The Light Between the Trees Ch. 09

Author's note: Traumatised by being held hostage in the cafe siege, Chloe has chosen a new direction in her life. She gives up her steady boyfriend and stable job to seek out new thrills in risky encounters. Covalent has laid out his plans to make her disappear and Chloe finds herself spiraling deeper and deeper into his fantasy of total control.

The story contains themes of female submission, edge play and autassassinophilia. Discretion is advised: please check the story tags to see whether this a series you'll enjoy.]

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IN OVER MY HEAD

It's hot inside the storage warehouse, and I follow dutifully behind the girl leading me down the aisle to the space I've rented. I gave her a card linked to my bank account, which they'll debit automatically each month. At the current rental rate, I have enough cash in the account for a decade.

"This is you," she tells me, stopping in front of a door, "C thirty-six. Here's your lock."

I take the lock she's offering me. It's a four-digit combination lock, as per Covalent's detailed instructions, because there's no key to lose. I set it to a number I'll remember: my Dad's birthday.

"All good?" she asks, smiling, but I can tell she's anxious to get away: it's busy.

"All good from here," I tell her, and she turns.

By the time she gets to the corner, she's probably already forgotten about me. I open the door and step inside my storage area.

It's more of a broom closet, the smallest space they rent out. It's big enough for my four boxes and a few bits and pieces of miscellaneous shit that I didn't manage to sell. It's all part of a carefully crafted narrative, under Covalent's direction. I'm going travelling, taking a career break and seeing the world. The storage unit is part of that story. The posts on my socials are also part of that story. Covalent required that he has full access to my accounts and I've complied, turning over my passwords and emails to him.

When I asked him why, he was brutally honest. He's going to keep posting updates, showing people I'm still alive. He's going to plot out a journey for me to take. He's going to look up the pictures, posting pretty sunsets and responding to messages as if I'm having the adventure of my life. His rationale is simple and chilling: there is a point where an absence becomes a missing persons case, and a point where a missing persons case becomes a search for a body. His intention is to keep me active on the socials for months or years, until we're long past the point that any security footage has rolled over and any mobile phone tower data logs have been wiped, until everything that could be used to piece together my final movements has been erased.

After that point, he's told me he's just going to post less and less often, until everyone gradually loses contact, until I become someone they used to know. He asked me how it makes me feel, to know that he'll make sure that no-one misses me, that no-one ever comes looking. I couldn't answer him, staggered by the breathtaking simplicity of his plan: the best way to hide a body is if no-one ever thinks they need to search.

Standing in the storage closet, I'm finally here at last. All that remains for me is to put on the same black summer dress and flat shoes that I wore for the bus trip to the boatshed. This time, though, I have a train ticket and a set of directions for when I reach my destination. I strip naked, pulling the dress and shoes out of my shoulder bag. I put them on and then turn my phone off. It goes into the shoulder bag, then the bag is left on top of the packing box. I step back into the corridor, taking one long last look at all my stuff, all the remnants of my life. Finally, I swing the door shut and lock it.

Chloe is locked inside there, put into storage, frozen in time. I imagine her, naked and silent, standing in front of the boxes in the dark, just another piece of property that no-one needed. Instead, an anonymous woman in a short black summer dress walks back out, past the reception. The girl on the desk is now dealing with customers and she doesn't look up as I pass, but there's a security camera mounted on the wall. It would have seen me emerge from the storage closet, linking up to the one that scans the loading area that would track me leaving the building. It would coincide nicely with the camera in the train station that notes my arrival and the camera on the train that watches me enter the carriage and take a seat. I'm tracked and logged every step of the way, an electronic trail that I can't do anything about, that even Covalent can't do anything about. He's enlisted an ally, though, a partner-in-crime able to erase all the footage and wipe all the logs: time.

---

The train winds out of the city, leaving behind the blanket of heat that's settled over it, and gains altitude. I sit in an almost empty carriage, watching the view change from rows and rows of suburban streets, to rural properties and then finally to a vast treescape. The carriage is air-conditioned, but it's struggling to keep up with the sun blazing down on one side of the train mercilessly. I shift in my seat, feeling the cotton sticking to my bottom as I perspire.

