The Power to Rise

Chapter 1 It was a large, dark building in an upscale neighborhood. The houses here were large, on massive tracts of land. You could tell there were lights on somewhere inside, but they were low. Only the light on the front porch was on. There wasn’t anything that said anyone was in there, or if they were, that they were awake. I sat in my car, waiting. It was eight-forty P.M.; I was early. She’d said nine o’clock sharp. I took a deep breath as I sat there nervously. I had no idea what was going to happen. This was totally new to me. Earl had bragged so much about what a wonderful experience it was. I’d urged him to tell me what had gone down for him, but he said he couldn’t. If I wanted to know, I’d have to go there myself. Why would anyone go to a prostitute? s*x is out there. Why pay for it? Of course, I hadn’t had any in a couple years but that was my own fault. I wasn’t looking very hard and I was extremely choosy. “She isn’t a prostitute,” he insisted. “I didn’t have s*x with her.” Then why did he go there? I really didn’t understand. “She’s a professional dominatrix,” he tried to explain to me. “You should go to her. You’d find out a lot about yourself.” “I’ve been to shrinks. I never found out anything,” I insisted. “One even told me everything was all my mother’s fault.” He’d shaken his head. “Try her once,” he insisted. “What do you have to lose? You’ve been looking for something. This might be it. It might change your perspective on things.” “How much does she cost?” I asked him. “Three hundred and fifty for the first one-hour session.” “Three hundred fifty dollars?” I was astounded. “That’s preposterous.” “It’s less expensive than your crazy psychiatrists and it gets cheaper after that. It’s worth every cent. Try it.” The look on Earl’s face showed real concern. Good ol’ Earl. He was like a little brother to me. He was always there, sometimes whether I needed him or not. He knew me better than my real little brother. I had mulled it over for several weeks. Every time I saw Earl he’d ask if I’d called her. I finally decided that he was right. What the hell! What did I have to lose except three hundred and fifty dollars? I’d spent a hell of a lot more than that on one psychiatrist after another. At one hundred and twenty dollars an hour over more than two years it had added up. Three hundred and fifty in one shot was a lot cheaper; much less than a month’s worth. So I dialed the number Earl had given me. A young woman’s voice answered. “I’d like to speak to the Mistress, please,” I said. “Just one moment,” and I was put on hold. A minute later another voice answered. It was an older voice, but not really old, just more mature. I introduced myself, told her how I had gotten her number, and asked if she had services for women. “Straight or lesbian?” she asked. “Lesbian.” “You?” “Yes.” “How old are you?” “I just turned forty.” “Do you know the price of a first session?” she asked. “Earl said it was three hundred and fifty.” “Correct. In advance, no refund.” “Can you tell me what I’m paying for first?” “Not really,” she said with a chuckle in her voice. “Everyone is different. There’ll be a special program designed specifically for you. I’ll interview you before you come here.” I took a deep breath. “Oh, all right. I guess that’s fair. How do we get this started?” “Do you want to pay by cash or credit card?” “Credit card.” I gave her my Visa number. “Is the number your calling from good to reach you in the next hour?” she asked. “I’ll need to start the interview as soon as we can.” When I assured her I’d be here for the rest of the evening, she said she’d call me later tonight and hung up. I sat back and it hit me. Oh my God, I thought, I’ve just given my credit card number to someone I don’t know and I have no idea what I’ve paid for, if I’d paid for anything at all. What am I? A total i***t? I’d never dare pay for something sight unseen. I’d been searching for something in my life. I didn’t know what it was. I’d dated several times since my last long-term relationship ended a couple years ago, but no one seemed to be what I was looking for. Some were too young; some were clingy, or unsure of themselves. Some older women were too staid, too set in their lives. One thought I was the answer to her prayers; that she’d found a meal ticket. There just didn’t seem to be anyone out there for me. I have a job that I love. It’s high power and people look up to me. Sometimes they think I have the answer to everything. Well, I do have the answer to most questions, but I still haven’t found the answer to life, to my life. I guess that’s what I was looking for. I made myself a cup of coffee, dragged out a score I was studying, and sat down at my piano to await her call. About forty-five minutes later, the phone rang and I answered it. “Shelby, have we met? Your name seems very familiar.” “No, I doubt we’ve met, but you may have seen me onstage. I’m the conductor of the Oakwood Philharmonic Orchestra.” “Ah, yes,” she exclaimed. “I know who you are. It makes more sense now.” She paused for a moment. It sounded like she was putting something onto her computer. “I have a few questions for you,” she finally said. “All right. What can I tell you?” “Why do you want to come see me? I think I know, but do you?” “I’m not sure. I’m looking for something to my life, but I don’t know what it is. I get tired of being in charge every minute of every day, but I can’t just give in to anyone. I need to keep up my image. “Yes, and if you appear weak, you’ll lose their respect, which you need to do your job.” “Exactly,” I responded, “I think I’d like to relax for once and let someone else make decisions.” “And if you feel stronger than someone, or better educated, you can’t release