist the urge to pursue that action and put her from me. This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts, however much my body screamed for satisfaction. We needed to get to the road in one piece, no mean feat when it meant negotiating a tract of rough terrain in the darkness, and then find a cab ride back to her apartment.

“Are you okay to go on now?”

“Yes.” Bryana clutched my arm tighter, her sniffles fading.

“Good.” Using the intermittent flash of vehicle headlights as a guide, I started forward again, encouraging her into to follow my lead. Although, being forced to temper my naturally long stride and rapid pace to accommodate her heels meant our progress was painfully slow. From time to time I almost lost confidence when a vehicle passed by on the distant road and it seemed we weren’t making any headway. I had to keep reminding myself that every step, however small, brought us closer to our goal.

Our nightmare evening finally ground to a close when the cab pulled up outside Bryana’s apartment block shortly after three thirty in the morning. The walk across the Heath had taken much longer than I expected then the wait for an empty cab to come along had compounded things. I shook Bryana who was dozing with her head on my shoulder. “We’re home, honey.”

“What!” She jerked away from me, clearly alarmed by the suddenness of her awakening.

We extricated ourselves from the vehicle and I paid the fare, adding a hefty tip in gratitude to the driver for coming all the way out to Docklands at this hour. Bryana sagged against me, clearly exhausted by the night’s traumatic events; I put my arm about her waist for support and led her inside to the elevator.

Once inside her seventh floor apartment I steered Bryana toward my room. It had become a given for her to sleep in my bed, not that we’d done much sleeping the last few nights. Between talking, exploring our compatibility and the early stages of what might in time become a fully fledged D/s relationship, plus some very satisfying sexual marathons, sleep didn’t stand much chance.

At the door, she suddenly roused from her lethargy and tried to pull away from me “No, I can’t…I want to be alone.”

“Are you sure?” I’d have thought being alone tonight was the last thing she’d have wanted. I didn’t understand her propensity for isolation rather than sharing. The concept went against my natural instinct which was to take care of her, to provide the comfort and security to soothe away all her fears, but it was her choice. I couldn’t force her into staying with me if she wanted to be alone.

“Yes…” Bryana shuddered and cast her gaze to the floor. “After what happened tonight I feel dirty and I can’t bear for you to look at me or touch me.”

“Okay, whatever makes you happy.” I didn’t understand her position but I changed direction toward her room and stopped at the door. “I want you to know I’m here if you need me for anything.”

“Thanks, Cassie.”

Bryana refused to meet my gaze, though I recognized the note of relief in her voice. I released her, opened the door and stood back so she could enter. “Sleep tight. We’ll talk tomorrow when you feel better.” She didn’t respond but simply moved into the room and closed the door firmly in my face.

Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep. The hubbub in my brain refused to quieten down. Instead I processed the night’s events, examining them endlessly from every angle, trying to figure out why Esmée would want to torture Bryana. Was it revenge – for Bryana looking elsewhere, jealousy, or something more sinister? Revenge didn’t seem in any way logical, since Bryana hadn’t even formed a new relationship when the reign of terror started. Besides which, Esmée had a new love interest and a new sub to dominate. Jealousy? Maybe, but unlikely, I mentally shook my head. The more sinister explanation, however, made perfect sense to me. A case of: ‘
even though we’re not together any more I still want to control you and, if I can’t keep you under my thumb, I’ll mess with your head to make damned sure nobody else can have you’.
Marisa’s role in this little drama was easily explained. She probably just did as she was told, seizing upon the chance to please her Mistress while loving every minute of being allowed to torment her lover’s ex. I would need to work extra hard to break the hold that Esmée still had over Bryana’s mind. My desire to help Bryana free herself from the clutches of these two women wasn’t entirely selfish, to serve my own ends, but because what I’d both seen and heard of Esmée had convinced me she wasn’t a safe person to be around. She didn’t care enough to give a novice sub what she needed most; a safe environment to develop both physically and, more importantly, intellectually. I hated to think she was practicing her particular brand of mind control and domination without any proper knowledge of, or dedication to, the lifestyle. Bryana was a mess because of Esmée. I aimed to put that right if I could, and the sooner the better.

Just over an hour later, much earlier than I’d anticipated, Bryana’s screams rent through the silent apartment. I was out of bed and racing for her room within seconds. Her tormented cry for help gave me the perfect opportunity to prove myself the hero in her eyes. She was sitting up amid a tangle of bedclothes that spoke of her disturbed sleep. The look of fear on her face melted my heart.

