I’ve yet to find a way to express myself to the fullest. Not art school nor Dylan were able to help me work through this wretched curse. My family calls it lump in the throat syndrome. Whenever I get close to letting go, something takes over me and restrains me.
I sought out Don Marco in the hopes of working through my inhibitions. My art was on the line and I was yet another desperate 20 something year old racing against the clock. My expectations were low. I’ve met more creeps than I could imagine through this industry, and I didn’t expect my luck to be changing anytime soon.
But Don Marco was reassuring when we spoke over the phone. All I was required to bring to our session was an open mind. So when I arrived to his dungeon on 16th street, I sat in the car for a good 2 hours in attempt to clear my mind. Some would say I’m an over thinker. I call it being prepared. Regardless, this session could be the very thing that bridges the gap between my dreams and I. So is it unusual to take the session seriously? I think not.
I walk up to the password secured gate and press the door bell with the security camera attached. I hear a woman speak.
“Can I help you?”
“Um? I’m.. I’m here to see Don Marco?”
No answer. I stare at the camera to make sure it’s not broken. Within moments, the gate opens. I escort myself down the driveway and up to the stairs. What a lovely home. One would assume you’d host dinner parties here. Not tie girls up. I slam the bull ring door knocker only to find that Don Marco opens the door mid knock.
“Darling, I was expecting you. Come on in.”
I look around nervously. His home is well decorated. I feel out of place but try to hide it.
“You’re nervous. Why?”
Don Marco has been studying me from the second we locked eyes. Why would he stop now? I clear my throat and straighten my posture.
“Just making sure you don’t intend to kill me.”
I scowl. He doesn’t buy it.
“Seems like you’re not ready for our session after all.”
He frowns. There’s something penetrating about his glance, even with his childlike expression. It makes me nervous. I avoid eye contact and continue making way to the dungeon.
“What a large house, you could probably drive a golf cart to this dungeon huh?”
There’s more silence than before. Don Marco isn’t big on validation. The mind fuck has begun.
Eventually we make way to a white door with a cross hanging on top of it.
“You religious?”
“I like to give my subjects a taste of heaven before I bring them down to hell.”
A pit has fallen in my stomach as second thoughts begin to creep in, but it’s too late to turn back. I follow Don Marco down the pair of stairs. To my surprise, the lair looks exactly as I would imagine. Concoctions of every size and flavor imaginable. I see why he wanted to play down here now.
I walk around, examining the exhibit both visually and sensorily. Trying to picture myself inside some of the machinery. One looks like some sort of saddle attached to a horse back. I merely glance at it before finding a station with elevated hand straps. The station catches my attention, but in fear of being too vanilla, I walk past.
“Just a minute,”
Don Marco proceeds to interrupt my hesitation.
“Is there something that interests you about this station?”
I close my eyes and picture me strapped, being stripped by Don Marco, unable to resist his advances. Embarrassed, I look away.
“This seems to be the one then. Let’s start here. Shall we?”
I coyly step into the center of the station. Don Marco grabs my left wrist and raises it to be strapped. I resist before making eye contact.
“You’re afraid, why?”
I wish I could answer him. But even I do not know what I’m afraid of, nor what I’m doing here.
“Tell me, what do you want out of this situation?”
This is the golden question, as I had not taken the time to reflect much before booking the session. Flashbacks of my past come in to flirt with me. I look down.
“Speak child.”
I look up at the man with salt and pepper hair. I haven’t a clue what to say to him. Other than the fact that I am hurting and long to release this feeling.
“My ex.. was cruel. I felt a bit bullied within that connection. And I don’t know how to process my anger towards the situation. I don’t know how to process any emotion for that matter. I just want to feel something.”
“Ah. So a forced release of some sort.”
Don Marco proceeds to grab my other wrist as I nod in agreement. He walks away without a word. I look around to pass time when I realize there’s no sense of time available. I continue to study the room when the lights suddenly shut off.
I can hear Don Marco through a loud speaker.
“We are now in session. You shall not utter a word unless prompted to. Safe words are the only exemption. Any questions so far?”
“No sir.”
“I see you’ve read my rule book. Good girl. We’ll start off with something light.”
I feel the floor beneath me begin to shake as a fan shaped like a whistle emerges from beneath. Don Marco begins to count down when a concentrated amount of cool air blows between my legs. It takes my body a while to recognize what’s happening. I try to keep my composure before my knees begin to betray me and buckle. The cool air on top of my restrained arms causes me to feel helpless .
“Everything ok?”
“Yes Sir.”
The fan suddenly moves closer. At first, I think I’m imagining it. The feeling of cool, concentrated air rubbing me between my sensitive areas.
————————————————————
To be continued
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vvk17w/the_cathartic_silence