Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  She struggles hard, but I am a master of controlling human bodies. She isn’t about to escape my grasp. I lick my way down her torso. I push my face into the downy softness of her pubic hair. I sniff loudly, like a hound on the trail. Lower and lower. Until my mouth is poised directly over her clit.

  “You smell good.” I expose and lick the bud of her sex.

  “Oh God, George. I’ve never been so hot and bothered before.”

  I slide my tongue between the lips of her labia.

  “I need you! I want you naked. I want you inside me.”

  Ignoring her request, I keep licking and slide a single finger inside her.

  “Oh.”

  I thrust gently, strengthening the intensity of my thrusts to match the needy rhythm of her bucking hips.

  “Please, George, please.”

  I curl my finger to press into the spongy flesh over her G-spot and she responds wildly. She pushes against my hand and mouth.

  “Fuck me, George!”

  I add a second finger and thrust harder, deeper.

  “Oh God! Oh God!”

  She screams as she orgasms, and I am completely surprised by her behavior. I don’t know why I didn’t think she would be a screamer but I am very pleased that she is.

  I’m not as happy about the pillow talk that follows. After some debate, we decide she should actually visit the club, during non-business hours of course, so that she can see exactly where I spend the majority of my life. It’s actually her idea and one I objected to mightily. If she couldn’t stand being in my basement, I’m not sure how she thinks she will ever be able to tour four floors of hedonistic wonderland.

  She wants to go. Now.

  The clock doesn’t stop ticking while she goes upstairs to shower and change. We open for business in less than four hours, and with traffic we’ll lose at least an hour to travel time. It’s cutting too close and seems like a very bad idea to me, but arguing with her is useless. I’m beginning to see an entirely new side to Lin, and it doesn’t resemble her delicate, submissive side in the least.

  I think I like that.

  Strange.

  When I see her coming down the stairs, my thoughts screech to a halt and my breath hitches. She’s radiant. Her hair is flowing loose down her back and she’s wearing a floral sundress that leaves her legs bare. My gaze goes to her stilettos as she takes each step and for a moment I forget to breathe as I note her freshly painted toes.

  She’s dressed for a day in the park, not a kinky nightclub.

  “You look amazing.”

  She ducks her head and blushes.

  “Are you sure you want to do this today? Why not wait until the changes are implemented? We could go to dinner instead.”

  “I want to see the before and after so that I can better appreciate who this Doctor Psycho is.”

  “Plenty of time for that. Let’s go down to Fisherman’s Wharf, walk on the boardwalk, maybe even take a moonlight cruise.”

  “No point in delaying the inevitable.”

  I swallow hard, resigned. She’s right. If she can’t accept the place as it is tonight, she’ll never be ready to see it after it becomes Bedlam. Still, I spend the next hour stuck in traffic trying to change her mind. She doesn’t, and I take her in through the front doors.

  I have to admit that it appears pretty ordinary at first glance. We could be at any nightclub. But then I notice she’s staring at the gilded cages and probably guessing they hold mostly naked dancers during business hours. I don’t mention them and keep her walking, over the dance floor, past the stages to the glass elevator. As we ride up she asks, “What types of acts do you have on the stages?”

  “Local musicians,” I answer lightly. It isn’t exactly a lie.

  “And?”

  “Demonstrations.”

  “What type of demonstrations?”

  “Mostly techniques.”

  “George.” She says my name with utter frustration.

  “We teach people how to do things the right way—control, humiliation, consensual pain—using many methods. On any given night we will have Master Dominants demonstrate anything from flogging to caning, wax play, fire play, CBT.”

  “CBT?”

  “Cock and ball torture.”

  “Oh.”

  The doors to the elevator open onto the third floor, and I lead her into The Oasis. Soft lighting and soft music lend a serene, high-end sensibility to the dining room that feels like a step back in time. “This is where our members-only gather.”

  She turns, taking it all in. “It’s beautiful.”

  I point to a floor cushion. “If I brought you here, you would be expected to kneel or recline at my feet. You would be naked and collared. You would be expected to communicate without words, because you would be in canine persona all night—yips, barks, growls—would be the only acceptable sounds coming from your mouth. I would feed you scraps from my fingertips.”

  Her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t comment.

  I hand her a menu. “We offer five-star dining so the scraps would be sublime.”

  “This is all very…foreign to me.”

  “I know.” Taking her hand, I lead her back onto the elevator for a ride up to the fourth floor. We exit onto a long hallway and I lead her to my office. It looks as restrained and respectable as my psychiatric office once did…if you discount the implements of torture I keep on display. I think that is more shocking to her than The Oasis was. “This is where I spend a fair chunk of my day. Now that Garrett is no longer here, I find myself mostly behind my desk and spending less and less time interacting with clients.”

  She smiles, appearing a bit guilty. “That doesn’t exactly hurt my feelings. I hate thinking about you with other women.”

  “Some women, more often men.”

  “Even worse. Not that I’m homophobic, but I can’t compete with what you would experience with a man.”

  I pull her close, reminding her, “I don’t have sex with my clients.”

