The Journal (Her Master's Voice) (7 page)

H
e drove at speed, having no regard for the fact that she was rolling around in the trunk like a single mint in an otherwise empty packet of Tic Tacs. He already had in mind exactly what he was going to do.

He drove her to a quiet wooded area with a shallow river. He backed the car up right to the edge of the water then opened the trunk. She was fine but she did have terror in her eyes.

“Get out, you fuck slut.”

She climbed out of the trunk with all the grace she could conjure but she did look terribly dishevelled and very unglamorous. Unable to speak she looked at him for what on earth he meant her to do.

“Walk into the water,” he said calmly and with such soft assurance. She walked toward the edge of the icy river. By the bank she looked back at him again, plainly completely nonplussed as to what he had in mind to do to her.

“Keep walking.” He folded his arms and rested his chin on his hand as he gazed into her eyes; he was serious. He wanted her to walk into the water and she knew she must do it.

Slowly, she advanced forward, the firm soil under her feet turning to mud. Then came the feel of the water. So cold. So very cold. She looked back at him, clearly wondering if this was it.

He was playing with her, with cool nonchalance and was relishing every moment.

“Keep strolling on. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said, pure evil running to his core.

Off she went again feeling the icy chill on her ankles, her legs, her thighs; until she was in the water up to her waist.

“Turn to look at me.”

In the middle of the river she turned her frozen body to face him.

“Are we less inclined to disobey me now?”

Furiously, she nodded her head. She tried to speak but was unable to, her mouth still packed with panties, tights and duct tape. Not a single recognisable sound came out but he could tell that she had no intention of doing anything like this again.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to stay there a little longer, just to make sure it sinks in.”

She shook her head, her whole body, and tried to speak again, but garbled noises were all she was able to make.

“Because I’m in no hurry. I do want the message to be driven home.”

Her eyes rolled with the frustration at not being able to make herself understood, compounded by the extreme discomfort she was experiencing.

“So we’re clear then, are we?”

Again she nodded wildly.

“Okay then. Out you come.”

Her relief was palpable. She took a few heavy steps toward the bank.

“Stop there. I’m just not quite certain yet that the full magnitude of your betrayal has come home to you. Maybe you should stay there a little longer.”

He went back to the car and opened the door, switching on the CD player. Sibelius played loudly, filling the air with his magnificent orchestral melody.

In truth, the rage had long gone. Her betrayal had been a serious breach of trust but he had known all along that she understood. He would never beat her in a rage anyway. Now he was just teasing her and enjoying every single moment of it.

The music came to a massive climax and ended.

“Which symphony was that? I’ll show you how benevolent I’m feeling – to an extent. I’ll give you a clue. Was it number two or number five?”

He waited, watching her try to think. Given her predicament he’d be amazed if she could remember. A pause and then she held up five fingers.

“Symphony number five, did you say?”

Nodding and exasperation followed and he tried to bite back a smile.

“Oh, bad luck. It was number two. So close, but no cigar. You really should have known that. Just stay there a little while longer.”

He turned his back on her again and kicked stones with his shoes, singing Sibelius at the top of his voice.

He sighed heavily. “Imagine that. Someone needs a crash course in the symphonic output of Sibelius, don’t they? And I’d be happy to give you one.”

He skimmed a couple of flat stones into the river, further downstream from her, watching them skip across the top of the water.

“Number five has those seven chords at the end. It’s got quite the tingle factor, you know. I’m sure you would remember if you weren’t so chilly.”

Another stone followed the first two.

“Okay, come out now. Walk toward me. I mean it this time.”

From the back of the car he pulled out a warm rug and a flask of coffee. She was shivering as she headed for the river bank and the comfort of his warm arms. And yes, he hugged her, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and rubbing her arms. He took the gag off meticulously, each piece of tape at a time.

“I’m rather tired of the sound of your voice so let’s not say anything when this comes off, okay?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

He steered her to the passenger seat and sat her down. He poured her some of the hot coffee. He ran his fingers gently though her hair. In silence, he drove her home.

T
he trunk of the car smelled of motor oil and metal from his toolbox, and the rough carpet scratched against my cheek and my bare breasts. I tried to cover my breasts with the remains of my dress but I couldn’t keep my dress closed and manage to hold on to stop myself being thrown about. The trunk was not big enough for me to stretch out and I curled my knees up to my chest, feeling for the walls in the dark and bracing my hands against them to try to keep myself still as the car seemed to race through the streets. Despite my best efforts I was thrown from side to side every time he took a sharp corner.

I had no idea where we were going or what he was going to do and the length of the journey and the darkness inside the trunk gave me far too much time to think about it.

Eventually, the smooth road under the wheels turned into a rough, bumpy track and I was tossed around even more. The car stopped for a moment and then I felt him reverse it and stop again. Were we here? Wherever ‘here’ was.

The engine stopped and there was silence for a moment. I tried to catch my breath and calm down after the journey. I heard him open and close the car door and then listened hard to see what else I could hear.

