“Listen, hun. My professional name is Mistress Krystal. I’m forty-seven years old. I was born in Chicago. Raised a Catholic. Studied business management at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. I’ve never married. I don’t have any kids and that suits me fine. I’m a sole proprietor, a one-woman business. I do very well. My only marketing and advertising is that card you have of mine. That’s me and that’s all you need to know. You’ll learn nothing about my clients. Discretion is in my DNA. That’s why all clients are high end. They know they can trust me. Get it?”
“Got it,” said Tara, obediently.
“Play straight with me and I’ll play straight with you. Cut out the bullshit. I can see through it a mile away. In my business, if I want to
stay
in business, it’s a job requirement.”
“Uh huh.” Tara listened wide-eyed.
“Now, if you insist on being called Angelina then fine, I’ll call you Angelina but tell me how you found me or this meeting is over because I have a client showing up at five o’clock and I still have a very sneaking suspicion that you’re a jealous wife.”
Tara was disarmed by Mistress Krystal’s candidness and intuition. She felt like she’d just been verbally assaulted and certainly a little chastised.
Boy, this woman was a piece of work.
She was not someone Tara had any intention of being friends with – quite the reverse, in fact -- but there was something about her directness and honesty that Tara liked. It compelled her to tell the truth -- well, almost. She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that this woman could well be regularly fucking her husband.
“I found your card,” Tara said, being truthful for a moment. Mistress Krystal was still skeptical.
“Really? I’m very selective who I give my cards out to. Sure it was lost when you found it?”
While Mistress Krystal’s speech had hit home, Tara was still not ready to totally spill the beans on herself. “I found it in the back of a taxi, actually. I swear,” said Tara, hoping for all the world that this woman would believe her now.
Mistress Krystal quickened her pace. Tara knew lying was futile with this woman. Either she was a lousy liar or this woman really did have some kind of psychic ability to know when people were not being truthful. Tara caught up with her. It was almost as if she was now in too deep with a woman she’d only just met and who was responsible for tearing up her marriage. Tara figured if she was going to lie she might as well go all in.
“Look. Okay, I’m just a bored housewife trying to spice up my marriage. My husband hasn’t so much as kissed me in the last two months let alone wanting to have sex. I’ve got to spark it up somehow. I found your card in the back seat of a yellow cab. It was down the side of the seat. Honest. I’ve had it for months and just kept it. I’ve been trying to get the courage up to call you for weeks.”
Mistress Krystal cracked a small smile. Tara didn’t know if the woman was buying her story or not. They walked in silence for a moment then Mistress Krystal spoke.
“Like I said. Three hundred an hour. Cash.”
Passing a few mom and pop stores, Mistress Krystal walked with Tara down a residential street. They were now several blocks away from the Starbucks where they’d met. Along one side of the road were a row of ranch houses and ramblers while across the street were the backs of several apartment buildings. Mistress Krystal led Tara behind a group of large buildings and under an old iron stairwell attached to a 1930’s apartment building. Tara had lost her bearings. She rarely came to this part of town and wasn’t sure she’d ever find this place again on her own. Tara figured this must be the backside of the place in the video Jack Kelsey had shown her.
“Where are we?”
“This is the rear entrance to my place. I always come and go this way.” They climbed the iron stairwell to the next level. At the top, she turned a key in the lock of a heavy dark green door.
“But what street is this?” Tara pressed.
“That’s Jackson behind us. Always park there.” As they entered, she glanced back over her shoulder at Tara. “You never know who’s watching the front entrance,” she added, rather cryptically.
“Like who?” Tara asked, following closely down a hallway and feeling a little anxious that the cops might be staking out the place.
“It doesn’t hurt to be circumspect.”
She led Tara to another locked door, red in color this time. Mistress Krystal unlocked the double and pushed it open. The two of them entered a gloomy apartment.
“This is it.” She removed her sunglasses. Tara wanted to get a better look of this mysterious woman but it was too dark. Bamboo blinds and brown walls made the room appear more like a dungeon cell than a large living room. The woman flicked on a light switch, which barely made a difference. A single bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling lit the room dimly. A solitary kitchen chair was the only recognizable piece of furniture.
