CHAPTER 8 - THE RIDE
"It will be a little while before I need this again." Peyton smiled, pocketing a set of small keys.
She was wearing a soft black wool polo shirt and jeans. She ordered me to place my hands behind my back where she roughly cuffed them. Isabelle was talking quietly on her cell phone. It was nearly always attached to her ear.
"Don't pull," Peyton warned with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a smirk.
Isabelle looked up and smiled warmly at me.
"I haven't double locked it. If you struggle, you will only be hurting yourself, not me. You can't hurt me, Bitch." Peyton grinned. "Oh, and I am not unlocking them until we get you settled in so you might as well get used to them."
I was getting anxious. I couldn't run. I'd never make it out the door. I'd tried before, unbound on several occasions, when we simply lived together not that long ago. Peyton was unnaturally strong for her size. She was not unusually large. She was only 5'1". But she was solid muscle. And for her bulk, she was fast. She could intercept me in the blink of an eye. I guess she anticipated my every move. And she did not hesitate to use brute force, so I only barely pushed the issues. I guess she knew she scared me.
I was not at all accustomed to violent confrontations from someone I was supposed to trust and love, so I shrank from her when her anger flared. And with all the pain she caused me, the bruises, the clumps of hair she pulled from my scalp, when her game first began, I found that I was not able to strike back at her and hurt her, injure her. Yes, I struck back to show I dared to. To show I had the balls and could. To show I did not want to put up with her abuse. But I would have fought back brutally if I had known what I was getting myself into. But I hadn't known from the start.
Over the past week, however, things had taken an unexpected turn, a leap from bad to worse, and if yesterday was any indication, my status at The House had changed tremendously. And not necessarily for the better. I was no longer my own person. I appeared to belong to Peyton.
It is true that my experience with Isabelle was not entirely unpleasant. But initially I saw this transgression from the norm as a small incident, a little more than harmless, a bit frightening. But it was clearly a foreshadowing of things to come. I woke up that morning drugged, seduced, and out of control. I was unable to move of my own accord. I was left almost completely to Isabelle's whims. It seemed to me that Peyton feigned complete disinterest in Isabelle's games, but clearly Peyton was in control. It could be no other way. And that in itself was a very frightening notion.
My freedom was altered from the week I had arrived in Texas. I had lost a lot more of that freedom over the past few days. I felt like a hostage. A prisoner. I had no one to appeal to. Peyton's word was the word. And not long after I arrived here in Texas I learned that she did not necessarily have my best interests at heart. She was not at all what she had claimed to be. I learned to doubt every word that came from her lips. That sweet endearing smile hid a dark unstable interior. And I was literally in her hands at this time. Yes, I was getting nervous.
Isabelle closed the phone with a snap, pocketed it, and walked across the sitting room to where I stood. From a mahogany side table she pulled a length of black fabric. She stood behind me pressing her hips into my ass, and flipped the cloth over my head in front of me. She tied it snugly at the back of my head. The soft stretchy black fabric completely sealed out the light.
I could tell it was Peyton who led me to the car. I could feel the ovals of her fingerprints in the flesh of my arm long after I was seated. I rode in the back of the car and had to lean forward to keep my hands from being crushed against the seat. The cuffs were really uncomfortable. I did not have a lot of leeway, and I remembered what Peyton had said about the cuffs tightening if I struggled. I was already tense. Feeling very claustrophobic. Almost ready to panic. And did not need more discomfort. I sat still and listened.
The ride took forever. It felt like hours. Isabelle and Peyton sat in the back with me. It must have been a limousine. I had lots of leg room and had the sensation of traveling backwards. I could hear the air conditioner blowing and felt a chill. The windows were closed. Aside from road noise the car was silent. All I could smell was the leather interior and the haze of old cigarette smoke on Peyton's clothing. The combination of riding backwards and the lack of air was making me sick. I didn't dare say anything. Peyton would take that opportunity to antagonize me.
Finally, the vehicle slowed.
"Here?" a strange deep voice asked. The driver.
