by J. A. Kerr
“I’m sorry, I’m lost here. What does this chair do?”
“Ford, can you come with us?” asked Guy as they all stood and he followed them through to a room with several similar chairs set out. Benedict would never allow Siena to participate in demonstrations. Foreseeing a need, Guy had asked Grace. An original member of their staff, she’d willingly taken on the teaching role.
“Ford, will you sit, please.” Guy indicated the chair nearest him. Ford sat down warily and Grace entered the room. She smiled at them warmly. An elegant woman, her age indeterminate, she was dressed in a black polo neck and tapered black trousers.
“Ford, I will leave you in the capable hands of Grace. She will take you through what is required.”
Ford felt uneasy and curious. “Is all this cloak and dagger routine necessary?” he asked.
“You are free to leave at any time. We ask, as a professional courtesy, you say nothing of what you have seen here,” said Benedict, already losing patience.
Ford heard the note of dismissal in his voice, the flash of annoyance on his face. He hesitated looking up, but the look of disappointment in Guy’s eyes had him eventually nodding his head. This was the most unusual meeting he’d ever been to, but somehow he sensed these men weren’t fooling around. Their intense expressions conveyed just how serious they were. Hell, the payment of his outrageous fee, upfront, told him they were committed.
“Okay.” He grinned. “I’m at your mercy, Grace. Be gentle with me.”
These were words he would soon realise he would come to regret. Grace stepped forward with the hood in her hands.
“Ford, this session is all about pleasurable endurance, but you will feel no pain. All I ask is that you do not ring your bell.”
Ford looked confused. “What do you mean? What bell?”
“Please listen, I will explain everything. There are three rules I will ask you to observe during this demonstration. The first one is you cannot see; blindfolds are compulsory. May I?” said Grace, the hood in her hands.
Ford’s eyes widened, but Grace pressed on, slipping it quickly over his head before continuing.
“The second rule is you must not speak, silence is mandatory; please nod your head if you wish to continue.”
Ford sat there, the darkness absolute, trying to get his racing heart under control—what was this? He didn’t know what was happening or whether he should continue, but he remembered Benedict’s cold voice from earlier telling him he could leave at any time and this calmed him. Still it was several minutes before he nodded his head.
“The third rule is you must not move. By this, I mean your hands. Once they are bound, should you move them, the bell attached to the bindings will ring, and the demonstration will be over.”
Ford thought back to what he had seen on the table. The silken fabric with the bells seemed innocent enough.
“Please nod your head if you are happy to proceed,” said Grace.
Again Ford paused. Did he want to be tied up? It had never occurred to him. He flushed as his mind wondered about the kind of kinky shit he was letting himself in for. Were Guy and Benedict still here? There was only silence as his ears strained to detect movement. Eventually, he nodded his head; he was a big guy. Grace and her bindings would be no match for his strength. Music flooded the room. There was a reason for this, it allowed Grace to approach Ford, the music masking her movements. Distracted, he jumped and stiffened when Grace touched his hands, drawing them behind the chair and quickly binding them together.
“Relax, Ford. Can you please move your hands?” asked Grace. The bells could be heard quite distinctly as he obliged. “Nod your head if you are ready to begin.”
Ford slowly nodded his head, his body on red alert. His heightened sense of smell became aware of a delicious scent all around him. His ears strained as he listened, but the only sound was the music and his own erratic breathing. The touch, when it came, a fingertip to his lips, caught him by surprise and it took all his control not to move as Grace began.
Guy watched mesmerised, having never experienced it so close up and personal. When he was in the cube, he was working under pressure, ensuring that members’ identities remained protected while juggling time restraints. Coordinating the removal of members when their bells went off, he barely had time to draw breath. This was different, the demonstration was laid bare before him, and he could not take his eyes off Ford. A mixture of tension and nerves charged the air. Benedict watched blankly while Grace took Ford through the routine, his mind elsewhere. He motioned to Guy that he would be next door and slipped out of the room.
Ford, his mind and emotions in turmoil, struggled to keep his body still. He had forgotten all about Grace, his focus concentrated on the touch. It was intense and intoxicating, his breath quickening in astonishment as he felt a pulse vibrate below his body. It was coming from the chair and his body tingled in response. Almost panting now, he lost all sense of time, connected only to sensations rippling through him. He groaned as the pulses intensified, wondering how long he could hang on. When the central pulse kicked in, rising through the fabric of the chair, he moved instinctively, the pleasure sublime. His bell rang and abruptly, everything stopped. He was on fire, both mentally and physically, sweat glistened on his partially covered face as his chest heaved up and down. Grace’s gentle voice grounded him.
“Ford, please wait while you are untied.” He felt the binding loosen and his hands fall free. “Take your time when removing the blindfold,” she continued. “The lights are dimmed to help your eyes adjust.”
Ford felt a strange crushing disappointment as he became aware of his surroundings, he didn’t want it to be over. The first thing he saw as the hood lifted was Guy Walker…Grace was nowhere in sight. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments and Ford simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak—he was on board. He looked at his hands and saw they were trembling. Not sure he could stand yet; he sat a while longer on the chair he had arrogantly dismissed earlier. Regaining his composure, he found his voice.
