Vanilla Ch. 01-05

I used to wonder how most of them pulled it off, but then I realized that if you had two grand to drop on a pro-Dom, you most likely had the cash to drop on a secret apartment. I used to wonder what else the folks that paid me used these apartments for...

Now I just did my job and shut my fucking mouth.

Knocking on the door, I watched as Jeff opened the door.

He was a big guy, even by my standards. Six-two, maybe six-three. A good two hundred pounds. He obviously took good care of himself, with slabbed, heavy muscle covering a heavy, jaw breaking frame. I got the sense that if he wanted to, he could seriously take me apart. He had black hair, with salt and pepper hair, and a modest goatee.

He wore blue jeans and a black tee shirt like he was any other middle-aged man.

Smirking, I realized the irony of that, considering that I was going to spend the next two hours taking the skin off his back.

I used to wonder how he explained that to his wife, Lizzy...

Most of the time though, I just didn't care. People were going to do whatever it was that they were going to do. You could try to stop them, you could try and shame them, but at the end of the day, the pressure was going to build and build and eventually it was going to come spilling out somewhere.

Jeff held a hand out to me, "Isaac! Good to see you!"

I took his hand with a smile, "Jeff! Great to see you!"

Jeff shut the door behind me as I walked into the front room...

I knew the score. Jeff had a dungeon set up in one of the bedrooms. It was a back, corner bedroom, located in the corner of the apartment complex and insulated from any of the other apartments by the main rooms of the apartment itself.

It was a clever pick on Jeff's part as it meant that we could be nearly as loud as we wanted without fear of someone doing something stupid, like calling the cops.

Walking in, I could see that he had been hard at work again...

Turning back to him, I watched as he walked towards me, slipping off his shirt as he walked.

He smiled, "Like it?"

Turning back into the room, I was shocked to see how much he had gotten done in a week. The floor was layered in what looked a hell of a lot like gym mats, heavy and rubbered with textured diamond pattern plates that snapped into each other. The walls were now done in those foamy sound deadening squares, the type that people used in recording studios to cut down on echo.

Finally, there was the new centerpiece to the room...

There was a massive, X-shaped cross.

It stood floor to ceiling, with only inches to spare. It was made of heavy, spiny looking wood, with massive, steel shackles and heavy chains threaded through large holes that were drilled through the top and the bottom of the cross.

I turned back to Jeff, "A Saint Andrews cross?"

He smiled he pulled his shirt off, throwing it to the side, "Legs get weak sometimes. Need something to hold me up!"

I laughed as I went to the corner and dropped my bag on a table there...

He turned around, putting his back to me as he put one of his own hands in one of the shackles along the top of the cross, tightening a wingnut that would hold him in place.

I moved to him, helping him to get the other hand locked in place...

He laughed, turning his head towards me, "See, handy, huh?"

I smiled back at him, "Wait until you're in it for an hour... I assume we're working the back today?"

He nodded, "Yeah. What are we working with today?"

"Figured we'd start with the towel. Then the cat,"

I meant the cat o' nine tails. It was a type of whip. The one I was referring to I had made personally out of heavy gauge rope, with knots tied periodically into the strands. As BDSM implements went, it was relatively tame.

I continued, "got a new surprise for you after that, something that I came up with that I've never used before, but I think you're going to love..."

He twisted a little as I went around the backside of the cross and pulled the slack out of the chains, using a padlock to keep the slack out.

He was like a kid in a candy shop, "New?"

I looked at him, "Yeah, the electrical cord from a lamp. Trust me, you should hear this fucker scream through the air... I smacked myself in the back with it and you should see the fucking welt it left!"

His eyes lit up, "Oh! That sounds perfect!"

I smiled at him, "As an encore if you're still up to it, I brought the bullwhip."

He winced a little...

I had only used the bullwhip on him in one session...

He had made it four strokes before using his safe word.

He smiled at me, "Today, I'm going to ten!"

I put a hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging pat, "Jeff, don't push it too far..."

He nodded, eager as a kid on Christmas, "Yeah, yeah, come on, let's get it on!"

I put a hand on his shoulder, "You know the drill. Stop putting the cart before the horse..."