I've been here before, but now I feel different. Riding the bus out to the boatshed, I was petrified, feeling awfully exposed as I stripped away everything that could have saved me. This time, without my phone, without a wallet, I'm even more exposed, but it hasn't made me feel the same. I know what I'm getting into. I know what I asked for. The journey to the boatshed was a fantasy for a weekend: this time I know there's no way back.

The journey is going to take a couple of hours and I have nothing to distract me. Covalent must have realised this because he's given me explicit permission to touch myself for the first time in two weeks. So, I sit there in the heat and cross my arms, grasping my nipple through the fabric of my dress and rolling it between my thumb and my finger. There is a station that we're going to pass that I need to wait for before I'm allowed to progress. I check the rail network map and work out that it's an hour away still.

The hour feels like a lifetime. The sun beats down on me through the window as I toy with myself, until I can feel the cotton hanging damply against my back. There's moisture between my legs too, but it's from a different heat. I pinch my hardened nipple and close my eyes, resting my forehead against the window, feeling the little reciprocal tingles of pleasure deep inside my clit as I squeeze. I cross my legs, rubbing my inner thighs together, squirming. I'm slick and hot and desperate. The station Covalent mentioned is still two stops away. The train is climbing steadily through the hills and it feels like it's slowing down deliberately, making me wait.

I think of Toby, for some reason. He'd heard that I quit the job from someone and he called to ask how I was going. I could read between the lines, and I avoided the conversation he wanted to have, right up until the point that he just came out with it and asked me if I wanted to get back together. Even now, remembering it makes me feel like a shit. I fobbed him off, but I could tell he knew I was lying. Maybe that just encouraged him, led him to believe that the truth was that I was ashamed of my actions and that he could grant me forgiveness and we could get past it.

I didn't tell him the truth because how do you tell the person you used to love that they're ancient history now? Toby has no concept of just how much water has passed under that bridge since the day I got my stuff together and moved out of our apartment. I'm intimately familiar with the life he's offering, but it's just not me, not anymore. I don't know if it was the siege, I don't know if they're all correct and it's post-traumatic stress disorder, or whether it was just a catalyst, accelerating a process that would have happened anyway. There's always been a little gap inside me, maybe it was a deathwish all along.

The train slows down and rumbles to a stop at a platform in the middle of nowhere. There are two people waiting to board, standing in the scorching sun in front of a backdrop of trees. No-one gets off. I wait impatiently for the train to move again, counting the seconds, my hand already in my lap, my fingers on the buttons of my dress. Just go, already. There's nobody here.

The doors close and I pop open a button, letting my hand slide inside my dress and between my legs. I could have done this five stops ago, he wouldn't have known. I don't know why I waited, other than because I was commanded to. I slide my fingers over my pussy, feeling the delicious friction of my touch after going so long without contact. I don't know why I made myself suffer for two weeks, aching in denial for no reason. He wouldn't have been able to find out if I had cheated, if I had brought myself to a crashing orgasm in my bed instead of lying there, naked as ordered, feeling my pussy throbbing with need while I watched the videos he'd sent me.

The videos have become more explicit, and the Everything Engine has picked up on them, curating my feed until it's an endless stream of women submitting to men, kneeling in display positions to give head, allowing themselves to be bound and spanked, letting their owners explore every orifice of their bodies.

Initially, I had watched with horror, incredulous that a woman would allow a man to do those things to her. Gradually it turned to dread as I began to find a little buzz of excitement watching them be degraded. I know that I'm being conditioned, softened up for whatever Covalent wants to do with me. He doesn't know that the Engine has taken over, extrapolating from the single link he's sent into a entire night's supply of humiliation and subservience, until I start to imagine myself in the place of these women: hogtied, helpless, orgasming.

I'm sopping, and I can feel the stickiness on the back of my legs, seeping down into my dress. I'm making a damp patch on the seat, but my body can't help it. Sweat trickles from my armpits, down my sides and I swallow, trying to get some moisture back into my parched mouth. My legs are crossed, trapping my fingers inside me, squeezing.