“Come here.” I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. The rapid beat of her heart kept up a steady rhythm against my chest. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Cassie pulled free of me. She retreated across the bed, out of reach, and chewed on her lip. “I think I had another bad dream. I’ve had a lot of them lately.”

Her reluctant admission set off a chain reaction. Tears flowed from troubled eyes in a seemingly unstoppable cascade. Then she began to tremble, her body visibly shaking and her teeth chattering. I could only guess at who and what had provoked this event. It bugged me that she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, trust me or even let me close enough to admit her fears. Until she did, I couldn’t really help her overcome the trauma. I wanted to show her I could be her rock, her confidant and her Mistress all rolled into one. That she could get the relief she craved by unburdening her fears, and the tension they created, onto my shoulders either in words or actions. If, as she claimed, she felt dirty, I had the perfect answer for that, too. Over the years, working with other tortured souls, I’d developed a foolproof technique that combined deep massage and verbal expression to cleanse both mind and body of all the unnecessary baggage left from previous abusive or destructively unhealthy relationships. It was proven to work but the subject had to place their trust in me first.

Eventually Bryana relented and allowed me to get close enough to comfort her although it took nearly an hour before she relaxed enough to drift off into exhausted sleep. I stayed with her the remainder of the night, holding her close, stroking her beautiful hair and reveling in her soft fragrant body resting against my chest. It took a massive amount of willpower on my part to resist the call of my libido. To me it seemed wrong to be this close and yet not to touch her or taste her. However, I didn’t want to do anything that would alienate Bryana or destroy the fragile trust she’d placed in me.

The following few days passed quietly, and without any incident of note. To be on the safe side, I deliberately kept away from sensitive subjects for fear of initiating an adverse reaction. Outwardly, Bryana had returned to her normal self but I sensed that she still harbored many fears and doubts on the inside. She worked long hours each day meticulously checking the equipment for her upcoming trip. I was amazed by the plethora of cameras, lenses and filters that she needed, even in this digital age. It didn’t end with the equipment. There were endless phone calls, plus reams of paperwork, shooting plans, and permits littering the desk in her office, all of which formed a necessary part of her job. Being a successful fashion photographer clearly required a lot of hard work and forward planning.

Although away from home and my office, I was able to keep up with most work on the laptop. My business activities generated a steady stream of correspondence, invoices to check and bills to pay but I often stopped to watch Bryana. I got a kick out of seeing her working so hard at the preparation and that set me wondering about the other side, the actual fashion shoots. In the past, I’d been present during both photo and video sessions in the dungeon. Was fashion much different? Maybe Bryana would let me watch her in action? A trip to Amsterdam with her would be a perfect way to develop our relationship.

“Why do you want to come with me?” Bryana rounded angrily upon me following the suggestion that I might accompany her. “Don’t you trust me?”

Interesting reaction.

That she put lack of trust at the top of her list told me a lot about her relationship with Esmée.

“It’s not a matter of trust.” Disappointment sat heavily in my gut like an indigestible meal. “Have you even considered the fact that I might want to come to Amsterdam with you because I both love your company and a few days away together will be an exciting adventure?” It annoyed and saddened me that Bryana let paranoia control her life at every turn. Worse still, that Esmée haunted our relationship like a ghost, her evil presence stamping out any positive progress before it had a chance to take root let alone grow new shoots. I found it totally frustrating when everything I suggested or asked of Bryana, even something that she might enjoy, received a negative or obstructive response. As long as Esmée’s pernicious influence prevailed Bryana was reluctant to face life head on.

“I’m going there to work, not to play.”

I shook my head at Bryana’s stonewall answer saddened that she still didn’t get where I was coming from.

“Of course you are, and I wouldn’t dream of interfering with that part of your day.”
Except perhaps to watch from a distance.
“I just thought you might like some company when you’re not working.” There wasn’t any point in me adding ‘and some protection from the likes of Esmée and Marisa’ since I didn’t want to poke a stick into that particular wasp’s nest. Besides, I didn’t even know if either of them would be in Amsterdam. I understood, from the little information Bryana had shared with me, that this wasn’t a big public fashion show like those in Paris or Rome but some sort of upmarket catalog shoot. Her remit from Célestin Reynaud, the designer, involved using many of Amsterdam’s famous landmarks, buildings, canals, and tourist sites as a backdrop for the collection. However I didn’t want to take any risks. There was every chance that Marisa might be one of the models, and where Marisa went Esmée would be sure to follow – especially if she’d got wind of Bryana’s involvement. “We could take a leisurely dinner cruise on the canal, visit a few nightclubs, even try our hand at the casino, or just relax and unwind. It’s been a rough few days for both of us.”