The Armoire

I do as requested so my head is out of the stream and he applies the shampoo and begins to message my scalp. It is very soothing. Getting more shampoo he continues with the rest of the hair hanging down my back.

Softly into my ear he asks me to step back into the water. I move my hands up to rinse but he moves them back down and says; "I'll take care of it."

I step back and he repeats the process then back in to rinse. He asks me to step back again and begins to lather me up from the back. Across my shoulders; down my arms; up and down my back; over my butt; between my cheeks; between my legs; then down to my feet. He gently turns me and does the same to my front, messaging my shoulders then around my breasts, down my tummy, over the groin, between my legs and down to my feet. With a bit more effort he could easily turn me on but I can see that this is not sexual—he is simply cleaning me. It is the most exquisite shower I have ever had. I step back into the water and rinse off. He reaches forward and turns off the water then motions for me to step out onto a bathmat.

"It's warm." I remark.

"In floor heating." He answers.

He dresses himself in seconds then begins to dry me off with wonderfully heated towels. Like before he repeats the drying with a second warm towel. Then he reaches for a tube of Vitamin E gel on the cabinet, squeezes out a healthy amount and begins to rub it all over me. Slowly over my back then down to my butt, messaging the gel into my cheeks with the patience and skill of a professional. More gel then down the back of my legs; back up then between my legs. He gets another handful the moves to my breasts, gently messaging from the base and spiraling slowly to my nipples; messaging them between his thumb and forefinger. I cannot describe how nice this feels or how turned on I am. If he wants me now he will encounter little resistance. Instead he continues to message the gel in until it is completely absorbed.

I realize that none of this is sexual, at least for him at this time. It is pampering; his way of gently and slowly bringing me down from the intense high I just experienced in the frame and on the barrel. Darquesied does this very, very well.

Now he gets a new robe and beckons for me to slip my arms in then slides it up and over my shoulders. He turns me around gently and closes the robe and does up the belt. Taking my hand he leads me back to the sofa and motions for me to sit.

"You just relax here and I'll get your clothes. How are you feeling?"

His query snaps my mind to the memory of the hot iron on my foot. I can't really feel it anymore but the image in my mind is vivid. I raise my head to look at him and tears begin to well up. I begin to sob and blubber; "You BRANDED me!"

"Oh that. Just a second" His tone is apathetic; like he's addressing a minor complaint from a child.

He goes back to the bathroom and returns with a hand mirror. He kneels down, pulls my right foot up and positions the mirror so I can see the bottom of my foot. "What do you think?" He sounds like he's showing me a new pair of shoes.

I close my eyes, afraid to look. I can only imagine the how ugly the "DS" scarring my foot will be. Deep in the back of my mind I wonder why "DS"? I wipe away the tears and look into the mirror.

There's nothing there! No scar. Not even a mark of any kind. Was it the other foot? No, I'm sure it was the right.

"How...??"

"Trick of the trade." He says with a smile. "Just part of the package."

As he gets up and moves towards the bathroom I ask; "Why would you do such a thing? It frightened me so much."

He answers from the bathroom; "I sensed you were getting out of the scenario. I don't know... too complacent maybe. I'm not sure how to explain it... have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?"

I look away and cringe a bit; "Yes, I have heard of that."

"I felt I needed to get you back into the scenario. I needed you to be a little scared... even hate me a bit. But if it bothered you that much why didn't you use the out word?"

Confused I ask; "What 'out' word?"

"Oh come now. Remember; 'Philadelphia'. Any time you feel the need all you have to do is say 'Philadelphia' and everything stops. It's a word I can easily make out, even through a gag. We went over this in great detail on the phone."

Through my tears I shout; "We never spoke on the phone!"

I can see he is surprised. "Excuse me?"

I repeat; "We never spoke on the phone. It was my boss who arranged the appointment."

He is visibly shaken and confused. "But why did you come here then?"

"I thought I was coming to look at a handmade armoire."

He sits down hard in a chair across from the sofa; "You mean you had no idea what was actually going to happen?"

"I thought I was going to be looking at furniture."

"Oh Jesus! I am usually so careful. I...I rarely make appointments by phone and even then only with clients I know real well. I mean she said she was you and... and said you... er... she was referred by a client who I've known for a long while. My God! You must have been terrified!"

I look at him and begin to cry. He comes and sits beside me and I rest my head on his shoulder and sob uncontrollably. I think he's crying a bit as well as he softly whispers; "I'm so sorry."

A couple of minutes pass and I regain my composure. Sitting up I ask; "What is this place exactly? What do you do here?"

Darquesied gets up and returns to the chair across from me.

"People—well... women—come here for sessions involving... uh... fantasies or needs. There all different. They pay for sessions where they can indulge themselves in a safe environment without fear of ridicule or judgment. I guess it's like a spa except... different."

He sounds a bit like he's reading from a sales brochure; "How much do they pay?"