I can't stop my mind bouncing from memory to memory, interleaving the videos and the night in the boatshed. I burrow into my sodden pussy, unaware of the scenery passing by the window, of the train carriage, or of the people sitting nearby. My eyes are closed, replaying the moment he held me suspended out over the dark water, bound helplessly in the blue rope, unable to save myself if I fell. I hear a little strangled cry and it shocks me.

I tear my hand out from between my legs, eyes flaring as I jerk upright in my seat. My breath is coming in tiny gasps and people are staring. They think I had a nightmare, maybe, but the truth is that I'm on the very brink of orgasm, struggling heroically to not tip over the crest of my climax. My body is crying out for release, teased to a point beyond endurance, demanding its due. I can't move: any shift of my body would be enough to push me over the edge. I hold my breath, digging my nails into my palms, feeling that precise, sharp pain, waiting for the overwhelming need within me to dissipate.

At last, the tension in my core begins to slacken and I allow myself to relax. I've never been so close and had to pull back. I'm getting looks from other passengers, but I just shift in my seat and stare out of the window at the endless parade of trees. Toby's girlfriend would never have brought herself to the brink of orgasm on a train, and certainly not with people able to see. The Chloe of even a few weeks ago would have howled with derision at the thought of being forbidden to cum. But I'm not either of those people, not anymore. I left Chloe behind; every minute the distance between myself and her grows. I said my goodbyes in the storage closet; I'm not going to see her again.

My hand strays back through the opening in my dress and I begin to touch and tease myself again, stoking the embers of my denied orgasm. This time I'm going to keep my eyes open. This time I'm not going to dwell on my fantasies. I need to keep it together because I'm not allowed to cum. I'm forbidden.

---

Covalent has specified the train stop, and I find myself on a platform in the heat of mid-afternoon. There's nothing here, no buildings, no cameras. There's a road that runs alongside the station perimeter before winding its way back into the forest, and a car park with three cars in it, shining like fire in the sun. I walk to the end of the platform, down the ramp and over the rail crossing before I come to a halt.

The rumble of the train fades into the distance and I'm struck by the absolute silence of the place. It's so hot that it stills the birdsong, and there's not a single breath of wind to stir the tops of the trees. Everywhere around me, the horizon is close, hemmed in by endless marching ranks of tree trunks. I'm in the middle of nowhere.

I see the track on the other side of the road, next to a wastebin and a sign nailed to a tree. I cross the sticky tarmac, feeling it sucking at my soles. The sign is a fire danger warning, informing me that the track is closed due to high fire risk. Covalent has told me the sign would be there, and to ignore it. The warning unsettles me though, the idea of being trapped in between the trees as the flames approach; I wouldn't have a chance.

The wastebin has a tube of suncream on the lid and I pick it up, squirting a little into my palm. It's hot and runny, and I begin to rub it into my face and neck, brushing back my hair to make sure I've covered everything.

I look around; I'm completely alone but I still hesitate. His instructions were explicit. I unbutton my dress and shed the damp, sticky material, feeling the air over the slick skin between my thighs. I roll it up and put it into the wastebin. My shoes follow. I squeeze more suncream out of the tube and begin to lather my pale skin with it, standing naked next to the road. I'm not allowed to move from this spot until my entire body is coated, even if someone drives past. I work as fast as possible, until my skin is slick with a mixture of the sunblock and my perspiration. I daub a blob of suncream onto the tips of my fingers and throw the tube away too. Carefully, I massage the last of the cream over my bare crotch, between my legs and over my labia.

I have to do this for a minute, rubbing it in until I'm dripping. I'm counting down the seconds, my eyes closed, standing nude in the sun on the edge of the forest. The last thing that I owned has been disposed of into the wastebin; the last trace of the old me.

I get to sixty seconds and pull my hand away from my lips with difficulty. The combination of the train trip, the thrill, and the oppressive, unrelenting heat has made me so unbearably horny. I can feel the tingle inside, even now. I need to resist, though, I need to carry out the plan.

