The videos were informative and practical, not sensual per se.
Chase offered the same easy, pleasant interaction with the camera as he had at the workshop. He talked to the viewer as if to a friend, without a trace of ego or self-consciousness.
He exuded a certain quiet, sexy calm that was so different from the smoldering fire just beneath the surface that Kate had experienced with Master John. Chase was clearly in his element as he demonstrated quick but elegant and effective bondage techniques on his very willing subject, binding her in any number of sensual positions.
The last video on the page was titled Suspension Bondage.
The model in this one was a different woman. She wasn't wearing the black uniform T-shirt, but rather a red silk dress that hugged a slender but shapely frame. She was petite,
coming barely to Chase's shoulder, with long dark hair flowing down her back.
Chase demonstrated how to safely suspend someone with stainless steel suspension rings. The crimson rope he used matched the girl's dress and offset her luxurious long black hair.
The act of binding the girl was erotic in itself, coils of soft, strong rope wound around wrists and thighs, looped in a figure eight over breasts and hips.
Kate wasn't really paying attention to his explanations or demonstration. She was watching his face, his expression when he looked at the girl, and hers when she looked at him.
"They're lovers," she whispered aloud, not sure how this made her feel. She realized she'd just assumed Chase was not involved with anyone.
He'd said to call any time, day or night. Would he have done that with the beautiful woman in the video sleeping beside him? Or was theirs a Master/slave relationship where he kept her in chains at the foot of the bed, his possession with no say in whom he talked to when?
Kate shook her head. She just didn't see Chase as that kind of Dom. What had he written?
The romance and pleasure of a consensual exchange of power.
Did Master John even understand the concept, the
possibility that romance could be involved? Kate snorted. He was no kind of Dom, she understood that now. Chase had called him a bully and that's just what he was.
She watched the suspension demo video again, certain she was right about the pair. Those two were or had been at the time of the video, lovers. Did he suspend her like that in the privacy of their bedroom, naked and bound for his pleasure?
What would it be like to feel those ropes tight around wrists, chest, thighs and ankles, unable to move or resist?
All at once, Master John's handsome face insinuated itself into her mind's eye, his smile cruel, the cane clutched in his hands. With a shudder, Kate closed her browser and left the computer. What she needed was another cup of coffee.
No. What she needed was some fresh air and a good long run. She would listen to music on her MP3 player and jog along the country roads. She would let the physical exertion of the run take over, taxing her muscles, emptying her mind and easing her spirit.
****
Kate couldn't breathe. The hand over her mouth was suffocating her. Hard, boney fingers were pressing into her
cheek. In a panic, she jerked against her restraints and cried out from the pain. Her wrists were bound to a wooden bar with barbed wire that cut into her skin. The blood was dripping steadily, two red pools on the concrete floor.
She was naked in a room full of mirrors. She could see him behind her, a blond god, but something was wrong with his eyes.
They were red and filled with hate. He took his hand away from her mouth and she gasped for breath.
"So I can hear you scream,"
he said, his voice low, filling her with dread.
The cane sliced against her bare back. In the mirror behind her she saw the cut, a long, angry red line, and she felt the ooze of warm blood sliding over her skin.
"Red," she tried to scream, but nothing came, no sound.
There was only her own reflection, her mouth open in an O of mute agony.
"You're a pain slut, just like all of them. You need the pain. You beg and plead for me to stop, but you know you want it.
Deal with it. Embrace it. I'm not going to stop until I decide you've had enough."
He pulled her head back by the hair, but it was no longer her hair. It was fire, fire licking against her scalp, scalding her cheeks, burning her flesh.
Again she tried to scream, but her voice was silent in the void of her own terror. He loomed behind her, his face like a demon, twisted with menace as he raised the cane again.
She awoke suddenly, gasping and crying, her body drenched in a cold sweat. Her heart felt like it was thudding out of her chest, banging so hard it felt bruised against the bone.
She reached for the bedside lamp, her hand shaking so badly it took several tries to turn the switch.
"Only a dream. Only a dream,"
she said aloud. Her mouth was dry and she reached for the glass of water she kept by her bed at night, but her trembling fingers ended up knocking it to the floor.
She yanked off a pillowcase and dropped it over the spill.
She swung her feet over the side of the bed and went into the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face and neck.
She cupped her hands and drank several mouthfuls of water.
Peeling off her sweat-soaked nightgown, she dropped it to the floor. She stepped into the shower and turned it on. "Only a dream," she repeated. "A nightmare. Let it go. Forget it. Think about nice things."
She closed her eyes, letting the warm spray wash away the nightmarish images still slithering in her head.
But it didn't work. Even while she tried to imagine the horses out at pasture and the calm of an ocean's waves flowing and ebbing, it was the feeling of the nightmare that lingered. It hung over her like a damp mist, like a shroud, a finger of dread still dragging its way up and down her spine.
She knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.
