Elizabeth 339 Ch. 03 - Deconstruction

She laughs for the first time this evening and I'm thankful for the levity. "Yes Joe, and ultimately that's what we're all here for isn't it? To enjoy our various entrances and exits."

Susan approaches our table and smiles at our laughter. "Elizabeth, it's almost time... I'll go set up."

"Thank you dear. We'll be right along."

"You look puzzled Joe?"

"Oh. Nothing really. Just, my final sponsor. Your husband?"

"Lord no. He despises you."

"Well, we did... um."

"No, he doesn't usually care who I 'um'. This is something quite different. He said something about the old theatre and wouldn't be drawn."

"Ah yes, my development."

"No, your final sponsor has asked not to be named until they wish."

"Annoying... Enigma within enigma."

She smiles as a mother smiles at a child, "Enough Joe Smith. Finish your whisky. Laissez les bon temps roulez."

As I silently sip the last drops of whisky, I eye the curtains with suspicion. What strange delights and terrors lurk through the womb of them. My heart beats quickly in my chest; perhaps from all the earlier coffee, perhaps from nervousness.

Perhaps I should no longer be surprised when Elizabeth reads me but she startles me with, "Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once."

"Laissez les bon temps roulez!" I retort and return my empty glass to the table.

"Indeed," she stands and offers me her elbow. "Now silence my nightingale, shall be your song once more."

I nod and take her arm and she leads me through the curtains.

The locker room reminds me of awkward teenage showers and the prying eyes of the brothers in their brown robes. Showers cascade somewhere.

"I could really use a shower."

An expression a little like sorrow squints her eyes moments before her hand stings my cheek.

"Shh love. For now, you follow and observe and learn to trust me like a mother. I will give you what you need. That's all you need to remember. I will give you what you need..." She holds my clenched jaw tenderly and looks me deeply in the eyes. A smile plays briefly on her lips, then a frown chases it away. "Come Joe... We make you tonight, but first we unmake you."

She leads me to a plain grey metal locker and it reveals a Pandora's box of treasures. It's like a mini-adult store. There are costumes, black and red, shiny with hints of metal. Toys, some of which I don't understand well, ask questions of me I'm unprepared to answer.

"Hmmm... tonight I shall be Rosenrot." She lifts a red leather outfit from the hangers, "and you shall be my hungry wolf." She hands me a simple brown hooded robe. I fit an arm into the sleeve of it and she snatches it back away. "Strip."

I watch her dress and wonder if she is serious. She certainly seems to have no compunctions about stripping and dressing in the busy locker room. I watch her wriggle into the skin-tight leather; it appears to be a one-piece skirt and heart shaped bib. Straps secure the bib around her neck and finally she pulls a red hood and cape onto her shoulders. Bending to pull on her long red boots, I see she has forgone any sort of underwear.

"You approve?"

I nod, greedily drinking the flashes of flesh as she moves. Far from concealing her lovely body, her clothes simply highlight the most interesting portions of it in peek-a-boo glances.

"You may answer a direct question. In fact, it's quite smart to."

"Yes, beautiful. The red really brings out your... um."

"Tits?" she laughs and reaches into her locker to fetch a basket and a riding crop. She sees my frown and laughs again, "You may even learn to like it Joe. Now strip. Are you deaf or begging to taste the crop?"

With a giggle, she swats my arm lightly with the crop and I comply. I hold her eyes, not in defiance but as you would hold a hand rail. I'm nervous in this noisy room of people. I hand her my jacket and unbutton my shirt.

"Wait." She watches me a moment then decides, "leave your shirt like that, remove your trousers and leave your socks and jocks on. Yes. That will be perfect."

I hand her my pants and shoes. She takes my phone from the pocket of my pants and puts it in her basket. "You may want a couple of keepsake pictures at some time. Now carry that robe and put this on.

She hands me what seems to be an execution mask. I look for eye holes to find the front and there are none. Answering my questioning eyes with a broad smile she says, "Lesson one, trust. You will trust me blindly and completely. Now be a good sport and put on the hood. But first..." She leans in and kisses me, "Relax, this is going to be fun." And everything goes black.

What's most unnerving is the silence. As if on cue, the moment the hood shrouded me the locker room fell silent. I hold her hand and step tentatively feeling my way with my feet.

