It got to be quite a thing because whenever I would arrive, all the masked people at the club would look at each other, wondering who had the password to my submission. The crowds grew and many of them delayed their masochistic activities until the right person spoke the right word and I kneeled to press my forehead on the floor.
For most of them I never found out who they were. Like me, they wore elaborate, decadent masks. But then, after over three weeks of nightly degradation, a married couple arrived, and they didn’t wear masks.
They were dressed in Victorian fashion, and spoke with high-end English accents. Everyone stared at them, not due to their costumes, which I learned later weren’t costumes but the way they dressed all the time, but because of their bare faces. The whole idea