“Right, let’s get down to business; I’ll have a look at that chair again,” he said firmly.
Guy stood and smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that…this way.”
Ford followed him, barely able to contain his excitement, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Chapter 14
The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Belt sensory device was a definite favourite of the patrons and often their secret weapon. The V-shaped centre is heavy as it is draped into place. The magnetic connection between the belt and the suit was now controllable. When activated it ranged from gentle, to the most extreme setting where it became moulded to the assignee’s body, its weighted centre powerful. The pulses rocked the assignees to their core.
London 2014
Niven
Niven felt safe at last. The feeling of being watched stopped when she stepped inside Harrison’s. With Phase 2 complete, it was busier than ever. Benedict primarily operated an over 25’s policy for the Braille Club but had consented to exceptions if the person was suitable. Niven was 24, he’d attended his first Braille party at 22, and understood only too well age can be deceptive. Something about Niven struck a chord. Something in her eyes reminded him of himself. He’d approved her application and security deposit months ago before handing her over to Guy.
Niven’s orientation tour complete, she was in no hurry to leave. She sat in Caligo, relaxing in the beautiful lounge and simply drank in the atmosphere. There was a pleasant buzz of voices and an amazing smell all around her; a waiter appeared as if from nowhere, and unable to see a menu, she became flustered. “Just a coffee,” she said nervously. The waiter nodded and left.
“It’s this place,” said the man standing beside her. “They creep up on you, I think they do it on purpose.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
Niven just stared at the huge man in front of her. He was handsome, his face rugged and hard, but his warm brown eyes and smiling
lips softened him. Dressed in a sharp suit, his red hair was dark with the gel that tamed it. She loved his accent, tough but soft, and wondered what he did for a living, and if he was single. It had been so long since she’d been close to anyone…
“Ford Monroe, may I?” he enquired, looking at the seat opposite her. He saw her hesitation. “Don’t be shy, you can say no if want. I’m pretty thick skinned.” He grinned. Niven couldn’t help smiling in return. He took this as a sign of assent and sat down in the chair with relief.
“First time I’ve been here,” he said conspiratorially. “I’ll shut up in a minute. I can hardly get a word in edgeways with your chattering. You’re free to leave at any time.”
Niven laughed, she couldn’t remember the last time she had cause to do so, and it felt good. She liked this man, this stranger.
“Niven Fraser.” She smiled shyly. “It’s my first time too.”
***
Ford
Ford recognised her immediately, her face was everywhere at the moment, but she appeared different in the flesh. With her hair pulled back and face bare of makeup, she looked young and vulnerable. Dressed in casual jeans and a sweater she was a million miles from her haute couture image. However, her eyes remained breathtaking.
“Pleased to meet you, Niven, what do you think of the place?”
“Well, my first impression is good,” she replied guardedly.
“Yes, a bit James Bond, with all the secrecy…excellent place to hide out, eh?”
The waiter arrived with her coffee and a small plate of treats and Ford ordered the same. He lifted the plate, offered her one and approved when she popped the treat into her mouth.
“Aren’t you having one?” she asked.
“I’m watching my figure.” He grinned, patting his trim stomach, then laughed. “No, I’m a rare breed, Niven, I don’t like chocolate.”
“Really?” she gasped.
“Yes,” he said wryly as his coffee and a second plate arrived. Somewhat bemused, he noticed there wasn’t a chocolate in sight.
He was still buzzing from his earlier meeting. Guy had told him to have a look around, grab a coffee, and he was glad he’d followed his advice. He put his laptop down beside him while he gave Niven his full attention, but she looked miles away. He wondered what she was thinking about and then sat up a little straighter. Was she a member of this Braille Club? The thought had his pulse quickening.
“Are you working?” she enquired, pointing at his laptop.
“Yes, I’ve just secured a very interesting commission,” he replied, his eyes dancing once more.
“What is it that you do, Ford?” asked Niven, intrigued.
“I’m an engineer, although I have to say, I’ve never come across this particular field before,” he replied rather cryptically.
“I see,” she replied, still mystified, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Can I tempt you with something stronger? I’m getting a beer to calm the old nerves,” he stated.
Niven hesitated. “Yes, a bottle of Bud, please.” She smiled.
Again Ford approved and studied the beautiful girl opposite him. He wanted to know her better; excited by the thought she could be a member—of the Braille Club.
***
Niven
Niven was working tomorrow and never usually drank before a shoot, but like Ford, she felt the need of alcohol to calm her. There was an energy surrounding him. A tension Niven sensed but couldn’t understand. She thought about her first lesson with Grace earlier today, it had been hard, the touch alien to her. Afterward, Grace had looked upset and Niven felt responsible. Grace treated her with kindness and compassion. She was possibly the first person to treat Niven like a normal human being. She didn’t want Niven to smile or pose; she only wanted her to listen. When the hood had slipped over her head she hadn’t known what to expect but to her surprise, she liked it. She couldn’t feel the ever-present sensation of people looking at her and it was liberating. Sitting in the darkness she had felt strangely free. When Grace bound her hands she’d been unsure but trusted her.