"Trust..." she almost moans in a whisper. "I won't let you walk into anything."

My socked feet pad silently beside her clicking stiletto boots and I find my senses strangely heightened. I can hear mumbles and whispers and smell cologne, perfumes, stale cigarettes, leather, arousal. I hear a door open and Elizabeth says, "Thank you. Joe, mind your step." She lifts my hand to the door frame and we step inside. Or outside? I don't know. I just feel its inside because the sounds of voices has quietened and Elizabeth's footsteps echo oddly.

I walk forward holding her hand until she squeezes it slightly and instructs, "Enough. Stop here now. Put your hands out in front of you." She has that bossy tone in her voice again and I decide it's probably smartest just to comply. She still carries that crop but mostly I just want to do whatever it is we are doing well for her. I feel a wall. It's smooth and cold. Tiles? Glass?

"Keep your palms against the wall at all times please Joe. We are going to play a little game of deconstruction you and I. You see instinctively you protect the small victim you once were by layering yourself in power, control and protocol. This keeps you safe but the safety prevents you fully enjoying any intimacy. I want to help you be vulnerable enough to truly value the intimacy those who love you want to share with you."

As the sound of the slap registers in my ears, the pain courses through my nerves and I realise I've taken a hand from the wall in an upturned gesture of objection to her dialogue. My back arches with the pain and I realise this was not the work of the small riding strop. A line of fire burns across my back.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the cane Joe Smith, it was after all a favourite among the Christian Brothers. Now please don't disappoint me again." A small warm hand rubs my skin and soothes the stripe of pain. "I have no wish to hurt you. I wish only to help you. See, already the contrast of the pain heightens the pleasure of this small intimate gesture of care. Perhaps even, you were lucky to suffer the violence of your father and torturous daily life as an orphan. Perhaps if you can learn to drop your guard, you can feel intimacy more profoundly because of that same contrast."

It sounds like so much psycho-babble; the kind the court appointed nurses used to confuse me with during routine check-ups at the orphanage. I want to object but the warmth of the hand rubbing my back adds meaning to her words. The depth of pleasure her simple touch provides in this moment is unsurpassed and then suddenly the hand and the pleasure are gone again.

"Heather dear, my pet was troublesome today. He was so distracted and tardy that he has arrived for play in a filthy condition." She speaks as a mother would of a loved but naughty child. "Come, lets clean him up a little."

Two sets of hands undress me. They are slow and languorous, moving along my skin with the sleeves they pull my arms free of; warm and gentle on my shoulders as they lift the shirt free. The hands smooth down my flanks to remove my underpants and slide to my feet to pull them over and to remove my socks. This takes just moments but the delight of this simple touch is an eternity of moments.

"This is you Joe. This naked thing. This true thing underneath your expensive armour of cotton and silk. The you that you hide behind financial power. The vulnerable you that has no control. This is who we love; who we wish to share ourselves with; who we want to play in simple pleasure with. Come now, let us clean away your hurts and cares."

This hood confounds me. My balance is wrong and I have no sense of direction. I need the hands that touch me for a sense of location, even for a sense of up and down. Were they to abandon me at this moment... I feel the knots of anxiety threaten in my chest.

"This way just a little Joe." Elizabeth's hands and voice guide me a few vertiginous steps toward a smooth hard curved object, "A tub Joe. Step in pet." She guides my hands to the sides of the tub and I lift a leg over the side into wonderfully warm water. As I sit, I discover it is only a few inches deep with warm water. Goosebumps prickle my arms and legs.

"Lean back love." I know that voice from somewhere. It's not Elizabeth or Susan/Heather's. Is it the blonde girl with pink tips from the coffee shop? Now there are three people in this place with me? Am I to be shared with others? What game is this?

A hand presses against my chest lightly and I allow myself to lean backwards in the dark to find a high back to this tub. The hand remains scratching in my chest hair and other hands slide over my skin with soapy warm wetness. Something like a sponge squeezes water on my chest and the feeling of warmth is like small lava flows down my torso. My legs are washed, my arms are washed, I'm leant forward and my back is scrubbed.

I'm frightened. If they are providing so much pleasure am to find a contrasting pain soon? A small hand slides up my inner thigh. On my other thigh, a similar sliding set of wet fingers twins the motion. They stop just short of my balls then start tracing warm wet finger circles, creeping closer to my growing erection. One hand cups my balls and rolls soapy over the tender lumps. The other finds the shaft of me and holds the base of it firmly causing me to throb with exquisite hardness.

