The Stranger

Chapter 17 - Alex

I gave Cassandra the rest of the week off. My position as HR manager allowed me to do so, and frankly, it was overdue. She hadn't taken a day off in the three years she'd been at PSC, which was a compliance risk in itself. Besides, she was months ahead on her work.

We texted throughout the week. Checking on her felt natural, even necessary.

"Have you had enough water today?"
"Yes, 'Dad,' I have."
"Don't be a brat. I'm just making sure you're okay."
"I am. Thank you. I'm bored, though. Have the Premier Inn accounts been handled?"
"Yes. You're months ahead, Cassandra. Rest. Binge-watch something. Clear your mind. I'll check in later. DRINK YOUR WATER."

The topic we were both skirting—the "submissive" misunderstanding—hung between us like a curtain, visible but untouched. She needed time, and I didn't want to add to her stress, especially with everything going on with her mum. But if I was honest with myself, a part of me didn't want to rush it. The thought of things unraveling because of this part of me was unsettling. I didn't want it to end up like it did with my ex-wife.

By Friday, I was missing her more than I cared to admit. The office felt dull without her presence, and her absence left a hollow ache I couldn't shake. Staring at compliance policies on my computer screen for hours wasn't helping.

A knock at my office door snapped me out of my daze.

It was her.

Dressed casually in a white T-shirt, light blue jeans, and white trainers, she was a vision. I hadn't seen her like this before, and it caught me off guard—light makeup, just a touch of eyeliner, and a natural glow that was uniquely hers.

"Well," I said, a teasing edge to my voice, "someone's just asking for a spanking. What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," she said, her expression serious despite the softness in her voice.

"Come in. Close the door."

"Not here," she replied. "Can we do lunch? At yours?"

"Sure. Give me ten minutes."

I ordered an Uber, even though my hotel was only a 15-minute walk away. Ironically, the ride took just as long.

"Everything okay?" I asked as the car rolled through the city streets.

"Yes," she said, but her tone betrayed her hesitation. "I just need to talk to you about... you know."

"I know," I said softly. "I didn't bring it up because of your mum." A partial truth. I hadn't wanted to bring it up because I wasn't sure how she'd respond.

We walked into the hotel in silence. The receptionist smiled at me, the same polite, professional smile I saw every day. Cassandra remained tense as we stepped into the lift, her gaze fixed on the glowing floor numbers.

Once in my room, I set the key card down and turned to her.

"I'll order room service. Please take a—"

Her lips silenced me.

The kiss was soft, unhurried, and pure. My hands, still holding the phone, stayed frozen as her warmth washed over me. No lust, no urgency—just a connection that settled deep into my chest.

"Let's just talk," she said, taking the phone from my hand and placing it on the table. She led me to the oversized sofa, her hand in mine, and gestured for me to sit.

I removed my jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa, and watched as she paced nervously in front of me.

"Alex," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I was upset when you called me submissive. And I need to explain why."

I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and gave her my full attention.

"My last relationship was with someone I met at university. Well, technically, we met in Year 11, but I guess, I knew who he really was when we were at university. That's not the point...." Her words tumbled out in a rush, her nerves evident.

I stood, taking her hands in mine.

"Cassandra, slow down. Clear your mind. I'm here, and I'm listening. No judgment." I cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting again. "Go on."

She took a deep breath.

"His name was John. He was an artist—at least, he wanted to be. He dropped out of uni and got into drugs. One night, he dragged me to a club for a BDSM show. A girl in a cage was... used. Three men, masks, everything. When they were done, they just left her there."

Her voice wavered, and she dropped to her knees, her fists clenched in frustration.

"She was left there," she whispered, staring at the floor. "Used, covered in their... stuff. And I—I am NOT that. I'm not something to be used without a say."

I knelt beside her, my arms wrapping around her trembling frame. She wasn't crying, but she welcomed my embrace.

"Cassandra," I began gently, "that girl in the cage? She had a say. I promise you, in a proper scene, there are rules—strict ones. She likely had a gag, which means her safe word would've been non-verbal. There's always consent, always limits discussed beforehand. She wasn't weak, and neither are you."

Her eyes locked onto mine, searching for truth.

"As a submissive, or whatever you want to call it, you have all the power. You give up control, but you can take it back whenever you need to. BDSM is broad, Cassandra. You don't have to like everything, but you're never powerless."

She exhaled, a small, relieved smile forming.

"These past few days made me realise I'm not weak. I did some research," she said, her voice lighter now.

Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Open it," she said, her tone commanding.

"Don't tell me what to do," I teased, unfolding the paper.

Her handwriting was neat and deliberate.

"My Limits."