"A regular session is five thousand dollars."

Five thousand dollars! Holy crap! A hundred more questions race through my brain. Who are these women? Why would they want to pay to get their asses whipped? Actually, I kind of get that one. After a moment of incredulity I ask; "Was my 'session' paid for?"

"Oh yes... In most cases, especially a new client, I insist that the cash is couriered up well before the session date."

I know Kristel is quite wealthy but five grand—holy shit!

I've always done a good job for her and I've never complained about the crap she constantly dishes out. In spite of that she was willing to pay that much to do this to me? I cannot get my head around that kind of venom. I am deeply hurt that anyone would harbour that kind of abhorrence toward me. I look down and mutter; "She must really hate me."

"Or really love you." Counters Darquesied.

I am surprised by that but I get his point. This experience had its moments and, if I had been here voluntarily, I think I would have enjoyed the whole thing. I am astounded at my rationale and shake my head to refocus.

"How long does a 'regular session' usually last?"

He leans back in his chair and responds; "On average, probably about thirty six hours."

I am astonished; "You mean people pay you to whip and torment them for thirty six hours straight?"

"No, no, no. That's only part of it. First of all there's more than just the flogging or toy play. There's the bondage itself; the perceived loss of control. Giving yourself over to someone and allowing them, for a time, to control your destiny can be quite sensual in itself—providing you can absolutely trust that someone. If you recall, the whipping and torment were a relatively small portion of what you experienced during the sets. You have to agree that some activities were at least a little pleasurable and that's not to say that the whipping and other stuff were just about pain."

He is not entirely wrong but I do not respond.

Darquesied continues; "They are all different but in a typical session a woman may arrive and we might chat for a bit or have breakfast—whatever. Sometimes it's role playing. We may just stay in the house for that. Then we may come to the shop for a set or two, depending on her requests. Sometimes it's a scenario like yours... well... like yours was supposed to be. Sometimes it's just doing a few things that she likes or maybe trying something new. After that we might go back to the house for lunch; maybe she has a little nap. Sometimes she might go riding—I have four horses here in the back field."

He waits for me to interject but I do not so he continues; "The point is that it's about the woman. It's whatever she wants. She knows she can come here to an environment of complete safety where no one will hurt her. It can be an outlet for suppressed emotions or maybe, for her, there is no other time or place in her life where she can be who she really wants to be."

"No one will hurt her?" I snap sarcastically.

"That's right." He insists. "The pain that may accompany a set involving a flogger or a cane or one of the other toys, is aimed at creating an intense emotional and physical response within a woman's body and mind. In my experience many women crave these experiences but have no other opportunity, other than here, to really feel what they are capable of feeling."

I am trying to take this all in and so far it is difficult to disagree.

Darquesied continues; "It is important that you understand; I truly love all the women who come here. I consider it a privilege to be part of what they are experiencing and to witness them genuinely allow themselves to go to the edge. I am flattered... no... honoured that they trust me unequivocally to act as a guide. I would never breach that trust. To go beyond the edge; and for every woman it's different; to go beyond that, or to actually hurt them, would completely defeat the purpose of this place and who I am."

He pauses, waiting for me to say something but, again, I do not. I can tell that he thinks I'm just not getting it and, clearly exasperated, he stops trying.

"Okay. You just relax here and I'll get your clothes."

He gets up and begins to leave the room and I suddenly blurt out; "I have one more question."

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

I pause a bit then ask; "Do you ever... uh... you know... have relations with them?"

He turns at the doorway; "You mean intercourse or oral, that kind of thing?"

"Yes." I can sense that I am blushing a little.

"It depends. With a few women... yes. It's a decision that we both have to agree on; both the limits and the context. I consider love making to be pretty special so I wouldn't do it just to get my rocks off, if you know what I mean."

Good answer.

He turns and continues out of the room. As he leaves he points to a bureau by the wall and says; "If you would like to put on some fresh undergarments, there are some in that dresser."

I get up and open the top drawer. It is full of brand new panties—not cheap crap either but good ones like a woman would buy for herself. I pick out a nice white pair in my size, remove the packaging, and slide them on. They are a perfect fit but, oddly, they feel a bit confining. I sit down and begin to ponder his name. Sam Darquesied. Obviously not his real name. Instantly it comes to me. Quite simple really and I laugh a little out loud just as he comes back.

"It's nice to hear you laugh. What's so funny?"

"I just figured out your name and now I get the 'DS' on the iron."

He laughs too; "Oh yeah. It's a bit lame but it's the only thing I could think of that kinda fit and still sounded like a real name."

He hands me my clothes, all neatly folded and stacked, as well as two large shopping bags.

"You can put the robes and towels in the bags. They are yours to keep of course."

He leaves the room again allowing me to dress in private. It's seems a little odd that this man, who has seen more of me than my mother, affords me this privacy.

"Are you decent? He shouts from outside the room.

"Yes, thanks." I respond.

