Painful Pathway, page 12
The car came to a halt and the driver’s door opened and slammed shut again. That sound roused Sophie, who wondered for a brief second why she could not see, could not even open her eyes and then remembered she was blindfolded. She pushed aside the travel rug and sat up.
“Are we there?” she asked when she heard the passenger door open and felt Charles’s hand on her arm.
“Yes. Steady now - mind the step. Hold onto me.” He helped her from the car and up a short flight of steps. A few moments later they were indoors. She wondered about her surroundings; she knew she was walking on carpet and could faintly smell incense in the air - patchouli? Upstairs, right turn, along a hall, left turn into a room. The door closing. Where was she? Was Charles still there? Was anyone there? Yes, movement, faint but definite; someone was moving about the room. She tensed, stiffened, as a hand brushed against her cheek. The blindfold was removed.
“Jason?” She could not believe her eyes but it was true. It was Jason who had just removed the blindfold, who stood before her now. She suddenly fell to her knees, wrapped her arms about his legs and kissed the leather-clad thighs. “My lord! My Master! I thought I would never see you again!”
“Get up. Sit on the bed. We have to talk,” he told her sternly. She did as he said and sat quietly perched on the edge of the single divan with its pink flowery duvet, her face aglow with pleasure just to be with him.
“I confess that I was curious about you and I tried to find out more about you. What I discovered shocked me more than I can say. I cannot condone or justify what Rabanne does, has done, to you and to others. He is not a master - he is a sick, dangerous, and evil man. Having said that, there is nothing whatsoever that I can do - am willing to do - to expose him. I cannot go to the authorities because it would mean divulging my own part in activities that in this country are not legal. It would also jeopardise a number of lucrative business deals. So whilst I do not approve, I am not willing to become involved. I do not know the man, I do not wish to. How he chooses to live his life is nothing to do with me. I am sure he will get his comeuppance one day, somehow, but it will have nothing to do with me when he does. This is the question then. Can you accept the fact that I am willing to turn a blind eye to what I have discovered about Rabanne? Do you still feel the same way about me knowing that I refuse to expose him?”
“Feel the same way? I don’t know what you mean. I ...”
“This is no time for coyness or false modesty or reticence. You must be blunt. I know that you are attracted to me, fancy yourself in love with me even. If I had not known it myself, I had a phone call from a friend of yours called Alan ...”
“Oh God, I’m sorry! I never thought he would ...”
“It doesn’t matter. As I said, I was curious and looking into you anyway. Do you think I would have been doing that if I wasn’t interested myself? But you must answer my question.”
“I love you,” she told him and for the first time was certain of that herself. “I loved you the very first moment I set eyes on you, standing on the patio in the candlelight like a god. I don’t care about Rabanne or Joel or any of them. I just want to be with you, belong to you. I want you to be my Master. But it doesn’t matter anyway because it isn’t possible. You know how it is. Rabanne will never let me go. He has too much at stake to let me too far out of his reach.”
“Perhaps. What I need to know now is this - if there was a way, would you stay with me willingly or would you try running off to the police or to some women’s shelter and seeking help? Would you tell the truth about Rabanne and the others, try to expose them? It’s important you’re totally honest with yourself and with me right now.” Sophie was silent, contemplative for a few long moments before answering.
“If I went to the police or anyone else, I would simply be handed straight back to Rabanne because officially I’m a raving nutcase whose wild stories can’t be believed! But if there was a way, I still wouldn’t. You said that exposing Rabanne would be exposing you, put you in the frame, and I wouldn’t do that. I know that Natasha is safe and happy now, as happy as possible under the weird circumstances anyway. Exposing him wouldn’t benefit her in any real way, she wouldn’t want to come back - she’s happy in her new life with a handsome Hindu lover. If freedom was possible all I would want is to put it all behind me and get on with my life - ideally, a life with you as yours but I know that’s just a stupid dream, as much as escape from Rabanne is a dream.”
“I would hurt you, you know that.”
“I want you to. I loved what you did to me, the way you made me feel, you must know that. I asked for more.”
“We would have to be married so I could take you back to Greece with me. That would be a lifetime commitment, an eternal binding.”
“You think that would deter me? I could want nothing more than to belong to you forever! I love you.”#
“I would not be faithful. Many nights you would cry yourself to sleep listening to the sounds of my making love with another woman.”
“I know it sounds perverted, kinky, strange, but that idea arouses me. The idea of lying alone in my bed, yearning for you, aching to feel you inside me and hearing you grunting and groaning with arousal in the next room, hearing her cries as you thrust in and out of her, making love to her in a way you never do to me ...”
“You would have no free will of your own. I would tell you what to wear, what to eat, when to sleep. I would rule every sphere of your life. Your whole world would be cupped in my hands.”
“I would take anything, accept anything, do anything just to be near you, to be allowed to curl at your feet in the evening or lay at the foot of your bed at night.” Sophie suddenly let out a choked sob and buried her face in her hands. “Please, I don’t want to talk any more. It’s all fantasy and it hurts so much. Just do with me what you want and send me back.”
“You’re not going back.”
Sophie gazed up at him through bleary eyes. Was he taunting her, cruelly tormenting her, dominating her with words instead of the whip? He took a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and handed them to her. She unfolded them, studied them, struggled with the jargon.
“It’s a discharge notice from the clinic. And a certificate to say you are ‘cured’ - perfectly sane following treatment.”
“How ...?”
“It cost me a great deal of money - more than you could possible begin to imagine - and the promise of a number of certain business deals being sent his way. You’re free, from Rabanne anyway, but not from me. You’re mine, for now and for always, like it or not, love me or hate me. Now stop snivelling and get down on all fours so I can cane and bugger your pretty arse.”
Also Available
Melisa Lumley, Painful Pathway
