He is Your Master Now Pt. 03

With seemingly no way out of his predicament, Ambrose Sweet clings to the hope that he might at be able to influence his ultimate fate, though he has no idea what that fate might be, or the true nature and scope of Cassilda's abilities and ultimate aims.

Part 3: Crawling to Oblivion

From the moment Cassilda told Ambrose "No erections until I see you again", he had been in a constant state of arousal-- in mind only. And in the nearly two weeks since, he rarely ventured out from his apartment and even then, it was only out of a dire need to get food and run errands that just couldn't wait.

There were thoughts running through his head that at any other time would have induced a raging little hard-on. But no matter how long and how vigorously he tried to pump his penis, he failed to achieve any level of firmness and aside from the occasional urge to pee, it had become a rebellious little thing largely disassociated from his own body.

Even while asleep he was plagued by dreams of sex with a wide array of female partners across varied cultures, historical eras, fantasy realms and imagined futures. Each one had the vivid reality of a fever dream complete with emotions, the most common of which, was frustration to the point of tears. Sometimes when he awoke, he wished he could cry as mournfully as he did in those dreams; at least he'd have some kind of release.

After a few days, he had to limit his outings to places within walking distance of his apartment. He couldn't trust himself to drive or even interact with a ride share driver and not come off as creepy. It was a struggle to avoid even glancing at women regardless of their general attractiveness as his personal tastes had expanded significantly.

Just as the sun was beginning to set on the twelfth day of his exile, he heard the sound of two female opera singers hitting some impressive high notes coming from his phone. Except for that particular snippet, he knew nothing about the broader piece having only heard it in the odd commercial here and there. It was the Flower Duet from the opera Lakmé, by Delibes.

He looked at the screen, it was Cassilda Chambers. How she had managed to change her ringtone yet again, he couldn't imagine. He held out hope that her choice of the rather pleasant-sounding ring tone signaled an end to his torment.

He pressed "Answer", but instinctively knew to let her speak first.

"Are you dressed and ready to leave your apartment?" No greeting, just straight to business.

"Yes"

"I'm at my home in Putnam County. There's a car waiting outside your apartment right now, you'll know it when you see it. It might be a long drive with traffic; you should probably use the bathroom before leaving."

Click. She hung up.

Cassilda's apartment was so totally lived in and loaded with so many personal touches that it never occurred to Ambrose that she would have another residence, although she was certainly rich enough.

Having grown up in, and currently living in Long Island just on the edge of Queens NY; everything above Westchester County was a grey featureless map to him. Putnam County. Where the fuck was that? How far was it? Two-three hundred miles? Although he felt relieved that he'd be seeing her again, he dreaded the prospect of their reunion taking place in such a remote and unfamiliar location.

Once outside, he easily distinguished the car from all others. On any day of the year, the current model Rolls Royce Phantom would easily stand out in its large sumptuousness. The driver readily recognized him though he couldn't remember a time when he and Cassilda posed for or shared photos.

"Good evening Mr. Sweet. My name is Stephen, let me get the door for you."

"Um, yeah-- hi." Ambrose didn't mean to sound dismissive, but he was distracted by the car's craftsmanship. "Sorry. Hi Stephen."

Ambrose noticed that both the rear and front passenger side door handles were located at the center of the car. Instead of reaching for the rear door, the driver pressed the key fob causing both doors to open from the center, thus providing ample room to enter the vehicle, as well as an open view of the private jet-like interior that far surpassed the luxury of any car in which he had ever ridden. Ambrose, who had never seen a sedan with coach style doors was impressed by the entire experience to the point of intimidation. The metaphor of being swallowed by a great beast swam at the periphery of his consciousness.

Once seated, the driver pressed the key fob once more and pocketed it; both doors closed smoothly. Ambrose pictured him having to pull the keys back out to start the car but when the driver shifted the car into gear, it quickly became apparent that the motor, which he assumed had been shut off, had been running the entire time. In terms of engine noise and performance, it was the quietest, smoothest ride he had ever experienced.