Tara felt a chill run down her spine. So this was the scene of Clem’s sordid sexual dalliances: this nasty, ugly room in dire need of an HGTV makeover. The place was just plain skanky and Tara felt dirty being there. Mistress Krystal turned to face Tara and smiled like a realtor showing off a beautiful room. Tara looked into the eyes of this woman she secretly despised for the first time. Her eyes were slightly almond shaped and a beautiful light green color, almost hypnotic. Tara quickly averted her gaze.
“Welcome to Mistress Krystal’s playroom. For adults only, of course. I keep it dark and stark. Clients like it like this. Helps create the right mood.” She walked across the dreary room. Tara stood speechless as she eyed the racks of whips, crops, paddles and shackles that hung on the far wall. There was a set of standing stocks, and a strange looking seat contraption.
“So you make it look this bad deliberately?” Tara asked, for want of something to say and careful to avoid eye contact again.
“It’s not to my tastes but it’s not about me, it’s about them.”
“I guess so.”
“Got three hundred bucks on you?”
“Er – yeah.” Tara fumbled through her bag for her purse. She handed over three crisp one hundred dollar bills.
“Okay. Let’s get started. Here’s your first lesson -- know your equipment.” Mistress Krystal walked over to the far wall where a variety of ‘toys’ were hung across several metal racks. “Here’s my arsenal. My tools of the trade. Usual stuff. Cuffs, collars, leashes and chokers. These are my floggers -- deerskin, bull leather, rubber, horsehair and rabbit. This one’s fox fur.” She waved her arm towards a neatly hung row of whips.
“Wow.”
“Now, I’ve no idea what your husband’s kink is….”
Oh, I bet you do!
Tara thought.
“Neither do I,” Tara replied truthfully.
“But…over here are my paddles -- leather, fur, rubber and wood. Over there are various types of cane -- English boarding school type, bamboo, rattan and acrylic. Then over here in the whip department….”
Tara interrupted, pointing back to the floggers.
“I thought that was the whip department over there.”
“Oh, those -- they’re just for warm-ups and pussy clients. These guys are the big boys. I have single-tail four footer, four-foot bull whip and six-foot snake whip.”
Tara wondered if Clem might be one of her ‘pussy clients.’ She pictured Clem in the soulless space and shuddered. Mistress Krystal was on a roll now, like a salesperson running through her inventory to a prospective buyer.
“As for hoods, take your pick – I’ve got leather, latex and a gas mask. We got these funky looking leather head cages, straight jackets, arm binders, wrist to thigh restraints, suspension harness, body bag and a sleep sack.”
“Sleep sack?” Tara winced.
“Wrap ‘em, bag ‘em and hang ‘em. That’s a bit more involved. Only got one guy into that. He likes severe restriction.”
“Do I need to be taking notes or something? I mean, there’s a lot more to this than I realized.”
Tara was bewildered by the vast array of devices and implements but Mistress Krystal wasn’t finished yet. It seemed she was enjoying playing teacher and showing Tara the ropes, along with everything else.
“Electrical items -- Eros-Tek 312, violent wand, that’s a tens unit, those are restriction implements, gags, and a few more kinky luscious toys I keep in a closet under the stairs. Okay. Questions?”
“What’s that Eros thingy for?”
“For when you want to shoot a few hundred volts of electricity through nipples or genitals.”
“Ouch! What’s that?” Tara pointed to a crudely built wooden contraption.
“Spanking bench for the naughty ones.”
“Oh, right.”
She pointed towards a small kitchen behind a bamboo screen. “Kitchen is over there and so is the bathroom. I need to get changed. Go feel that stuff -- hold them, swing them about. You can get a sore arm cracking a bullwhip over and over.”
She left Tara standing in the middle of her medieval torture chamber. Tara picked up a flogger. Her hand gripped the leather handle. She squeezed it tight and was surprised how comfortable it felt.
So this was it.
This was where Clem came to get his rocks off. And this was the woman who was marking his flesh with these painful looking instruments.
She felt angry now.
What in God’s name was Clem thinking visiting a woman like her in a place like this?
And what was
she
doing in a place like this? Why had she come here? She wasn’t into this crap. This was a place for perverts and pain freaks. But surely Clem wasn’t one of those types,
or was he? How could he be?
