Bound by Consent (9 page)

“Yes...It has. I...I’m...” Bryana twisted her hands together and refused to meet my gaze.

“What do you think?” Without thinking, my hand automatically rested on her shoulder. “Shall I book myself a seat on the plane?”

“No!” Bryana dodged away from my hand, moved out of reach, and strode across the room.

Her emphatic response left me totally baffled. She spent several long minutes staring out the window – I doubt, however, she was admiring the view of the Thames – before she turned back to me her face set in an inscrutable mask. “I can’t do this anymore... It’s over... I want you to leave. Now!”

“But–” The suddenness of this bombshell robbed me of speech. What had changed? Bryana appeared to have forgotten our original agreement that I could stay until she left for Amsterdam on Monday at which time we’d review the arrangement.

Bryana glared at me. “No buts! Frankly I don’t care where you go. I just want you out of my face. Today!”

Hells bells! My normally submissive Bryana had morphed into a tiger, one not shy about displaying teeth and claws, either. She needed a gentle reminder that I wasn’t the bad guy here. However, her unequivocal dismissal left me precious little room for maneuver.

I resorted to humor in an attempt to defuse the tension. “You’re a hard woman, turning me out onto the streets when you know I’m homeless for at least the next six weeks and maybe a couple more.” Although technically I would never be homeless, even though Auchtercairn was temporarily full of strangers, I could always return to my apartment. However, Bryana didn’t know that I kept a one bedroom pied-a-terre in the apartment block in Curzon Street. I always avoided telling people that I owned property in fashionable Mayfair; it gave them a totally wrong impression of my financial status. I’d inherited Auchtercairn, the family estate, from my father, along with several other properties in London and elsewhere. The houses and apartment blocks, however, amounted to nothing more than white elephants since all the income from rents was swallowed up in maintenance and taxes.

“It’s not my concern if you’re homeless, or that damned castle of yours is occupied by a film crew. You’ll survive. Women like you always do.”

I ignored the ‘women like you’ jibe and offered a conciliatory comment in an attempt to win her around. “Maybe I will...but it won’t be the same without you.”

“Rubbish! You don’t care a fuck what happens to me – this is all about you. You want to control me...to manipulate me for you own sick pleasure, just like Esmée did. Well, I’ve had enough.”

Ouch!
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Bryana had seriously lost the plot. “You have a very short memory. Surely, if I didn’t care, I’d have left you to rot in that stinking cellar.”

“Not if it served your own ends.”

Again, ouch! The knife found its mark in my chest, sliding easily between my ribs and wounding my heart. “That is not fair. You speak as though I have a hidden agenda, or some devious plan to hurt you, when nothing could be further from the truth. I just want to help you...to free you from the hurt and fear that Esmée planted in your mind which is now holding you hostage.” What else could I say to make Bryana understand? I certainly wasn’t likely to get very far by trading insults and raised voices.

Bryana’s outburst proved beyond doubt that like a lot of people, even novice subs, she had a distorted view of the lifestyle. She clearly knew, or understood, very little about how a true D/s relationship worked for those involved. Had she never learnt anything about the mutual love, trust, and willingness to serve that inextricably binds Mistress and sub together? I’d hoped that, with the right guidance, she might fully understand and want to explore the possibilities of building that sort of bond with me.

“You are not listening to me.” Bryana stared me down. “I told you to get out!”

I sighed. Sadly, it didn’t look like I was going to get the chance to show her how a good D/s contract could change her life or offer her the happy ending she deserved. I gave it one more shot. “It breaks my heart to leave you when you’re so troubled.”

“See if I care.” She shrugged and started to turn away, leaving me none the wiser what was going through her mind.

Incensed by her intractable attitude, my patience snapped. I reached for her arm and spun her around to face me.

“Don’t walk away from me!” I pulled her closer, making sure I had her attention. “It’s time you stopped this nonsense and started communicating like an adult.”

Her lips parted but no words emerged, just a hiss of breath that brushed my cheek like a silky zephyr. I couldn’t help myself; it had been too long since we were this close. I dipped my head, smothering Bryana’s protest as I sealed our lips together in a kiss. She struggled to free herself but I held her tight until she stilled and finally capitulated, melting into my embrace.