As I said, rituals were important...

Putting steel in my voice, I asked him, "What are your safe words?"

He rolled his eyes at me, laughing as he shook his head, "Stop, red, or hey motherfucker quit fucking hitting me shuts everything down..."

Jeff didn't have any role play aspects to his sessions, so there was no real issue with using something like stop to shut things down.

He faced into the cross, his voice taking on a sing-song quality, "Yellow or mercy will bring down the intensity but continue..."

I could hear it in his voice.

Jeff most likely thought that him repeating off his safe words was simply me being safe, and while that was partially true, it wasn't the entire reason I had him do it.

It was a part of his ritual.

For most masochists, the encounter wasn't about the pain, it was about the endorphins they received during the session. The pain caused the body to respond by releasing hormones which brightened their mood, made them feel better and eased mental pressure. For many of them, it worked on the same system as self-harm.

Some, however, simply enjoyed the pain...

Jeff was one of those.

For him, by placing him in this trance-like state, I was helping him to manage the pain I was about to inflict on him...

He rested his head on the crux of the cross, "If you check in on me, green, or telling you I'm okay will continue on..."

I slapped him on the shoulder, three times sharply, nearly a slap, "Okay, let's get started."

I moved back to my bag and pulled out a white towel, the kind you'd find in your average hotel room.

Walking back to him, I threw the towel back over my shoulder and swinging right to left, swatted him across the back with the towel.

Jeff responded automatically, "One."

This time left to right.

"Two."

Right to left, "Three."

Left to right, "Four."

I took him all the way to fifty.

I knew for Jeff, fifty strokes of the towel was nothing. After meeting with him weekly, his back had to be hard as steel...

Heading back to my bag, I got the cat 'o nine tails. It was made from heavy coils of braided rope, interspaced with knots all along the length. The handle was made of a length of PVC pipe interwoven and wrapped in the same rope I had made the tails of.

I was actually quite proud of the craftsmanship...

Heading back to Jeff, I put a hand on his back, "Are you ready?"

I could see him tense, which wasn't good. Tense muscles would transmit the impact better. If I was really trying to hurt him, I would hit him now. If I wanted to cause him true and actual pain, now would be the time to strike.

I didn't want to hurt him though.

I needed to refocus his thoughts...

"Give me a color," I ordered.

His muscles relaxed visibly as his voice rumbled in the room, "Green."

I gave a little hop back and again swinging left to right I timed it perfectly, only the very tips of the whip zipping across this back.

It wasn't the most effective way to hit and cause pain, but right now I was just warming him up.

He tensed, "One."

The second he relaxed, I hit him again, alternating left to right. This time I gave him more than just a brush of the tips.

"Two."

Again, I took him to fifty, giving him more and more of the length of the tails with each swipe. The moment that I started to get to the knots, the strikes really started to take their toll. The hits weren't hard enough to actually draw blood, but his back welted up and turned a vicious, vicious red by the end.

Going to my bag, I threw the cat back in the bag and took out the length of lamp cord.

I wasn't kidding when I told him that it was a lamp cord.

I had bought the broken lamp for twenty-five cents at a local thrift shop, and then I had cut the actual plugin from the end and added it to Jeff's wall back at my place.

Wrapping the cord around my hand, I went back to Jeff, again, placing my hand on his back.

I made him go through his relaxation ritual again before stepping back and gauging the distance between him and me.

Snapping the cord around, I could hear it cut through the air with an evil sound that made me tense a little...

It hit flesh with a wet, snapping sound...

He screamed as the cord touched him.

I wasn't lying to him when I told him earlier that I had hit myself with the cord. I would never touch a client with an implement that I wasn't absolutely certain wouldn't cause permanent harm...

It had hurt.

A lot.

I had hit myself much harder than I had hit Jeff.

Full force when I hit myself.

Considerably less when I had hit Jeff.

I still knew the pain I had inflicted on him.

There was an amazing surge of pleasure that came from striking him. It was like an animal rose up from within me, howling and screaming as the cord whipped through the air a second time.

Jeff screamed and my mind howled with him.