She climbed out of the shower, dried and put on a fresh nightgown and panties. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of orange juice and went into her study. She sat at her laptop, thinking to distract herself with some mundane task, but found herself
opening her email account.
There was nothing new from Chase Saunders, not that she expected it after her reply.
She found herself oddly disappointed. After spending nearly an hour watching him on his website, she felt closer to him, as if they were friends. Could she get past the humiliation of his witnessing her botched scene with Master John?
There was a cry outside the window and Kate gave a little involuntary gasp, her blood running cold. She hugged herself, and tried to laugh off her anxiety when she realized she'd only heard an owl hooting in the distance. Yet the terror of the dream still lingered. She need to make contact with another human being to wrest herself from the clammy grip of the nightmare.
She realized she wanted to call Chase Saunders. She wanted to hear his calming voice and his peaceful, easy tone soothe her.
She looked at the time in the lower right corner of herscreen: 3:16 a.m. She'd certainly be waking him up if she called.
She was being silly anyway,it was just a bad dream. It would fade in time, especially if she focused on something else. She would watch TV or read a book. She didn't need to call anyone, not at three in the morning, for heaven's sake.
She was a grown woman, not a child afraid of monsters under the bed.
She got up from the computer and went back into the kitchen.
Opening the cabinet where she kept her wine, she
reached behind the bottles, pulling out the bottle of Scotch someone had given her as a gift the Christmas before.
She opened it, aware her hands were still shaking, and poured herself a stiff drink, which she downed neat. It made her eyes water and her throat burn, but she felt like she needed it. She poured herself a second one, adding some ice this time, and carrie
d it with her back to the study, back to her computer, where she stared at Chase's phone number for another minute or two, silently arguing with herself.
She picked up her cell phone from the desk and punched in the number.
She stared at it, unable to find the nerve to complete the call.
What if the lovely girl in the red dress was asleep beside him, curled into his arms? Who the hell wasKate to disturb the sleeping couple?
Maybe she could call her friend Jean instead. Jean was a night owl. She might even still be up. But what would Kate say? I had this horrible nightmare about this guy called Master John that I met in a BDSM dungeon?
None of her friends knew about her experiments with Victor, or her secret and long-held submissive fantasies. If she was going to confide in any of them, Jean was the one, but not at three in the morning, and not in the frame of mind she was in. Jean would think she'd lost her mind.
Maybe she had?
She downed the rest of the second drink.
He'd said to call any time. If he hadn't meant it, he shouldn't have said it. Anyway, odds were good he wouldn't pick up at that hour anyway, and the call would go directly to voicemail. If it did, she'd just hang up.
She pushed send and held her breath while the call connected. It rang several times before she heard the sleepy, low rumble of a man's voice.
"Hello?"
Kate's heart squeezed in her chest.
"Hello?" Chase asked again, more clearly this time.
"Hi. It's Ashley Kendall."
CHAPTER 9
The alarm was buzzing, which was strange. Since Chase had quit his job as a systems analyst two years before, he'd stopped setting the alarm. He reached out, fumbling in the dark for the snooze button, but when he pushed it the sound
continued.
He finally came awake enough to realize it wasn't his alarm, but his cell phone that was ringing. He glanced at the clock, 3:34
a.m., praying his dad hadn't had another heart attack.
He squinted at the screen, not recognizing the phone number.
"Hello?" There was silence. He waited a beat and said again,
"Hello?"
"Hi. It's Ashley Kendall."
Ashley!
"Hey." He came instantly and fully awake, unable to stop the broad smile that spread over his face. After her email basically blowing him off, he honestly hadn't expected to hear from her again.
Then he realized she was calling in the middle of the night, probably not the best sign.
"Everything okay?"
"Um." She gave a small, nervous laugh.
"I'm really sorry to bother you like this. It's crazy, I know, but you said, "
"I said call any time, and I meant it. I'm glad you did.
What's got up you at this hour?"
"I feel kind of silly but, well. I had this ... nightmare. I can't seem to shake it. I'm afraid if I go back to sleep I'll have it again."
"Was the nightmare about what happened?"
"Yeah." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I'm sorry," Chase said, and he meant it.
He could feel the anger rising again. He wanted to smash Brighton's pretty boy face in. He forced himself to get a grip.
Ashley didn't need a testosterone-fueled rant right now, she needed his ear.
"It's good you called. Talk to me. Sometimes saying it out loud takes away the sting of a bad dream. Puts it into perspective."
There was a pause at the other end of the line for so long Chase thought they might have lost the connection.
"You still there?"
"Yes. I'm here. It was just so ... horrible. He had me in this room full of mirrors. My wrists were bound with barbed wire, which was cutting deep into the skin. I was bleeding. I was screaming but there was no sound. He was like a devil, with these creepy red eyes ... oh!"
She made a little sobbing sound.
"Listen to me. It was just a dream. It's not real. You can let it go now. It's over."
Chase felt his heart seize with compassion. If he'd been beside her, he would have taken her into his arms and stroked her hair, soothing her back to sleep.