Satisfied I’d achieved a small victory; I broke the kiss and held her gaze. My heart raced in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. This was make or break time. If I failed to clear this important hurdle our relationship really would be over. I sucked air into my starved lungs.

“We need to talk. Sensibly, like the adults we are. Cards on the table.” There was so much more I wanted to say but didn’t for fear it would tip her into another tantrum. Tension gripped my chest until it felt like it was being compressed in a vice, and Bryana had full control of the bar.

The silence lengthened. I remained still, waiting for some sign from Bryana who appeared to be doing battle with her inner demons.

She eventually came out of her trance-like state and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Very well. We can talk, if you insist.” Her reluctant agreement was heavily laced with the inference that talking would do us, or more specifically me, little good.

Having agreed to my request Bryana broke eye contact and I sensed her physically withdrawing from me. To change the focus, I took her wrist and led her to the white leather couch. The starkness of the minimalistic, black and white décor gave the room an impersonal feel that took some getting used to after the warmth of Auchtercairn with its clutter of antique furniture, pictures, and carpets.

“Look at me.” I kept a firm hold of her for fear she would simply get up and walk away from me if I didn’t restrain her and focus her attention. “Despite what you’ve said,and erroneously believe, I do care about you – very much – and I also care what happens to our relationship. Yes, I know you’re hurting badly, I can see it in your eyes and your body language, but I can make all that hurt go away, if you’ll let me.”

Bryana shook her head.

Her mute denial made me all the more determined to show her there was a way out of the mental chaos that was preventing her from leading a normal life. Her gaze drifted away from me.

I hooked one finger under her chin and forced her to face me. “Let me in. Make me understand where you’re coming from. Tell me what you’re thinking and feeling. What you need to heal the wounds both mental and physical. Come on, Bryana, trust me. I can make all the bad things go away.” I hoped, once I got her talking about her fears, it would prove cathartic and everything would fall into place.

Bryana’s eyes widened. “I can’t. I...”

“Yes you can. Let it all out and you’ll feel a lot better.”

“No...” She sagged against me, the tension dropping away from her body along with the tears soaking my shoulder.

Frustrating though it was to restrain my natural impulse I was determined to take things slowly until she was fully back to some semblance of normality.

The main problem we faced was that our relationship had begun in the wrong place, at the wrong point, and to a large extent with misconceptions on both sides – certainly on mine. From our first encounter, Bryana had presented herself, as more experienced and well-versed in the lifestyle than she actually was. The past few weeks had shown me the fallacy of that assumption. Bryana’s relationship with Esmée, and her visits to Out Of Bounds, had merely served to confuse rather than educate. My task, if our relationship survived beyond today, would be to undo all the damage and make her whole again. A necessary stage before we could build a future based on openness, truth, and understanding. I hoped we still had enough going for us to work out a proper contract, one that would give Bryana the confidence to embark on a journey of discovery. I was certain, with the right training, she could, and would, blossom into the perfect sub for me.

When I judged her tears were easing, I tried again. “Talk to me, Bryana. Tell me everything.”

“A little, maybe, if you’re sure.” Bryana raised her head and met my gaze. She dabbed at the tears still misting her beautiful sapphire blue eyes. “You really don’t want me to burden you with all the gory details.”

“Yes, I do,” I tightened my hand over her wrist. “That’s the whole point; for you to talk it all out of your system.”

Bryana sighed. “That will take more time than you or I can spare right now.” She glanced at her watch. Goodness me, it’s gone three o’clock and I haven’t prepared any lunch. I must feed you first and then maybe we can talk for a while.”

Somewhat uncharitably, I accused her of employing delaying tactics. However, a break for a meal and a glass or two of wine might provide a platform free of tension. With Bryana in a relaxed frame of mind there was every chance we might make a little progress toward a resolution.

We adjourned to the kitchen area in search of food. Bryana refused my help, saying she could manage. However, after she’d spent several minutes immobile, just staring into the fridge, it was clear her optimism was misplaced. Eventually, she closed the fridge door and turned around, eyes downcast, her face troubled. “I’m sorry, Cassie, there isn’t much here, not enough for a proper meal anyway, I’ll have to go...”