No cars passing, not even any sounds of traffic in the distance. I could hear trees rustling and the sound of water very close but that was all. Where on earth had he brought me?

I didn’t have to wonder for long as he opened the trunk and looked down at me.

“Get out, you fuck slut,” he snapped.

I sat up quickly. I smoothed my hair out of my face, but some of it was caught under the gag and as I brushed it back, a few strands were pulled out by the roots. I climbed carefully out of the trunk, shivering as the cold wind hit my skin. I tried to hold the front of my dress closed, but a swift glance and a raised eyebrow from him had me putting my hands behind my back and lowering my gaze.

I waited for whatever he would do.

“Walk into the water,” he said calmly.

My eyes widened and I couldn’t help but look up at him. Surely he didn’t mean it.

He glared back at me, implacably.

I couldn’t hold back any longer or I’d be in even more trouble. I walked to the river, already chilled to the bone from the biting wind.

On the bank, I hesitated, gazing back at him; eyes pleading, where my mouth could not, to ask him to reconsider.

He stared at me, absolutely serious. “Keep walking.”

I turned and looked at the river again. Black, bottomless, for all I knew, water looked back. I wanted to check back with Master that this was really what he meant me to do. I wanted to beg him not to make me do it, but even if I had been able to speak I would not have dared.

I stepped from the grassy edge onto the soil near the water, my heels sinking in as the ground turned to mud. One more step. Only one more and I would find out just how cold that river was. I paused again, not sure if I could make myself do it, but I knew he would not hesitate to make me if I couldn’t find the courage.

I braced myself for the shock and stepped one foot into the water, quickly following it with the other to get it over with. I let out a muffled scream at the vicious bite of the icy river. The water rushed into my shoes and I moaned, shivering even more.

That had to be enough. Surely that was enough. I turned to look at him again, hoping he would leave it at that.

“Keep strolling on. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said. I could hear the enjoyment in his voice. He wanted to make me suffer and he had his wish.

I choked back a sob and turned to face the river again, stepping forward once more, then again and again, stumbling occasionally on the uneven bottom in my high heels, until the water was up to my waist and I had icy tears running down my cheeks. How much further?

“Turn to look at me,” he said.

I turned slowly to face him, holding my arms up to keep them out of the river, the movement disturbing the water and chilling my body all over again. Oh please, no more.

“Are we less inclined to disobey me now?”

I wanted to speak, wanted to say ‘Yes, Sir’. I tried but the gag muffled any sound I might make and I could only nod madly, hoping that he understood.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to stay there a little longer, just to make sure it sinks in.”

The irony of the fact that I was steadily sinking into the mud was not lost on me. I let out an incoherent but recognisably frantic noise, trying to say ‘No, Sir, that won’t be necessary, Sir’, and shook my head, my whole body, desperate to be able to speak and beg for this to end.

“Because I’m in no hurry, you know. I do want the message to be driven home.”

Again, I thought the words ‘driven home’ were a cruel irony. I rolled my eyes, so frustrated at not being able to speak, though if I hadn’t been gagged my teeth would have probably been chattering too much to make sense anyway. I nodded again. I really had got the message. It would never, ever happen again.

“So we’re clear then, are we?”

I nodded desperately. I knew he was making me wait deliberately, just to prolong the agony and well and truly make his point. Oh please, please let me out of here.

“Okay then. Out you come.”

My body sagged in relief and I took a few steps towards the bank, my soaking dress weighing me down as I walked.

“Stop there. I’m just not quite certain yet that the full magnitude of your betrayal has come home to you.”

Yet again, I was taunted by the words ‘come home.’ I was sure he was choosing his words carefully, with purpose and heavy irony. I groaned in frustration. So close, just a few more steps. I would have begged on my knees if I could. The water was still up to my thighs and the fabric of my wet dress clung to my waist and hips, the wind blowing through the sopping material and making me feel colder than I had thought possible.

He walked away from me. How could he walk away and leave me standing there? He went back to the car and for an awful second I was terrified he was going to drive off and leave me. Then I heard the CD player. Sibelius. Oh God. How much longer was he going to make me wait?

The music ended and he walked back to face me.

“Which symphony was that? I’ll show you how benevolent I’m feeling – to an extent. I’ll give you a clue. Was it number two or number five?”

I hadn’t been paying attention. I hadn’t even thought to concentrate on the music. I’d heard it before. I knew I had. It was a symphony but which one? Two or five, he’d said. Oh, if I was wrong and he made me stay there I didn’t know what I would do. I hesitated and then held up five fingers more in hope than expectation.

“Symphony number five, did you say?”

I nodded slowly, crossing my fingers.

He saw that and grinned, making me wait just a little longer for the answer.

“Oh, bad luck. It was number two. So close, but no cigar. You really should have known that. Just stay there a little while longer.»

He turned his back to me again, kicked up stones and singing the tune loudly.

He was doing it on purpose. He was! I wanted to kick something too in frustration but any movement would have wetted me even more thoroughly and I couldn’t bear it.