As she sat there, she wondered what was next. The music soothed her, and she relaxed until she felt the graze of a fingertip on her lips. It had been intimate and shocking! She screamed, moving instinctively and then burst into tears. Grace had cradled her in her arms as she wept. Niven couldn’t contain her revulsion and fear; her parents and her past having a profound and lasting effect on her. She couldn’t bear to be touched, her mother’s disapproval of that ritual deeply ingrained.
Gritting her teeth, she dried her tears and forced herself to sit down again. On her insistence they went through the process again, uncertainty evident in Grace’s face as she reluctantly agreed. Niven started by breathing deeply, bracing herself until her mind took over and the verses slipped through her head. When the touch came she was prepared and didn’t flinch. After some time, it became apparent Niven would not move because she appeared to feel nothing at all. When Grace stopped the session, Niven frowned, she wasn’t moving, that was the right thing, wasn’t it? Removing her hood reluctantly, she let her eyes adjust to the light. When she saw Grace’s shocked face, she knew she’d done it wrong—again. Grace explained their time was up. Niven didn’t believe her. She was still worried and confused by her session, so Ford had somehow bypassed her normal defences. She glanced at his smiling face, caught up in his warmth and excitement, but there were two parts to Niven’s life, and she didn’t like either of them.
She would endure the Braille Club like a therapy session—something she knew well; they had saved her in those early days when she had eventually left home. Her relationship with her mother was extremely complex. Niven learned quickly only complete obedience brought a smile to her adoptive mother’s lips, her normally disapproving mouth transformed momentarily before normal service resumed. Real affection was never on the table, just calculated praise. Never hugged or kissed by her mother, even from a tender age, all Niven could feel was relief. There was something cold inside her mother that truly frightened her, something lifeless behind those eyes that only Niven could see. Others were charmed by her mother’s beauty and aloof responses. She had a large set of friends but since they were as shallow as each other, it was all about surface.
Her mother was the queen of surface relationships, it was her special gift. No one could get close to her; she simply would not allow it, and if anyone disappointed her, then she withdrew her friendship. The only exception to this rule was her adoptive father, whom her mother worshiped. He didn’t speak to her mother for long periods of time; like he was testing her. Niven didn’t understand their games and didn’t want to get involved, she had her own problems, and as long as Niven stuck to the rules she was fine.
Her adoptive father didn’t involve himself in Niven’s life, but she always felt his presence—it frightened her somehow, he frightened her. Her mother was unstable as it was, and she knew deep down that he was the root cause. She didn’t understand why he had allowed the adoption. Maybe it was another test in the sick games they played but she was to find out why soon enough, with devastating consequences in part two of her life.
Chapter 15
The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Lapel sensory device now has a regulator, allowing suction intensity to be altered. Again the range was from gentle to strong, but it is the added massage dimension that has all assignees breaking into a sweat.
London 2014
Benedict
“Reeva,” Benedict whispered as he smoothed out the paper.
His thoughts were jumbled. His beautiful daughter was Nick Waters’ biological child. He didn’t understand. If Leo was his, then surely this couldn’t be right. Benedict felt grief wash over him; almost like a death he mourned the daughter he thought had been his.
“You got the results, why didn’t you tell me?” he implored.
Siena’s eyes were full of pain. “I wanted us to be happy for a bit longer,” she said sadly. “As they s
ay, bad news can keep.”
“Did reading the results bring on your attack?”
“Yes,” she replied simply.
“Siena, no more secrets, do you understand? We won’t survive unless we have complete trust in each other.”
“I wanted to tell, but couldn’t bring myself to,” said Siena miserably. “These last few days have been awful. I still can’t believe Reeva is Nick’s. Just the thought of him fills me with revulsion…but no matter what happens, I must protect my daughter.”
“We must protect our daughter,” said Benedict fiercely. “Reeva will never know her father is a monster. I will do whatever it takes to ensure he has no part in her life.”
Benedict, although devastated, was determined that he would be the only father Reeva would know. He threw the paper down.
“No, I don’t accept these results, I know she’s mine.”
But neither of them looked convinced, the seed of doubt planted firmly in their minds now. Benedict spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze playing with the twins.
***
Siena
Siena watched him closely, looking for any tell-tale signs that he was treating Reeva differently. She found none, but it was like they were broken in some way, their previous happiness destroyed.
The next day she barely spoke as they travelled to court, her heart heavy with an impending sense of doom. When Benedict’s mobile rang, she tensed. His conversation was short.
“That was Philippa. We’ll meet in the coffee shop across from the court to go over our testimony,” said Benedict gloomily.
As soon as Siena saw how grave Philippa looked, she felt the colour drain from her face.
“They will come after us hard, make no mistake. These results are their proverbial smoking gun and, believe me, they will shoot to kill. Siena, you must find the strength to endure the next few days and keep your head held high. Benedict, you must remain calm. Can you both do that?”