I stepped forward. “Let me see.”

Bryana cringed away from me, real fear showing on her face. Hell! Did she imagine that I would beat her because there wasn’t enough food? Is that the sort of treatment Esmée meted out on a regular basis? My blood ran cold at the thought. I delved into the fridge and came up with a few mushrooms, half a red bell pepper, a zucchini, and some pecorino Romano cheese. The cupboard yielded rice, a tin of sweet corn, olive oil, and a stock cube. She was right, it wasn’t a lot, but plenty to make a meal for the two of us with bread and wine. I set to work and in a little over thirty minutes we were enjoying the fruits of my labors.

“That was really good.” Bryana laid her fork down and wiped the plate clean with a piece of bread. “I’d never have thought to turn those few odd bits into a tasty risotto.” She popped the bread into her mouth.

“Thank you, honey.” I smiled, accepting her praise although I hadn’t really done that much. The tip of her tongue swept across her lips, to gather up an errant crumb and my imagination immediately flicked into another place. The thought of that soft pink organ caressing my body sent rampant desire racing through me. More importantly though, I really wanted to rekindle the cozy intimacy we’d lost – that Esmée’s cruel intervention had snatched away. Just little things really, but I missed them so badly: a stolen kiss, a fleeting touch that set my skin alive with goose bumps, a secret smile that said ‘I can’t wait to get you alone and rip your clothes off’, all those things and more gave our relationship substance.

“May I make some coffee?”

Bryana’s question floored me for a moment. Before I realized that in the last few days, since her ordeal at the club, she’d changed. Now she always either asked permission to do something simple, like making a drink, or apologized for not providing whatever in a timely manner. Then today, for the first time, Bryana had shown a brief flash of backbone, and outrage, at the treatment meted out by Esmée. Maybe the healing process had begun. I sincerely hoped that was the case.

“Coffee would be good.” I rose and began to collect the dishes but Bryana shooed me away. “You cooked, I’ll clear up. Go and sit down. I’ll serve coffee in a little while.”

Good as her word, less than ten minutes elapsed before Bryana carried a tray with coffee, my favorite malt whisky, and a dish of amaretto biscuits over to the seating area.

We spent the remainder of the day and the entire weekend in relative harmony. Outwardly relaxed, we chatted about this and that, but to my dismay hardly touched on anything important. Somehow, in all that time, Bryana managed to avoid talking in depth about her personal feelings, hopes and fears. Every time we got too close to the things that troubled her she steered the conversation away to another topic. Although, she did relent on one point – that I could accompany her to Amsterdam, for which I was mightily relieved. Once I’d secured her agreement, I wasted no time in getting my airline ticket booked, before she could change her mind.

****

Monday morning found us too busy to let anything intrude on a multitude of last minute must-do jobs. Before we had time to blink, or think, the taxi arrived to carry us to London City airport for the flight to Amsterdam. As the day progressed, however, Bryana grew quieter, and more introspective.

By the time we landed at Schiphol airport early in the afternoon, she’d drifted away from me again, retreating into her own space, a place where I wasn’t welcome. As EU citizens we passed smoothly through the automated immigration channel and took the fast train into Amsterdam Centraal. The walk to our hotel, situated near the old Kirk and only a few hundred yards from station, took less than ten minutes.

My basic needs saw me unpacked in record time. I sat by the window in our room waiting, watching, while Bryana dealt with more cosmetics, clothes and shoes than the average woman would need for a month let alone four days. I waited until she put the last item away before I spoke. “How about a stroll along the canal?”

“I can’t.” Without a pause to consider my suggestion, Bryana humped her aluminum equipment bag onto her bed, manipulated the combination lock, and threw open the lid. “I need to sort this lot out and then get ready to meet Célestin and the crew for working dinner.”

“That’s not for hours yet.” I crossed the room and pulled her hand away from the bag. “You can do that later. A little exercise, some fresh air, and a light snack will do us both good.”