As the sky outside darkened, he became aware of tiny lights embedded in the ceiling simulating a star field. Metaphorically, it was as if the heavens were aligning for him, or perhaps Cassilda.

"Hey uh... Stephen, how far is Putnam County?"

"Eh..." Stephen lifted a wavering hand in view of Ambrose, "about seventy miles give or take. I imagine it'll take an hour and a half to get up there with normal traffic. But It could take a lot longer if shit is fucked up-- which sometimes it is."

Ambrose felt some relief that Stephen spoke in a regular guy fashion, as well as now knowing that Cassilda's house was not as far as he feared.

"So, have you ever been to this house before?" he asked Stephen, "What's it like?"

The driver hesitated before answering. "My apologies Mr. Sweet, I was instructed not to tell you too much. Not that I would know much anyway."

"OK, but you can tell me if you've been there at least."

"Actually, I can't. My employer was extremely adamant that I tell you only what Ms. Chambers allows me to tell you. In fact, I was told to uh-- not to uh-- engage you in conversation-- too much. There's-- like a five-thousand-dollar cash bonus for me if I follow these instructions. Sorry Mr. Sweet. That kind of easy money doesn't come my way too often."

"I hear you."

"I can tell it's your first time in a car like this," said Stephen switching track, "why don't you sit back, relax, enjoy the experience and listen to music or stream some movies?"

Before Ambrose could respond, a window slid up from the partition separating him from the driver. As he watched, it transitioned from fully transparent to a frosted translucence.

Well that was rude. He should have at least waited for Ambrose to respond. But then, maybe he didn't want to risk his bonus by accidentally revealing information not intended for Ambrose. But then again, such a conversation would just be between themselves. But of course, there was always the possibility that Cassilda had her ways of learning every detail of the drive.

Although this new turn of events distracted him to the point of lessening the effects of his "curse" they hadn't completely dissipated. Throughout the entire trip his mind was an endless parade of images: Cassilda's vagina, her mouth wringing intense ejaculations out of him, he fucking any one of her harpies, his mouth firmly applied to her cunt, receiving a sort of carnal sustenance and his hands roving her over creamy white body, tracing out the bizarre black rune tattoos with his finger, especially that really weird symbol on the yellow, crowned mask tattoo.

Odd. He couldn't remember what that particular sign actually looked like, and yet he still remembered that it was distinctly different from all the others runes. He gave it no further thought.

It was full night when the car eventually exited the highway somewhere in Putnam County and after a few miles of local streets, it pulled into an unlit back road that terminated at a large iron gate, which began to open just before the Phantom reached it.

Up ahead beyond the gate, was the house, which was actually a large manor that resembled a classic, horror film, gothic castle, complete with two towers on either side. It was decidedly eerie looking in the light of the full moon.

Ambrose sank into a deeper sense of foreboding. Were it not for the build-up of unreleased sexual energy as well as the prospect of continuing to exist in such a state for who knows how long, he would have implored the driver to take him back home.

The circular driveway had a curb which did not allow for pulling the car up close to the large, wooden, double door entrance. A deliberate feature, Ambrose figured, designed to make an experience out of approaching the manor. He was several yards from the entrance when the doors of the Phantom ominously swung open slowly to let Ambrose out. Once out of the car, Ambrose noted something seriously strange about the moon.

Perhaps it was due to some barely noticeable evening mist working up into a fog, or a clash of differing air temperatures, but the mansion towers, which flanked the unobstructed moon on either side, appeared to be placed in the distance, well beyond the moon. Clearly it was an optical illusion; the moon couldn't possibly be closer than the towers, but no matter how hard he tried to re-orient his vision, the illusion persisted.

He was tempted to take a quick jog to one side just ensure it was an illusion by placing either of the towers between his line of sight and the moon, but there was a sense that Cassilda may be impatient this evening, and he decided against it.

He approached the entrance and saw what he assumed was the name of the mansion chiseled in marble above the doors. He felt compelled to say it out loud.

"Carcosa."

He was about to grasp one of the large iron knockers when the other door inwardly swung open. A rather attractive woman in a sexy French maid costume greeted him. For a moment, he had to suppress the urge to chuckle at the cliché when he noticed that she didn't seem very happy.