"No," said Peyton. "The back."
She was wearing a soft black wool polo shirt and jeans. She ordered me to place my hands behind my back where she roughly cuffed them. Isabelle was talking quietly on her cell phone. It was nearly always attached to her ear.
"Don't pull," Peyton warned with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a smirk.
Isabelle looked up and smiled warmly at me.
"I haven't double locked it. If you struggle, you will only be hurting yourself, not me. You can't hurt me, Bitch." Peyton grinned. "Oh, and I am not unlocking them until we get you settled in so you might as well get used to them."
I was getting anxious. I couldn't run. I'd never make it out the door. I'd tried before, unbound on several occasions, when we simply lived together not that long ago. Peyton was unnaturally strong for her size. She was not unusually large. She was only 5'1". But she was solid muscle. And for her bulk, she was fast. She could intercept me in the blink of an eye. I guess she anticipated my every move. And she did not hesitate to use brute force, so I only barely pushed the issues. I guess she knew she scared me.
I was not at all accustomed to violent confrontations from someone I was supposed to trust and love, so I shrank from her when her anger flared. And with all the pain she caused me, the bruises, the clumps of hair she pulled from my scalp, when her game first began, I found that I was not able to strike back at her and hurt her, injure her. Yes, I struck back to show I dared to. To show I had the balls and could. To show I did not want to put up with her abuse. But I would have fought back brutally if I had known what I was getting myself into. But I hadn't known from the start.
Over the past week, however, things had taken an unexpected turn, a leap from bad to worse, and if yesterday was any indication, my status at The House had changed tremendously. And not necessarily for the better. I was no longer my own person. I appeared to belong to Peyton.
It is true that my experience with Isabelle was not entirely unpleasant. But initially I saw this transgression from the norm as a small incident, a little more than harmless, a bit frightening. But it was clearly a foreshadowing of things to come. I woke up that morning drugged, seduced, and out of control. I was unable to move of my own accord. I was left almost completely to Isabelle's whims. It seemed to me that Peyton feigned complete disinterest in Isabelle's games, but clearly Peyton was in control. It could be no other way. And that in itself was a very frightening notion.
My freedom was altered from the week I had arrived in Texas. I had lost a lot more of that freedom over the past few days. I felt like a hostage. A prisoner. I had no one to appeal to. Peyton's word was the word. And not long after I arrived here in Texas I learned that she did not necessarily have my best interests at heart. She was not at all what she had claimed to be. I learned to doubt every word that came from her lips. That sweet endearing smile hid a dark unstable interior. And I was literally in her hands at this time. Yes, I was getting nervous.
Isabelle closed the phone with a snap, pocketed it, and walked across the sitting room to where I stood. From a mahogany side table she pulled a length of black fabric. She stood behind me pressing her hips into my ass, and flipped the cloth over my head in front of me. She tied it snugly at the back of my head. The soft stretchy black fabric completely sealed out the light.
I could tell it was Peyton who led me to the car. I could feel the ovals of her fingerprints in the flesh of my arm long after I was seated. I rode in the back of the car and had to lean forward to keep my hands from being crushed against the seat. The cuffs were really uncomfortable. I did not have a lot of leeway, and I remembered what Peyton had said about the cuffs tightening if I struggled. I was already tense. Feeling very claustrophobic. Almost ready to panic. And did not need more discomfort. I sat still and listened.
The ride took forever. It felt like hours. Isabelle and Peyton sat in the back with me. It must have been a limousine. I had lots of leg room and had the sensation of traveling backwards. I could hear the air conditioner blowing and felt a chill. The windows were closed. Aside from road noise the car was silent. All I could smell was the leather interior and the haze of old cigarette smoke on Peyton's clothing. The combination of riding backwards and the lack of air was making me sick. I didn't dare say anything. Peyton would take that opportunity to antagonize me.
Finally, the vehicle slowed.
"Here?" a strange deep voice asked. The driver.
"No," said Peyton. "The back."
posted by Divine Synchrondipity | 11:52 PM
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