Strikes three and four I simply moved one after the other, causing Jeff to quick count as the strikes landed.

I made myself stop.

I could feel myself tipping over an edge...

Breathing hard, I forced myself to say, "How are you doing?"

Normally, I wouldn't have asked. I would have evaluated the client and then moved on. This was something new though, so I knew from experience that the smartest thing would be to check on him...

He was breathing hard as he answered, his voice nearly filled with rapture, "Green. Fuck me... green..."

Chapter 4:

Jeff and I were in the living room, him face down on a fold up massage table.

He never made it to the bullwhip stage.

The cord did good work.

I was happy with the results. The bullwhip did serious damage. The pain was unbearable, but it cut the flesh like a knife. That was unavoidable.

The cord was amazingly painful. He made it the full fifty strokes, but I could tell just barely. I didn't have to fully lay into him either. I could have hit him harder, whipped the cord around more viciously.

The best thing though was that the damage it did was considerably less.

He was certainly going to be feeling it in the morning, but there were no true slices in the skin like the bullwhip had made.

His back was a mess of welts. The very top layer of skin was abraded away. There was blood, but just the very slightest hint of it. The bullwhip would have needed stitches.

The cord just needed a dabbing of gauze and a good disinfecting.

I took care of that and then began the aftercare process.

Jeff was fairly simple to deal with from an aftercare point of view.

I always just took care of his wounds, bandages up anything that needed bandaging and then gave him a massage.

That's where the table came in.

I started high in his shoulders and worked my way down his back, slowing working the tension from his muscles as I worked. With Jeff, I always used a vitamin E infused oil that would aid in his healing.

Normally, he was quiet while I worked.

I wasn't much of a talker to begin with, so that worked fine for me.

Usually, I just gave him his massage, we would shake hands, and then he would be on his way.

He surprised me this time, his words cutting into the room, "Isaac, can I ask you a favor?"

Diverting my attention from a particularly stubborn muscle on his back, I looked up at him, "Sure."

"I assume you know who I am? I mean, really?"

I nodded, "Yeah."

He chuckled a little, "Figured you'd be that type."

I shrugged, "Yeah."

He took a deep breath, sighing, "If I asked you to, would you take my wife on as a client?"

I had to admit, the question took me by surprise...

I thought about it for a second, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Frowning, I tried to make sense of that question...

It was more of a gut reaction than anything.

What I needed was understanding.

"Why would you want me to?" I asked.

He took a few minutes to think. I worked while he thought.

There was a new tension in his shoulders as he finally answered, "Do you know what an asexual is?"

I snuck a peek at him, "I'm a sex worker, Jeff. Yes, I know what an asexual person is. An asexual person is someone that feels no desire for sex or anything sexual in nature."

He chuckled again, "You know, I've never really thought about that. You as a sex worker. Kind of funny when you think about it."

I poked one of his welts as he squirmed, "Yeah, yeah, really funny..."

His laugh settled down, "I'm asexual."

There was a note of sadness in his voice as he told me.

It was an admission that surprised me. I guess it really shouldn't have. Jeff had never shown any trace of sexuality.

What he was talking about finally hit me.

A married asexual man could be a serious problem.

Nodding, I moved my hands over his back, giving him the space and time he needed in order to vocalize what needed vocalizing.

"I love her more than life itself," he began, "but she is still a woman, with a woman's needs. I try, as a man to be there for her... but..."

He sighed, shaking his head, "it's hard. Really hard. I know that she realizes I try, but she needs more than that."

I moved my hands up and started working his shoulders, which he hissed about.

I raised my eyebrows, "And you're okay with this? With the thought of her being with another man like that?"

He reacted faster than I thought he would, nodding his head, "If she needs something and I can't provide it, I want her to have it."

I was glad that he couldn't see me...

Looking at the back of his head, I asked him cautiously, "And what does she think of this?"

He turned his head, "Of what?"

I moved away from him, heading into the kitchen, where there was a fancy coffee machine, as I answered him, "Having sex with another man?"

He sat up, wincing as he did. He had to be in a fair amount of pain, with his back as welted as it was. He looked a little confused, "I guess I haven't really talked to her about that."