A closer look at the costume revealed it to be garments of very high quality and craftsmanship; not at all a cheap costume of the type one might find in a tacky sex toy website trying to cover all the kink bases.

This detail deepened his understanding of the kinds of subtle cruelty Cassilda was capable of. Measurements had to be taken, high quality and expensive fabrics had to be selected and cut by hand and finally sewn together. Ambrose didn't think it was unreasonable to assume that it was hand sewn with needles and threads by artisans. A cheap costume would signal a role temporary played, this, however-- this was a uniform-- a signifier not just of servitude, but of sexual servitude.

"Come in Mr. Sweet." She held the door open to allow him to step past her and into a sizeable anteroom with two doors separated by a long bench against the wall between them, one to the extreme left, and the other to the right.

"You must choose which door to walk through" she said ominously.

"I'm guessing you can't give me any hint about where each of these doors lead to."

"I can't. You should hurry," she said worriedly, "she's very impatient tonight."

While he was mulling over his decision, he realized that he had met this maid before.

"Wait a minute. You work the front desk at the Wanderlust Hotel, don't you?"

She shot him such a look of pure, raw hatred that he literally took a step back.

A look of fearful regret quickly overtook her. "I'm sorry," she sighed, "I was hoping you didn't remember-- it doesn't matter anyway. Nothing I think or feel matters. We have to Hurry."

He paused for a long while; enjoying someone else's discomfort for a change.

"What's your name?"

"Cassilda will decide if you need to know that." she said fearfully; impatiently, "Make a decision. You're going to get us into trouble."

"The door on the right." He said dejectedly. Her expression didn't change, she merely gestured impatiently at the door.

"I can't open it for you. You have to do that yourself and walk through."

Ambrose supposed that even though both doors led to different outcomes, the one thing they had in common was that each surely signaled a closer step to his fate, whatever it was ultimately to be. Seeing as he had no choice, unless he wanted to live until the rest of his days in a constant state of implacable arousal, he opened the door on the right and walked into a very large room dominated by a grand staircase in the center several paces ahead.

Confused, he looked to his left and saw that the left door also opened onto the same room. Knowing the reason for his confusion, the maid explained.

"If nothing else, life with Cassilda often presents you with two factors, uncertainty, and the illusion of choice. The cruelest thing, is that even when she allows you an actual choice, uncertainty will haunt you and--," she added, "the choice itself might not be the reason for the uncertainty."

He couldn't figure what that meant.

"Did she tell you to tell me that?"

"No. I think she might approve though, but it's a terrible risk."

"I just want to get this over with." He said breathlessly.

"Follow me then."

Just ahead of the staircase, to both the left and the right, were other doors. The maid led him to the one on the left; standing aside to let him pass as she grasped the wrought iron handle turned it, eliciting a loud clacking noise.

Although the manor was large, it wasn't nearly as large as he imagined castles to be, and yet, based on what he saw of it outside, the marble lined room on the other side of this door appeared to be far too large to fit fully within the confines of its dimensions. But then, it was night, and the full moon threw sharp shadows. He could be mistaken.

He had no time to process this thought as it was cut off upon him noticing twelve women he had never seen before. They were all dressed in different robes and seated on assorted upholstered chairs, six on each side of a massive, very expensive looking chair placed atop a slightly raised platform. A dais actually.

Cassilda sat in that chair as if on a throne with a crown of thorny red roses on her head, and wearing a black robe adorned with stars.

"It should have taken you no more than thirty seconds to bring him here from the door." She said to the maid.

"I should have hurried him more forcefully. Forgive me, Cassilda." The maid pleaded.

Cassilda ignored her response and addressed Ambrose.

"Do you still want to kill me?"

"I never did-- I was just--" he stammered, "I don't know what I was thinking. I regret just even--. Just so we're clear, I don't just regret it because of the-- curse-- or whatever you did to me-- I regret it because you've been so-- nice to--"

Cassilda cut him off. "No matter what happens, I'm going to 'restore' you within the next few minutes." She finger-quoted the word "restore".