But she didn't need his sympathy right now. She needed someone stable and calm to work her through her fear.
"You okay?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice small.
I want you to listen to me. I know how real nightmares can feel.
But they're not. They're just a way for your subconscious to process negative feelings.
A way of purging the memory, of letting it go. Look, don't let that prick live rent-free in your head any longer. He's just not worth it.
"As far as we're concerned, from this moment forward, that guy, we won't even bother to say his name, doesn't exist. He's a bad dream, a lost cause. He's a loser who had a beautiful woman offer him the thing most precious in this world, her submission, and he betrayed that. He deserves to be consigned to nightmares, and then forgotten."
To his delight, she laughed, this time without apology.
"You should be a therapist or something. I like that about living rent-free in my head. You're so right. I don't want to waste another second thinking about that guy."
"What guy?" Chase teased, and, to his delight, she laughed again.
"Okay, I get it. Thanks, Chase. I'm feeling better now. I'm sorry I bothered you in the middle of night. I feel like such a kid."
"Not at all. If you hadn't called, then I'd be mad."
He didn't say his next thought, which was, after that email she'd sent back, he'd tried to reconcile himself to the fact he'd probably never hear from her again. He didn't admit he was secretly and selfishly glad she'd had that nightmare, if that's what it took to make her reach out to him.
Kate laughed again. Chase wished he could see her. He imagined her sitting up in her bed, as he was doing, her thick, shiny red hair falling in luscious waves to her shoulders, her breasts bare, the nipples rosy at their centers. He felt his cock rise and warned himself to cut it out. Though he was very glad she'd called, he didn't want to fool himself that there was more to it than there was.
She'd called because she'd been spooked by a bad dream,and he had been handy. No point in making more out of it than that.
He didn't want her to hang up, not yet. To keep the conversation going, he said,
"I visited your website. I'm quite impressed with all those novels you've written. You're the real thing, a bona fide author.
I'm in awe."
"Oh stop. I write romance. I love doing it, but it's not great literature. I just enjoy telling a good love story. I love making up a world and inhabiting it with characters who sometimes come to mean more to me than real people. I sort of stumbled into publishing when a friend sent part of one of my manuscripts to a pretty well-known New York publishing
house and they called me, out of the blue, to ask for the rest of it."
"Wow, that's a great story. I got into rope making as a hobby too.
I couldn't find good bondage rope that I liked so I did some research on how to make it myself. I never planned on its turning into a business."
"I was at your website too,"
she said, a shyness creeping into her tone.
"You were, huh? What did you think?"
"Very impressive. I learned a lot from watching the videos.
You're a very good teacher."
"Thanks." Chase felt a happy warmth move through him at her praise, surprised how much it mattered from someone he barely knew. His site had won awards in the BDSM community, and he was starting to earn serious money with
his products and seminars, but none of it seemed as sweet at that moment as her praise.
"There was one..." She paused.
He waited but when she didn't continue, prompted, "Yes?
You had a question?"
"Um, no. No, never mind. It's not important." She yawned, adding,
"I guess I should tell you my real name. Ashley
Ken
dall is my pen name. I'm Kate. Kate Alexander."
For some reason this knowledge greatly pleased Chase.
He smiled into the phone.
"Nice to meet you, Kate. That name suits you. It's a lovely name."
"Thank you. I like the name Chase, too. It's unusual."
"Yeah."
Chase didn't mention that his middle name was Newton. He had no idea what his parents had been thinking.
Instead he said, "Do you think you can sleep now?"
Kate answered by yawning again loudly into the receiver.
Chase laughed, and found himself yawning too.
"I hope we talk again soon, Kate," he added, meaning it.
"Me too," she said softly.
They said their goodnights and hung up, but Chase knew he, for one, would not be able to fall back asleep. He was ...
what was this feeling bouncing around inside him like a whole roomful of helium balloons? It had been so long since he'd felt it, he was almost unable to define it.
He was happy.
Chase followed up their phone conversation with a brief email the next morning, keeping it light and easy, with no
reference to the negatives of their phone call.
Kate replied with a similar breezy response. Her last line caught his attention. I live about seventy miles from the city, up near Newburgh, but I do get down there from time to time to see my editor. Maybe next time I come down you can give me a tour of your rope making business.
He interpreted the email any number of ways, first taking it solely on its face, she wanted to see how bondage rope was made, and running the gamut in his head until he concluded that she was subtly asking to scene with him.
He emailed back that he would love to give her the full tour, wondering with an inward grin if she'd do a similarly obsessive teenage analysis of his words.
When he didn't hear back right away, he laughed at himself, reminding himself of his own best advice, which was not to push the river. Go with the flow and let things take their course. Kate was the first woman since Lisa who had so occupied his thoughts. He decided to savor this reawakening of emotions and let things move at their own pace. If nothing came of it, at least he knew he hadn't lost the capacity to feel.
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