Grabbing two cups, I smiled at him, "Don't you think that might be a good idea before you go and set something up? Seems to me that she might take that a little poorly."

He made a face, "Yeah."

I worked, making two cups of coffee, one for him and one for me, in silence.

Once I had finished, I brought him back a cup and took a seat on a couch in the living room.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us sipping at our coffee.

He broke the silence, "So if I discuss it with her, and it's something that she wants to go ahead with it, would you consider it?"

I looked at him, making a face, "Consider it? Yes. Be completely comfortable with it? Not really."

He slurped at his coffee, "She's a gorgeous woman."

I laughed a little, "I'm sure she is, but that's not what this is about."

He nodded, dialing into the conversation, "Then what is it about?"

I tried to measure my words, realizing that I may create the exact problem I was worried about by opening my mouth too quickly...

"It's kind of a tricky situation. I'm a little worried about it being a conflict of interest. I have a relationship with you, and if I had a relationship with her as well, then that complicates things."

I watched how the words landed with him.

He at least seemed to be considering it...

"Also," I continued, "I'm not exactly what you'd call a tender lover..."

He sipped at his coffee as he chuckled...

"Why are you considering me?" I asked.

He glanced at me, "I think you get that I, and Lizzy, need someone that has discretion. The world shouldn't be this way, but you and I both know that it is. Everyone needs to be in everyone else's business. There are people in the world that would cause problems if it was found out she had a male friend..."

I nodded, understanding what he was talking about.

He continued, "You're a smart guy. I have some..." he glanced at me, "unusual tendencies that would be difficult to explain to anyone that started asking a lot of questions. You obviously could have fucked me over by now."

He shrugged, "You're obviously trustworthy..."

I smiled, feeling a nice pat on the back.

I looked at him, "Let's not put the cart in front of the horse here. I'll tell you what, talk with your wife and see how she feels about the situation. If she's open to it, then I'll meet with her. If what I have to say is okay with her, then we can talk then. If she doesn't like it and wants something else, then I'll help you find someone that can meet her needs while still meeting your discretionary needs..."

He nodded, smiling like a kid in a candy shop.

Chapter 5:

I looked up from working on Taylor's second collar, my back stiff from being bent over the workbench for hours and hours without taking a break.

Sunday had been a busy day.

I didn't have any clients, but I spent the entirety of the day working on different equipment that I needed to put together. At noon, I had started to work on Taylor's second collar, the one that I was making out of ostrich hide...

I had sewn everything, stamped chevrons into the entirety of the exposed leather, stitched in a retaining clip for a leash and then branded in her name on the inside of the leather.

I could have stopped at that, but I felt like it still looked a little too plain, so I had wire wrapped sections of the collar with silver wire.

That had gotten me started down a road of inlaying the chevrons in silver wire.

I had just finished the last of it when I finally looked up from my work...

I had gotten into the zone and just lost track of time.

As soon as I took a break my stomach growled loudly.

Looking at my watch, I was shocked to see that it was after nine. I hadn't eaten all day.

That wasn't smart.

Getting up, I headed into the kitchen. No sooner had I gotten in there did I decide that there was no way that I was cooking for myself tonight...

"Fuck it," I told the empty kitchen, "I'm going to the diner."

Going to the closet, I grabbed my coat and headed out the front door, walking in the rain a couple of blocks down the street to the diner.

Yawning as I walked in the door, I was met with a sign that tonight read "Please seat yourself."

Worked for me.

I moved to a booth a few seats in from the entrance, smiling at the young waitress that had helped me a few nights previous.

She was helping an older couple that was seated further into the back of the diner and she smiled back at me as bustled about the restaurant.

She rushed back behind the counter as she told me, "Give me just a second, and I'll grab you a menu!"

I took my journal out of my pocket and threw it on the table as I held a hand up, "No rush. I'm good."

She went over to a little cooler that had a selection of pies in it, "Thanks!"

I lost myself in my writing, taking down notes of things that I needed to work on, paying particular attention to ideas that I had for guiding Taylor's sessions when I heard it...

The little brass bell went off, which I didn't really pay too much attention to...