  “You keep saying that but I know your clients are naked, and what you do to them is sexual, which in my mind makes it sex.”

  I can’t argue that, and I’m not surprised when she pulls away and wraps herself in her arms.

  “Show me where you have sessions with your clients.”

  “Okay. Just give me a second to see which rooms are unoccupied at the moment.” I sit down behind my computer and check availability. I take extra time, delaying the inevitable. So far the tour is going better than expected. It could go south quickly. None of the currently unoccupied rooms have a benign feel to them, leaving me pondering which would be less stressful for her: the electrical shock treatment room or the mechanical devices room. Sterile or dirty? Since I do most of my sessions with clients in the former, I pick it. Standing, I ask, “Ready for this?”

  “As I will ever be.”

  I lead her down the hall and into a room that is a cross between a gynecological exam room and what I imagine Jekyll and Hyde’s laboratory might have looked like. She runs her hand over the paper covering the exam table. She touches one of the gleaming, stainless stirrups. She looks over the room’s props, bubbling beakers and flasks mounted above flaming Bunsen burners. It’s all very controlled, going on and off with the light switch.

  “If I came here for a session, what would you do to me?”

  “I’d ask you to disrobe.” I sit on a small round stool and pick up a ready notepad and pen. “I’d ask you to describe what ailment brought you in for treatment today.”

  She looks at me like she’s trying to decide if I am being serious. “Like a real doctor’s office.”

  I shrug.

  “And then what?”

  “I’d determine the treatment.”

  “Like?” She crosses her arms, and I understand her frustration.

  I don’t know why I’m being evasive.

  “I might give you a vaginal or rectal exam. Or I might prescribe electric shock.”

  S
he gapes at me. “You’re joking.”

  “About the electricity?”

  “Yes, about the electricity!”

  “Not at all. Some people find electric stimulation very sensual.”

  She frowns, obviously trying to wrap her mind around what I’ve just told her, and then does the last thing I expect her to do. She disrobes.

  Disbelieving, I watch her fold her dress and set it on a nearby chair. She follows with her bra and panties. She steps out of her shoes. “I would like you to demonstrate.”

  Really? I think I should have given her this tour ages ago. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  “Yes. I want to know what it is that you have given up your medical practice for. I want to know what people pay you to do to them.”

  This is a very bad idea.

  She has no idea what a cock-tease…the total mind fuck…she is giving me right now. I want to share the dark side of myself with her so badly. And I’m left holding myself in check because I don’t want to scare her off.

  “Should I climb onto the table?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I close my eyes as she does so, trying to get my head together. Rarely do I argue with my alter ego, Doctor Psycho, but today my brain is shredded with indecision. I decide Doctor Psycho should take over. It isn’t that I have a split personality, but I do behave differently when I am in character. I’m stronger, more dominating.

  The paper cover on the exam table crinkles and she giggles. “I may never be able to go to my doctor with a straight face after this.”

  I pull on my white lab coat and turn to face her, all business. “Lie back on the table, please.”

  I raise the padded leg rests and wait for her to lift her legs into position. When she doesn’t, I assist her, lifting and spreading her legs. I shift my gaze to her face. She looks significantly paler. Scared.

  “Just relax, Lin.”

  “Easier said than done, I guess.”

  I take a moment to get ready, leaving her to contemplate what will happen next. I gather the instruments I will be using and don a pair of latex gloves. I push a stool into position with my knee and take a seat. Without warning I squirt lube onto her genitals.

  “Oh! It’s cold.”

  I don’t say anything. I smooth the lube around, pressing into her vagina with my gloved fingers. So far this is barely kinkier than what she experienced in my kitchen earlier.

  “The speculum will be cold.”

  I touch her thigh, which makes her jump, and then slide the instrument into place.

  “You’ll feel a little pressure.” I squeeze the handle and the bills open her. She sucks in a deep breath, and I’m not sure if it is the cool metal or the stretching open of her hole that caused the reaction. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  Her voice is higher pitched than normal.

  “Good, good. I’m going to start your exam now.”

  She doesn’t comment.

  I insert a long swab into her vagina and circle her cervix at the base.

  “I-I don’t like this, George.”

  “Shhh, you’re doing fine.” Watching her face closely, I can tell that it is not fear or pain causing her reaction. I think she is enjoying the sensation and that is embarrassing to her. “I’m going to massage your cervix. I want you to tell me how it feels.”

  Using a thicker instrument that I specifically designed for this purpose with a long handle and a thick, rubber tip, I prod the base of her cervix rhythmically. I have had more than one woman tell me that it almost feels like anal sex, except that it is better because there is no pain, no stretching, and no embarrassment of penetration. There is just pure sensation, and women who have never orgasmed in their life find themselves pulled into a quick, all-consuming vortex.

  “Do your clients orgasm, George?” Her voice shakes.

  Uh-oh. No point lying now. “Yes. Are you close to coming?”

  “No. I just wondered.”

  Liar.

  “You’re not a client, Lin. You’re my girlfriend, and I’ll do things with you I wouldn’t do with them.” I push slightly deeper, increasing the rhythm, and barely press my free thumb over her clit, applying gentle pressure. I want her to experience a vaginal orgasm.