Darquesied re-enters and sits in his chair putting his head in his hands. About twenty seconds of silence pass then he lifts his head and says; "So what are we going to do about this?"

I sit again and respond; "What do you mean?"

"Well, no matter how you feel right now, the fact remains that this 'Kristel' has done a terrible thing to you. Most likely you could sue or possibly even pursue criminal proceedings."

I mull that over for a moment then respond; "At this point I'm not really sure what to do."

"Well whatever you choose to do I will support you in any way that I can. If you need a witness I will of course make myself available at any time."

"Wouldn't that land you in trouble as well?" I'm a little surprised that I said that but I actually am concerned.

He answers; "Well, to the best of my knowledge nothing I do here is illegal. Everything is consensual, notwithstanding your visit today, so I don't think I'd go to jail or anything. Remember, I was duped the same as you. However; I think it's safe to say I'd be out of business."

The fact is I wasn't even thinking about Kristel until he mentioned it. After all that I had just experienced she seemed thoroughly unimportant. I almost feel worse for him than I do for myself. He seems genuinely violated.

If the opportunity to put Darquesied out of business arose at the time of the "branding" I would have done so in a heartbeat but now it seems terribly unfair.

I change the subject; "Can I ask you something?

"Of course."

I continue; "If I was here for a regular session, consensually, what would we be doing now?"

He is obviously surprised by the question and has to take a moment to think; "Oh... well... um... it would depend a bit. You were, and I suspect still are, pretty exhausted when we stopped so I would have taken you to the house and shown you to your room. I think you may have wanted to rest or take a nap. If so that would have been fine. If not then we would have most likely had lunch. We might have discussed what you wanted to do with the rest of your stay. It's kind of hard to be specific. As I said; everyone is different."

I look straight into his eyes and, in my most serious tone, ask; "Am I to understand that I am free to go?"

His eyes change to a look of sadness; "Of course... you always were."

He looks at the floor for a moment then back up to me and asks; "Is there anything I can do before you go?"

Surely Darquesied does owe me something for what has transpired but I realize the real culprit is Kristel... still; "Yes there is."

He immediately responds; "Anything."

"Explain the freaking branding thing!" I demand.

"But that's a trade secret." He says with a laugh.

I stare at him in mock disbelief... and he relents.

"It's something I saw in a movie and thought it would be interesting to try here sometime. If it means anything, you were the first."

I actually take a little pride in that.

Darquesied continues; "What I did was first set it into your head that it was real and inevitable by heating up the iron in front of you where you could see. Your brain tends to create its own reality based on what you see and what you anticipate. In this case you anticipated the pain of the hot iron hitting your flesh. After blindfolding you all I had to do was reinforce the notion by holding the iron close enough for you to feel some heat. What I actually did was put the torch on a table and the iron in a little stand in front of the flame. Meantime I retrieved another iron out of the freezer and a pork chop out of the fridge. When the hot iron was ready I held it near your foot so you would feel that heat then I switched and hit you with the iron from the freezer and at the same time hit the pork chop with the hot iron. Your preconception along with the smoke and burning smell caused your brain to do the rest."

I am picturing him scurrying about attempting to perpetrate this chicanery and laugh at the vision. I look into his eyes trying to get myself to dislike this man but it is fruitless.

I keep looking into his eyes for a moment then stand up, grab the shopping bags, and walk out of the room towards the entry to the studio. It is quite a heavy door and is securely locked. Darquesied has followed me and reaches in front to unbolt the door. As it swings open I am startled by the brightness of the day. The sun is high in the sky so it must be around noon. I thought I had been here much longer.

Darquesied and I walk to my car and he opens the driver's door. Taking the shopping bags from me he places them in the back seat. He holds the door as I get in then, once he is assured that I am clear, closes the door. He raps on the window and I roll it down allowing him to hand me a card.

"I cannot convey to you how sorry I am at what has happened. If there's ever anything I can do please do not hesitate to call."

With that he gives me a little wave goodbye and walks back to the house. I open the sunroof and lay my head back, close my eyes and bask in the warmth and the fresh air. I can't help thinking about my experience in the "shop" and how, on at least two occasions over the past two hours, I felt more alive that ever before in my life. All the little minor annoyances of everyday life seem so utterly unimportant now. It is like the past two hours were my real life, the one I was supposed to live, and all the time before was just treading water.

"Okay, that's it." I say out loud as I get out of the car, slam the door and walk briskly towards the house. I don't know why but just before I reach the stoop it suddenly dawns on me what "Chicago" was about. I hit the side of my head with my hand; "Idiot!" I say out loud and start to laugh. I continue up the stoop and rap hard on the door.

Darquesied opens the door momentarily and, a little surprised, asks; "Did you forget something?"

I look him straight in the eye and, in my most serious tone, I say; "So... what's for lunch?"

He smiles warmly and answers; "Please, come in... I'll see what I can whip up."