Smoke and Mirrors (34 page)

“No, I’m not high.” Brent ran a finger thoughtfully under his chin. “I’m just saying. I’ve done some thinking; it seems to be what I do best.” He laughed at himself. “And how I see it is, we buy stuff to make us feel a certain way, you know? You smoke cigarettes. It makes you feel all right. Some people’s cigarette is a prostitute, you could say. Like, once we’ve met our basic needs, we buy stuff because it makes us feel better, the same reason why we take our medicine, you know?”

Dale’s attention seemed to heighten. The guy remained quiet, listening intently.

“Take for instance, a song for your phone, like one for a ringtone. You buy it because you like that song, right? You wouldn’t buy a song you didn’t like. But why do you like that song in the first place, ya know? More than likely because of how it makes you feel. It might make you feel like dancing. Or happy, because it reminds you of someone or of a great day in your life. Maybe the first time you heard it somethin’ real important happened to you. Maybe you got it for someone else, but more than likely, you bought it for you, because it does something to you on the inside. Money is like that to some people. Sex is like that, too.”

Or at least he imagined it to be…

“Man, your head is in the clouds, but you know what? I can understand that actually, as kooky as you sound!” Dale grinned wide, exposing tiny teeth.

“Yeah, I’m a daydreamer. Never said I’m right about this, I could be wrong. Just an idea, I suppose.” They were quiet for a short while. “Well, we better get back inside before we get fired for having a good time.” He laughed, taking a stab at their slave driver boss.

Dale went in first, holding the door open for him. Brent paused and looked over his shoulder, catching one of the women’s eyes who continued to stroll up and down the sidewalk across the street. She smiled and waved at him, bending at the knee, shaking her big tits in a lewd way. This time, a girl flirted and he didn’t blush. This time, he didn’t smile or look away coyly. This time, he felt nothing at all. He saw her for what she really was, and in that, he was comfortable. He thought to himself, ‘People buy pleasure. They don’t buy pussy, weed or dessert. No, they purchase happiness, and it just so happens, there are people in the world who find their joy between a set of supple thighs. And hell, who am I to question another man’s source of comfort?’

*

The high-mirrored ceiling
reflected all that the room would showcase in a strangely erotic way. Smoke made her director over design, admitting it wasn’t exactly his forte, but oddly enough, he insisted that one two bedroom apartment be allotted for BDSM fantasies. She didn’t wish to admit this, but she was not as knowledgeable of the whole Dom/Sub relationship as she would have liked. Money was time, and in her history of being a Madam, she rarely received those requests from tricks. Still, she did notice an increase in demand for such curiosities, especially after the whole ‘50 Shades of Gray’ hullaballoo. She’d seen it
all
now. One of the three apartments was set up just like Vegas, roulette wheel and all. It was outrageously fantastic, and sure to bring in more money in no time flat. They’d stocked the place with expensive liquors for the guests, one-of-a-kind cigars, and their very own burlesque dancer, paid in thirty-minute intervals.

The second apartment was quite spa like, a serene retreat with tranquil music, earthy art and abundant plant life. The type of place where a john could unwind before he got his rocks off, then go home a happy man. But this room right here? She shook her head in disbelief as she continued to browse around. This was the one room Smoke had all-inclusive control of. She hadn’t seen it until it was complete, and boy was it something. On the wooden plaque, matching the black and red gothic décor, hung an assortment of paddles, some small, others large and wide with spikes. Another had tiny bumps on it, also sure to leave a mark. Close by sat a hard, glossy black table with chrome restraints that sparkled like diamonds. She approached it, and ran her finger down one of the chain attachments and the shackle at its end. As she continued her tour, she opened a cabinet, revealing cleaning items such as paper towels, disinfectant, sanitizer, and freshly folded cloths. She closed it and proceeded, stopping in her tracks at the sight of a series of strange lines drawn on the wall.

“It’s a foldout bed.” Smoke’s voice echoed as he drew near, sliding his hands leisurely into his slate gray pants pockets. He’d paired it with a black shirt he’d left slightly unbuttoned, revealing his collarbone, chest hair and a thin silver chain. “Would you like to see it?”

“Now I see where you’ve been all this time.” She looked around in amazement. “And yeah.” She waved at the wall in a lazy sort of way, hiding her curiosity. “I’d like to see what our money went into.” Sauntering past her, he pushed a discreet small button on the wall.

“What I like about these rooms, Paris, is that, given a twenty minute notice, they can be quickly converted to look like a simple bedroom all over again. Behind that curtain,”—he pointed towards the right as the bed slowly lowered—“is a large closet in which your regular chairs, lamps, and so forth are stored.” The machine-like sound ceased once the bed hit the ground, revealing a Queen-sized paradise. In shades of ebony and blood red, just like the rest of the room, the damn thing looked decadent, sinister and lovely all at one time. She ran her palm against the fabric, feeling the quality of the material.

“What do you know about this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“What do I know about
what
?”

“You know, BDSM. Bondage and Discipline, Domination and Submission, and Sadism and Masochism.”

He smirked at her and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I
know
what the acronym means baby, the BDSM would have sufficed. What? Are you trying to prove to me that you’re in the know? I can tell by the way you looked at the place, you’re not. Don’t worry, many madams and pimps have fallen down on the job.”

“You are a real trip!” She rolled her eyes. “Just answer the question.”

“Since you asked, yes, I know about the lifestyle. It’s not something I dabble in often, but due to the nature of my business, I felt it essential to stay on the cusp of the sexual desires of potential clients. So, I asserted myself, read up and even took classes. I’m an experienced Dom.” He paused and scratched the side of his nose, then cracked his knuckles. “All of my girls have been trained to be a switch.”