anything to them.” I grimaced. “That’s about it. At times I wish I was back in the orchestra playing second oboe.” “Is that your instrument?” “One of them. It’s the one I started on. Second oboe parts are innocuous; no solos, no responsibility: just blend in.” Did I hear her chuckling? “Yes, that’s what I thought. There are a lot of people in your position. I think I can help you. Are you looking for s*x?” “No, not per se. I mean, if that’s part of it, that’s fine, but just s*x? No.” “That’s good, because you will not touch me. I’m sure your friend told you that I’m not a prostitute.” “Yes, that was one of my first concerns, but Earl assured me you weren’t.” “Good, now Shelby, do you have any fears? Are you afraid of the dark? Of heights? Bugs of any kind? Are you claustrophobic?” “No, none of those. I’m okay with all that. I think my only fear is to appear unprepared in front of an audience.” “And by audience, you’re not talking merely a group of strangers sitting in a theater, are you?” I paused. How did she know me so well? “No, I’m not.” I knew she couldn’t see me shaking my head. “Have you had problems in relationships? Have you had trouble giving up enough to have satisfying s*x?” Yes, she knew me. “Occasionally.” She seemed to know everything. “Yes, if someone feels weaker than you or not as educated, you can’t allow them control. Am I correct?” I sighed. “Yes.” “Now, are there any limits to what I can do?” “Limits? Like what?” “I have some clients who wear contacts and don’t want anything near their eyes.” “Oh, I can’t endanger my face or my hands. No marks where they’d show.” “Are you afraid of needles under your skin?” “You mean shots?” “No, not for medical purposes. Just the needles themselves, being placed under the top layers of your skin.” “I don’t think so. I’m not sure I’ve ever had it done.” “No. I’m sure you haven’t.” “But I’m not afraid of a little pain.” Was she chuckling? She paused. I heard the computer keyboard clicking. She was definitely writing this down. “Do you have any medical problems?” “No.” “All right. What city do you feel safest in?” I had to consider that. “Boston, I think. I grew up there.” “Then, can you use Boston as your safe word?” I wasn’t sure how to answer. “A safe word is a red light,” she explained when I hesitated. “It’s a definite stop. When people say no, no, no or stop, stop, it sometimes means yes, yes, yes or don’t stop, that’s too good. If you say Boston, I’ll know you’re serious and will stop immediately. By stop, I mean Conclude. End. If you say Boston, that’s it. You pick up your things and go home. Agreed?” I took a deep breath. That seemed fair. “Yes, I agree.” “Good. Now there are rules. When you walk in here, you are giving up all control. That may be hard for you but I’m sure that if you want this badly enough, you will do it. When you walk into my studio, you are my property for sixty minutes. Do you understand the full implications of that word?” “Property?” “Yes. You belong to me and I can do whatever I want with you. If you were afraid of the dark, I could lock you in a closet or I can make you stand out on the sidewalk naked. You are mine to do as I please.” “I may have to use my safe word if you want me to go out in public without any clothes,” I said, almost chuckling. “But isn’t that part of your fear that you want to overcome?” “Yes, but…” “Yes. That is an extreme answer to it. We can save that for a future session.” This time she chuckled. “You must trust me, Shelby. I will not jeopardize your life. If I see you’re in trouble, I’ll stop. Completely.” I sighed. “Okay.” It is only for an hour. “Now, if you need me to slow down or you need to catch your breath, you’ll have a caution word. You can use yellow or extreme, whichever is easier to remember.” “Yellow will be fine.” “All right, say yellow and I’ll pull back and wait for you to get it together. Then I’ll continue. I will not put you in any life-threatening danger…this time. Do you have any questions?” “Not at the moment.” “If you come up with one, call and ask it. There will be no questions during your session.” “All right,” This is more involved than I’d thought, but…oh, well. “And don’t bother wearing underwear; you won’t need any.” I did laugh at that. “When do you want this?” she asked. “This week? I know this seems rushed but I have a concert on Saturday evening. Any chance before then?” “Yes, I do have a couple openings this week. You may need a day to recover. You may find it hard going from dominant to submissive and back and you must be dominant when you’re on stage.” She paused. “Let’s see, I have a seven to eight on Wednesday open or nine to ten on Thursday.” I thought. “Thursday sounds good.” It will be dark and no one will see me coming or going. “All right. You will tell one person that you trust where you are going but not why and you will never tell anyone the details of what happens here. Do you agree to those terms?” “Yes, I agree.” I’m not sure I’d want to tell anyone about it. “Good. You will be here Thursday at nine o’clock sharp. You will knock on the door, not ring the bell. Knock. The door will be opened and you’ll come in. The moment you step over the threshold it begins. You will not speak unless you are asked a question and you will do what you’re told, immediately, with no hesitation. You will call me Mistress, and I can do what I want with you because you belong to me for the next hour. Agreed?” I licked my lips. “Yes, I agree.” “Good.” The line went dead. Whoa. What did I just get myself signed up for? She did seem pretty knowledgeable; she knows what my fears are. Well, Shelby Flynn, you’re in it. We’ll see what happens. If you can’t do it, you have your safe word. If you don’t want to do it again, you never have to go back.