I turn my face towards the track and put one foot in front of the other, walking barefoot in the dirt into the woods. My instructions are simple: to keep walking until I'm told to stop. I'm naked, in the middle of nowhere, without provisions, without even water, crunching over the tinder-dry leaves in the middle of the airless, motionless forest.

My position is perilous, but the only thought in my head is about the heat between my legs: somehow Covalent's instructions have brought me to the point that my arousal matters more to me than my survival. Being forced to walk naked down a track that no-one in their right mind would ever use, feeling the air over my bare skin, the freedom of it, excites me too. After all the shit I've been through, the fuckers in bars, the nightmares, the darkness, I've been stripped back to this: a body and a direction. Nothing else matters.

I pick my way carefully, not used to going without shoes, and the path begins to dip as the landscape changes. The trees are towering above me now and the silence is complete. I don't know how I'm going to be told to stop, so I carry on, plunging further into the unknown. The trail is becoming narrower, and there are trees across the path. Beyond these, it starts to become overgrown, but I can always see the next section up ahead. I get the feeling that no-one has been along this way in months.

There is the possibility that this is all I'm going to do, until I weaken and eventually drop. I'm getting thirsty, and even under the canopy of the trees, the heat is stifling. My skin is prickling with perspiration and I'm starting to get tired. Where is he? What if I don't find him? An unwelcome thought gnaws at the back of my mind that I missed a turning somewhere and I'm now on the wrong path, pushing blindly further and further into the wild.

As the hours pass, I'm becoming more certain that I'm lost. The trees all look the same, and I've getting light-headed. I feel like I've been walking forever. I realise I need to make a decision: I can backtrack or I can press on. I'm pretty sure I can make it back to the road; I can retrieve my dress and wait on the platform. My hands are puffy; they feel like balloons as I curl my fingers into fists. I need water. I stumble to a halt in the middle of the overgrown track and realise that I'm in real trouble.

Through the trees ahead, I can see that the ground rises, and I recognise I've reached the bottom of the valley. My thoughts are muddled, but I know enough about geography to remember that at the bottom of a valley there is usually a stream. I don't know if it's flowing, or even if the water would be drinkable, but the decision is made and I lurch into motion again, moving forwards.

The path winds around huge boulders, and I come to a rocky crossing over the streambed. It's dry, and I feel the last little bit of hope inside me evaporate. I look up and down the watercourse, hoping to see a pool, but it looks like it hasn't run for months. My throat is parched, and my body is aching. I realise with a sense of growing horror that I'm going to have to try and retrace my steps, only this time I'm tired and it's all uphill. I don't know if I have the strength; the unremitting heat has sapped my body. I'm standing on the dry streambed, lost in the wilderness. There's going to be no search party looking for me, there's no hope of rescue. No-one knows I'm here because no-one knows I'm gone. I'm so very, deeply, completely fucked.

"Hey."

I look up and Covalent's standing there. I don't answer him, because for a moment I can't. I can't tell if this is it, that I'm hallucinating, or if he's real. He unslings a pack from his back and pulls out a water bottle.

"What on earth happened?"

I stare at him, then I stare at the water bottle. He offers it to my lips and I suck down a mouthful of water. It's tepid, but it feels like heaven.

"I dunno," I croak.

"It's a forty-five minute walk from the station. You should have been here an hour ago."

I drink greedily, finally letting the relief wash over me.

"I thought that this," I mumble, "I thought it was your plan, to just have me walk out and...."

"Did you... were you walking all this time?"

"Yeah. I... I've never been walking in the woods before."

Covalent scowls, like he's really angry. I've never seen that expression on his face before.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head.

"No, it's on me. Barefoot, inexperienced, and with the heat. I should have known better."

I look at the play of emotions on his face, and I realise he's angry at himself, not me.

"You found me, though."

"I came up the track, looking."

"I'm glad you did. I thought you maybe wanted me to perish out here."

He proffers the water bottle to my lips again and I take a long swallow. I know I'm naked and sweaty and dusty from the trail, that my hair is plastered against my forehead and my face is red, but none of that seems to matter to me now.