  “I-it was better when I could tell myself you weren’t really having sex with your clients, that I was just suffering from an overactive imagination, but now I know for a fact that you are having sex with your clients.” Her voice holds condemnation, but then she whimpers.

  I blow out the breath I was holding. She is so close to coming.

  I don’t let up on the massage.

  “George?” Her voice seems panicked. “Oh. God.”

  I expect her orgasm and am not disappointed when she starts bucking against my hand, her juices squirting from her body like a fountain. “Oh God! George, stop. Please stop.”

  I keep her orgasm going, making it crash over her in strong waves until she is sobbing and wrung out. This may be the only time I ever have her body completely under my control. This may have been a really bad idea, but as she comes again and again I can’t believe that she would hate me for this…but she might.

  “Perfect. Your exam is complete.” I maintain my authoritatively detached voice and with her still quivering on the table, I remove the speculum. I cover her with warmed towels and when she is ready, I help her to sit up.

  She buries her face in her hands, and I realize she is crying.

  “Lin? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “There’s no reason for embarrassment.”

  “I’ve never reacted to an examination like that!”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you would have.”

  “I made a mess.” She won’t look at me.

  “Have you ever squirted during an orgasm before?”

  “God, no! I don’t even know what to say about that.”

  “Was it a good orgasm?”

  She looks up at me through the veil of her hair. “Oh yes. I have never orgasmed like that in my life. It was…amazing.”

  In a very unprofessional fashion, I hug her to me and, pushing her hair back away from her face, kiss her. I would never do either with a client. “Maybe you would like to play doctor with me again sometime?”

  Lin grabs my cock through lab coat and slacks. “You aren’t even hard. You didn’t enjoy it at all.”

  No, I did.

  “I think this is all just a day at the job for you.”

  I can’t meet her gaze, and I’m certainly not going to analyze this. I slide off my lab coat and hang it on a hook. “I want to get you out of here before the crowd arrives.”

  “Because you don’t want me to be frightened from loving you by the freaks who come here? Or because you do not want me to see the true deviant nature of Doctor Psycho in action?”

  “Maybe just because I want to be alone with you.”

  * * * * *

  On the drive back to my house I expect Lin to be quietly thoughtful, processing the scene, thinking about her reaction and enjoying the afterglow of a powerful orgasm, thinking about me. She’s chatty.

  “Do you kiss your clients? You know, on the mouth? I read that prostitutes charge extra to kiss, because that is more intimate to them than the sex act.”

  I focus on the road. “I do not kiss my clients, and I am not a prostitute.”

  “What makes it different—in your mind? Prostitutes charge for sex, you do get paid, and you might say it’s not sex, but I’m telling you, for me, that was sex.” She giggles.

  So, she isn’t mad? As horrified as she was that I am a professional Dominant, that her grandmother would never approve of such a match, her reaction seems odd. Curious. I realize she is looking at me. Waiting for an answer.

  “Prostitutes provide relief for the body, a Dominant provides relief for the mind.”

  “Reeeally.”

  I frown, hoping this is the end of her que
stions.

  “How can being a doctor be your kink? It seems like since medicine was your profession, even though you obviously didn’t do gyno exams, you wouldn’t want anything to do with lab coats and such for fun.”

  She has a point. “You’re very intuitive.”

  “So playing doctor doesn’t get you off?”

  “I’m good at it.” It doesn’t get away from me that I am avoiding the question.

  She pivots in her seat, obviously curious and expecting me to elaborate. Stopping at a traffic light, I give her my full attention.

  “I receive a certain satisfaction, making someone’s fantasy come true, and with Doctor Psycho as my alter ego, doctor office games and mad scientist horror allows me to fulfill their needs.”

  “What about your needs?”

  “I don’t work at Lewd Larry’s to fulfill my needs; that’s why I have a fully equipped basement.”

  The light turns green, and I press the accelerator. After a full block she asks, “So the medieval torture devices, that’s mostly your thing.”

  I smile. “I do have a certain affection for collecting ancient devices of torture.”

  “And using them?”

  I turn into my subdivision’s main entrance and stop at the gated guard shack. After handing the security officer on duty my identification, I meet her gaze. “And using them.”

  Chapter Five

  Gigi

  Second Thursday of the month, dinner with Mommy and Daddy and whatever guest of the moment is staying at the big house overlooking the sea. Guests. I suppose not in the traditional sense. Mommy and Daddy’s guests are kept nude and collared. For all intents and purposes they are in training—like animals—if animals could be taught to be the perfect sex slaves.

  I didn’t have what anyone would call a normal childhood.

  Whereas some great families of wealth have gained their fortune breeding horses or prized cows, my family are considered great traders and purveyors of human flesh.

  I grew up in a high-security mansion. The house was built to remind each of my parents of the villages they grew up in. For my mother that was La Tamarissière, France, and for my father Naples, Italy. Their marriage was arranged to unite two great families—not for love, but for power. I do not believe they ever learned to love each other. Lust maybe, but not love. I think they respect each other. I think they will have companionable old age.