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It’s the restraints, I convince myself, something about the way Mae Lee has me tied.
“You may speak,” she graciously offers, moving a chair to my front.
She sits. I am heartened. I have waited hours.
“I need to understand,” I so humbly utter, chagrined with my servile tone.
“Understand what, Bobby? I have explained my Thailand assignment as best as I can under the confidentiality agreements. It should not take much more to conclude as to the nature of the project.”
“No. I mean me. My condition.”
Miss Denise extends her hand. In it is a frilly handkerchief which she works about the dowel under my nose to dab away the tears which stream down my cheeks.
“Tsk Tsk. Such suffering, mental and physical. I assume you are referring to the ejaculatory incompetence, Bobby? The inabil
ity to climax?”
I try to nod.
“Yes, it must be very frustrating for you. The hormones build incredibly, driving you to attempt relationships and engage in actions which cannot possibly lead to fulfillment... at least not for you. Just more humiliation. But think Bobby, is it not that which you seek?”
She pauses and I begin to understand her point. Despite the restraints I have visited her apartment voluntarily.
“This entire weekend, have you once requested release? Demanded to be freed?”
She rises from her chair and walks behind me. I feel the toe of her shoe on my erect penis. Despite the bonds, the slowly building anguish, it feels good.
“There may not be a complete cure, Bobby. But I can help you, for a reasonable price. You will arrange to have your weekends free. And there will be an appointment each Thursday which you must keep before submitting to my will on Fridays. Arrange your work and social calendars accordingly.”
Her foot retracts and she reappears to stroll to the whipping bench. Yes, it’s that walk. There she turns and casually smoothes her left hand along the soft padding. She smiles. As stated, it is one of confidence to those who have never crossed her path, one tinged with evil to those who have.
“Hope you won’t mind riding for me? Not an unreasonable price, I trust?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The instructions are precise and curiously preprinted on a card, as one would receive for a wedding reception or banquet. The times and dates are written in by hand.
You are to appear at 186 West Houston Street on Thursday, November 26 at 4:00 p.m.
for a complete medical review.
You are to appear at 209 Prince Street on Friday, November 27 at 6:00 p.m.
for a weekend of counseling. Proceed by stairs to the seventh floor. Seek the room listing your name. Enter and remove all clothing. Await further instructions.
Yes, curious indeed. How many of Miss Denise’s patients received the concise preprinted form?
I arrange my affairs accordingly. The only imposition really is to dodge from work a little early on Thursday. The Friday time is easily attainable, and no one will miss me over the weekend. My affliction has obviated any weekend social appointments of interest.
186 West Houston Street is a brownstone type of structure. I ring the appropriate bell and am ushered in by a middle aged nurse in the de rigueur white uniform. With a matronly smile, she offers that her name is Greta and leads me into an examination room. There she succinctly commands that I strip. Her sharp words belie her initially reserved demeanor and her quickly changing comportment augurs negatively.
“We have other patients such as you, Mr. Dawson. Be a good boy and strip for me. Now!”
Her authority established, I remove all under her watchful eye. She beams, evidently a woman not often granted such dominion, yet reveling in it. When completely naked, she pats the top of a steel table. The surface is beveled toward the middle where it drains. Overhead piping, various tubes connected, suggest I am to be washed.
“Up you go, Mr. Dawson. For a man like you, I’ll want you on all for fours please. Be good.”
I comply, and feel like a prized dog about to be groomed. Meanwhile, the nurse dons thick rubber gloves and opens a tin of foul smelling salve.