"Thank you-- I can't tell you how much--"

"Take off all of your clothes."

He might not have been shocked by her request if he hadn't noticed a distinct difference between this one and all of her previous requests.

Aside from the recent spell she cast on him, he had always believed he felt compelled to do as she said out of self-interest. It was rather simple: she provided him with a carnal fantasy lifestyle, and he feared putting an end to that by angering or alienating her.

This particular request was so completely different from all others that it caused him to reflect on her past instructions. He could now discern that all her previous requests were actual commands delivered with the force of a "bewitchment" of some kind. It was so subtle that he had previously failed to notice how inexorably pliable he was to these orders.

He now fully realized that since that first day, when he told her his name three times, that he was truly spiritually, mentally and physically incapable of disobeying any bewitchment order she gave him.

But now, being able to distinguish between one of her bewitchment commands and a forceful, "unenchanted" request, he knew with a certainty that the choice to disrobe, or not, was fully his. Because after all, if Cassilda was to be believed, she would "restore" him whether or not he obeyed her.

Now that he now knew with a certainty that the choice to disrobe was his, he was suddenly filled with a new uncertainty and the realization that the choice of which door to enter, that he had to make just moments before-- the choice which prompted the maid's little speech about choices and uncertainty, was just a set up for this moment.

The maid had lied. She had apparently been instructed by Cassilda to prime Ambrose with her little talk about choice, and uncertainty and by extension, free will and subservience. Unless of course, Cassilda had not put her up to it and was somehow aware of the impromptu exchange.

Ambrose, who was not often given to considering philosophical ideas on the nature and meaning of life, merely absorbed what little he could of big philosophical notions via a sort of cultural osmosis, and everywhere he turned, pop culture tropes constantly drove home the idea that freedom, no matter how imperfect, was preferable to the most pleasant enslavement.

For the first time in his life, he wondered if perhaps total fealty to the whims and desires of another could actually be seen as a form of freedom. And conversely, perhaps independence and self-determination could be perceived as a burdensome responsibility.

He sailed passed uncertainty and arrived at the decision to disrobe merely because Cassilda wanted him to.

He began unbuttoning his shirt but stopped when he heard the shuffling of clothes behind him. That was when realized that Cassilda was not looking at him at all when she gave the order to disrobe, but past him. He turned to witness the maid taking off her maid outfit. He felt no bewitchment because there was none directed at him. And yet in spite of that, he made a decision that he did not yet realize had broader implications which would change the course of his life.

Realizing this, he shamefacedly turned back to Cassilda with the shocked surprise of someone who had just revealed too much about themself.

Cassilda turned her attention from the maid and focused on him. He saw in her face, the knowledge of his dilemma over the choice to comply, and the resulting surrender of his will.

The other women began to whisper among themselves. He heard only snatches of what they were saying. "...thought she was asking him..." seemed to be gist of what they were saying.

"That's good enough Andrea." Said Cassilda.

He seized upon hearing the maid's name as an opportunity to divert attention from himself and began to turn towards Andrea

"No." said Cassilda, "look at me." It was a compulsory command.

"Now you can take off your clothes my Sweet."

As if to prove his earlier thoughts on Cassilda's ability to bewitch compliance, he was now able to sense the enchantment in her words as she spoke them; he had no choice but to comply. But whereas before he felt trepidation, this time he felt relief at being free from having to decide to debase himself.

The way he figured it, this was akin to being forced to do something against his will at gunpoint and so he found refuge in the idea that he could not be blamed for being coerced into such debased fealty. He couldn't be blamed for being a feckless wimp because even a real man would have no choice but to comply with these orders under the circumstances.

Even as he thought this, he failed to notice that by contrast, he had just characterized himself as "not" a real man.

When he was fully naked, there was a surprisingly off-putting silence in the room as none of the women laughed.

Before, such laughter was partially the result of surprise regarding his deficiencies, which meant that prior to revealing his small penis, he was least perceived, outwardly, as a man with a normal sized penis-- a man sized penis.