I'm nervous now. How much is he into BDSM? Does he know what he's doing? Is this something I'm willing to do?
The car pulls up before a three-story building. A woman in tight leather pants and 5 inch heels greets us. She opens my door and I step out tentatively, still clutching my textbook. I scan the building, as if I can find telltale signs of what happens inside. Tony hands her the car keys and, taking me by the elbow, guides me through the doors. We walk into a reception area with wainscoting, nicely appointed furnishings and potted plants. There’s a set of stairs and curtains, but nothing indicates any nefarious activities.
Another beautiful woman greets us from behind a counter. "Mr. Lee, Cell Three is ready and waiting for you. Are you sure you don't want a room in The Upper Balcony instead?"
"That's where my cousin likes to play. I prefer the dungeon."
Did he just say ‘dungeon?’
She flashes him a smile. "Me, too. I just need you to sign your guest in. Would she like a mask?"
Tony answers for me. "Yes."
The woman brings out a tray of masks.
"What are these for?" I ask.
"You don't have to have one, dear," the woman says. "We pride ourselves on our discretion. Nonetheless, some people feel more comfortable with an added layer of protection for their identity.”
I look over the selection and choose a simple mask of red silk and black lace. I realize I've brought my textbook with me, so the woman offers to help me put my mask on.
“We also request, for privacy reasons, that you leave all cameras and cellphones with me,” the woman says.
I give her my purse, and Tony gives her his cellphone. Taking me by the elbow again, he leads me toward a set of stairs. I realize the building sits on a hill between two streets, so the downstairs is actually the floor level on the backside of the building. I wonder that Tony hasn’t selected a mask for himself, but maybe it’s not a big deal for him since he doesn’t live in the country.
He stops at the top of the stairs and turns to me. “I can take you home and still pay you. The money is not an issue for me. The truth is I don’t care if you take it or not. If you are foolish enough to refuse it, it’s not my concern.”
“But I’d feel better if I did more to earn it,” I say. At least I hope that’s the case.
“You may change your mind about that,” he replies.
“I’ll let you know if I do.”
With that, he takes the stairs down. We enter a stark room with walls that appear to be the original concrete of the building. I gasp and nearly drop my textbook. In the middle of the room a completely naked woman lies shackled to the ground with her arms and legs each stretched to four different corners. Her mascara and eye liner are smeared because she’s been crying. Dark pink lines mark her body. Above her stands a man wearing dark gloves and a hood. He holds a thin wooden cane, which he brings down across her thighs. She shrieks.
“Thank you, Sir,” she murmurs between sniffles.
Changing the angle of the cane, he smacks it on the same thigh. The streaks of pink on her leg form an ‘X.’ He does the same to her other thigh, each strike eliciting a cry of pain from the woman.
“Thank you, Sir,” she says again.
He squats down beside her head and rubs away a large tear that clings to the corner of an eye. She looks at him, her eyes shining with gratitude.
And reverence.
I look at the welts on her legs. Those aren’t going away in a few hours.
“You’re doing good, slut,” the man tells her. “You’ve earned a reward.”
He stands up, puts the cane on a nearby table and returns with a cordless massage wand. The woman moans when he places it between her legs. Her eyes roll toward the back of her head.
“May I come, Sir?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Come, slut.”
Her body starts to shudder, her limbs yanking at the shackles. The man pulls the wand away, and she sighs, a large grin plastered across her face.
“Thank you, Sir.”