And what on earth had she gotten herself into?
As her mind started questioning everything in her life at that one moment, her anger began to subside. Now she was feeling anxious alone in the room. This woman could be some kind of crazy nut job. She could beat Tara to a pulp and no one would ever know. Nobody knew she was here. She hadn’t told Lorraine and obviously not Clem. She hadn’t even planned on being here herself.
Hell, this woman could even kill her right there and then and dispose of her body before she was ever missed.
She should have at least told Lorraine.
Tara put down the flogger and picked up a riding crop. She waved it in her hand and walked around the room swinging it wildly through the air in case she might have to defend herself from the woman getting changed in the next room. Tara was way out of her comfort zone. She needed to leave.
“It’s later than I realized. I’d better be heading out,” Tara called out. “I’m sure your client will probably be here soon.”
There was no reply. Tara put the riding crop back in its correct place on the wall.
What if the next client to ring the buzzer was Clem?
She had to leave right now. “I’ll come back another time for the rest of my first lesson,” Tara called out again as she headed towards the hallway.
A dark figure appeared out of the other room and blocked Tara’s exit. Mistress Krystal stood under the door arch looking nothing like the woman Tara had met at Starbucks. This was a sexually charged
Glamazon
dressed in black leather and stockings. Her blonde hair was now blown out high and wild. Her make-up had taken a dramatic twist with her green eyes accentuated with dark mascara and deep blue eye shadow. Her lips now reddened and glossy. She wore black silk gloves that ran all the way to her elbows and in her hand she held a strange electrical device that sparked a blue crackle of light: a violet wand. She looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of a kinky X-Men comic book.
“You’re not leaving yet. We haven’t even started.”
“Holy shit!” Tara blurted out in both shock and awe as she took several steps backwards. Mistress Krystal’s stilettoed heels stepped forward into the playroom and circled Tara.
Tara’s eyes followed her every move as she stood motionless like a petrified possum.
“
Now
I’m Mistress Krystal.”
“I gotta leave,” Tara said, almost apologetically. Mistress Krystal acted as if she hadn’t heard a word Tara had just said.
“Class is still in session.”
“You look quite different,” Tara said quietly, making the under-statement of the century.
“This is a violet wand. It shocks in varying degrees of intensity. You can adjust the wattage.”
Mistress Krystal turned a small voltage controller on the handle of the futuristic looking fairy light then touched it against Tara’s bare arm, sparking a blue neon flash that shot an electrical charge into Tara’s bare skin.
“Oww! Jesus!” Tara rubbed her burning arm.
“Oh, don’t be a baby, Angelina. That was on the lowest setting. Okay, now where were we?”
Tara took a deep, relieved breath. It appeared Mistress Krystal had no intention of murdering her today after all.
Mistress Krystal walked over to the racks of assorted weaponry on the far wall. Her heels sounded loud with each step across the wood floorboards. “These are what I’ll be using today -- Paddle. Cuffs. Collars. Whips. Crop. Cane. Flogger. Slapper. Strap.”
“What’s that little whippy thing over there?” Tara pointed to a small leather tasseled handle as she continued to rub her sore arm.
“That’s a cock whip.” Tara pulled a face.
“Oh, okay. Quite a selection.”
“My clients have eclectic tastes.”
It really made Tara wonder what Clem’s preference might be. Of course, there was no way she could ask without totally blowing her cover. She just couldn’t imagine him sitting in that lonely chair in the middle of the dingy room.
Bzzzzzzzzzz!
The door buzzer sounded. Tara went into a cold sweat.
“And that’ll be my five o’clock,” Mistress Krystal announced casually.
“What? How do I get out of here without him seeing me?” Tara asked in a panic.
“You’re not going anywhere, Angelina. Just go sit behind that screen and don’t make a sound. You’ll be able to watch everything that goes on from there and he’ll have no clue. Look, listen and learn. It’s showtime.”
Any thoughts of Tara leaving evaporated. Indeed, she wasn’t going anywhere. Tara did as she was told.
But what if it was Clem? How freaky would that be?
How would she react if her husband walked in right there and then? Mistress Krystal walked down the hallway to answer the door. Tara snuck behind the screen and knelt down in dreaded anticipation.