“Switch?”

“Yes. It means they can act as a Mistress, that is when the woman is in control, or as a submissive, sometimes called a sub, the meaning of which I am certain is obvious from the title.”

He was so cool and relaxed about it—yet another layer of the man she’d fallen terribly, madly in love with was being revealed; only this one caused her alarm, in a kinky sort of way.

“And you said you’re an experienced Dom?” She crossed her ankles as she straightened her back, digesting the new information, feeling it like a child exploring the texture of sand in a sandbox.

“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Sometimes called Sir, sometimes referred to as Master. When I’m performing or training a girl, I’m referred to as Sir Smoke.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Because you never asked…”

“So I have to
ask
for everything you keep hidden deep inside of you?”

“It wasn’t deep inside of me. I had no intentions of asking you to engage in this with me unless you showed interest. It isn’t something I
have
to do; it is something I enjoy doing from time to time, but it isn’t a requirement for me to get off, as you should well know by now. Let’s really get to the heart of the matter though, shall we?” He winked at her. “I take it you’d like to be a Submissive for a moment or two, see what it feels like?”

She turned her back on him and slowly walked away, laughing the entire time. Pausing, she placed her hands on her hips then turned back in his direction. “And what would give you that idea, Smoke?”

“Because women who
always
want to be in charge, women that are dominating and controlling in their professions, often secretly want to be conquered behind closed doors.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” She raised her brow, her heart beating a wild tattoo.

He nodded reassuringly. His arrogance grated worse than nails on a chalkboard, yet she couldn’t deny he’d piqued her curiosity.

“Look, Smoke, I know exactly what BDSM entails. I simply don’t know all the ins and outs. It doesn’t mean I’m interested in being someone’s sexual slave.”

“No one knows exactly how BDSM is done, Paris. There is this silly preconceived notion that it’s whips and chains, and all sorts of torture devices, when that is just a tiny segment of it. It means different things to different people. To me however, the overall message is that you are liberated sexually, you can do what you want, consensually of course. I’m
very
comfortable with who I am sexually, Paris. I know what I bring to the table, and what I can do in bed…and out of it.”

“Are you now?” She smirked, trying desperately to mask her erotic inquisitiveness.

“Yes. You can be who you
believe
you are, or the opposite of what you personify. It is a respectful relationship, it is give and take. It is not about abusing another person; it is about consent to stretch one’s sexual boundaries. Pain and pleasure are so close together that, shit, it’s no wonder we derive either sensation at times when it seems neither would fit, or quite belong. To me, it is a beautiful lifestyle, for it allows people to just
be
…”

She noticed a speck of dust on her left shoulder and swiped it away with a sleight of hand. “What makes you an expert on this? Are the people drawn to such a lifestyle, vying for power?”

He looked towards the ground and shook his head as if she were a shameful, ignorant little thing.

“Some are, but not all. And in case you were wondering, not all of us had bad childhoods, either. Many people that are part of the BDSM community had wonderful loving parents that wouldn’t ever give them a spanking for talking back. Many of these people have professional jobs, successful marriages and great families. I enjoy being dominant in bed, you know that by now. I’ve never done anything to you sexually that caused you pain or anxiety. Even vanilla sex can have sub and Dom elements. We’ve already been doing it… This isn’t born from dysfunction, it’s born from love, desire and a need to express.”

She walked a bit closer to him, swaying her hips before she stopped in front of him and wrapped her hands around his neck.

“So, what do you tend to do, as a Dom?”

“It depends.” His lids hooded as he looked coolly into her eyes.

“Depends on what?”

“The mood I’m in, what the woman I’m with wants.”

“…I think I want you to show me.” She took his earlobe into her mouth and gently sucked the soft flesh.

“You’re not ready. That right there is proof… A sub would
never
do something like that without asking.”

“What?” Her mouth hung open as she laughed lightly. “So now I have to
ask
to kiss my man?” She rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t something you just jump in, Paris. It takes preparation.” He slipped away from her, dismissing her advances.

“Just give me a little teaser then.” She hated that she was suddenly getting off on visions of his big hands around her damn neck as he fucked her hard and heavy. The son of a bitch was right. She
did
entertain occasional fantasies of being dominated, but it always involved being with a man that was in control of himself, the situation, and would listen to her should she decide she no longer wanted to continue with such a thing. She surveyed Smoke, running her gaze up and down his body as he bent here and there, collecting particles of debris from the floor.

“Let’s go.” He stood, ushered her with the loose wave of his fingers.

“No.”

“Paris…” He looked at her for a few moments, turned on his heels then made his way towards a black shiny trashcan with a silver metal foot petal. He stomped the thing, forcing the lid to fly open, then tossed the trash inside. “I’m leaving. You can stay in here as long as you wish.” He made his way towards the door and walked out, leaving her inside.

Completely dumbfounded, she huffed, shrugged, and decided to continue viewing the wares, which consisted of leather leashes, strap-on dildos, an assortment of lubricants, and something that appeared to be a feather duster, though she knew better. As she made her way towards a large painting of Betty Page on the wall, the entire room went pitch black.

“Uh…” A gasp escaped her mouth. She took out her cellphone. The only illumination was the reflection of the phone light in the mirrored ceiling. “Oh yes…” She raised her hand and used the device as a flashlight of sorts. The room sported the type of pitch black that ate up other shades of soot, and she soon found herself cursing as she bumped into various, indecipherable items. Using her makeshift light, she guided herself to the door but once she reached it, the damn thing was locked.