"Now Joe darlin, see what gifts I can bring when you open yourself in trust. See how you can feel, my pet?"

My audible sigh of building lust is answer enough as the hands at my crotch slide like tentacles all over me. Flicking, squeezing, rubbing, stroking in deliberate slowness.

"I'm going to take you a little bit further now and show you how I can heighten this pleasure by adding some vulnerability. Again, you will need to trust me implicitly."

I think I nod. All I know is a nearing edge of orgasm. Hands hold the back of the tub behind my head and I think I hear a zip and someone move above me. The hands slide down my arms to my wrists and lift them to place them on smooth warm flesh. There is a rising need in me to grab this flesh and take control. To throw it the floor and fuck my pleasure from it. But then I would be done and this would be done and the exquisite depth of this passion lost.

"So long as your hands stay right there pet, the pleasure continues. If they so much as move an inch everything stops. Everything. This is important Joe. This is your control. At any moment, you can stop things just by lifting your hands away. I need you to give me your consent. You may speak. Do you understand this thing?"

"Uh." I have not spoken for so long and have been drawn so completely into the sensory feast that I have forgotten words, "Yes. Elizabeth, Yes I understand." I breathe heavily and the words come throaty and stumbled. As I speak warm water runs down the hood over my face. It splashes wet against my nose and mouth and I cannot breathe. I choke and buck and the hands at my cock work furiously. The mix of terror and pleasure is mind fucking. The stream of water stops and I suck in ragged breaths. The hands at my cock slow to almost unmoving.

"Remember Joe, you control this with your hands. Just move them away and it all stops."

I nod still sucking in ragged breaths. I've heard of breath play and always thought it was stupid. This is more like waterboarding. I'm terrified it will continue. I'm terrified it will stop. And then suddenly the water starts again. For too long this time I cannot breathe. Warm liquid fills my mouth and I cough it out. Stars form in my darkened vision. Sexual pleasure courses through my cock and I can feel an orgasms edge. I don't even think to move my hands. I can't think. Then I can breathe again and the hands slow and the threatened orgasm fades.

This is madness I think to myself. Madness. "Then stop it," an inner voice offers, "Move your hands away." I can't. I simply cannot deny myself the intensity of this pleasure.

"Joe, I'm humbled by your trust." It is that familiar voice. "I'm going to reward you."

Fingers tug at the bottom of the hood and lift the wet material away from my mouth and nose. I suck in deep ragged breaths. My fingers and toes tingle with the oxygen and my heart thunders in my chest. I taste salty bitterness in my mouth. Urine? Was I being pissed on?

"You may clean me up now, Joe. It seems I've made a mess."

Warm slick flesh replaces the mask and I taste pussy. My tongue licks at folds and holes and laps like a cat at warm milk. The woman rides my face; her clit rubbing against my nose as I probe her with my tongue. Her hands go behind my head and pull me closer against her writhing body and the hands at my cock work with frenzy. I can't breathe again and don't care.

"Uh, uh, uh, oh joe, yes. Mmmmm"

And then she's gone. My face wet with her. My mouth full of her taste. I breathe and try to stay conscious. There is only black to see and for moments I fancy that I'm already passed out but the glorious sensations of hands sliding up and down my shaft tell me I'm probably not dreaming.

I can hear her breathing above me. She must be close herself or masturbating or something. Hands grab my hair again and she slams into my face. It's all I can do to keep my tongue poked out as she writhes and grinds against my face. I try hard to sneak breath past the folds of her flesh but the slick sticks in my nose and mouth and stars come again. On the edge of the stars I'm aware that my own orgasm is building beyond my control. I'm afraid I'll pass out before it happens and this will all have been wasted.

Above me the woman cries out and holds me still against her. I can feel her pulsing as she cums and sticky wet floods my tongue and fills my mouth. My balls choose this exact moment to vomit furiously and I buck beneath the hands that milk me, then the room goes very quiet.

I'm five years old. I'm holding the shotgun that I shot my own father with. I do the only thing I think possible in the mess. I lie down next to my mother. My poor dead mother. I lift her arm over me and cry myself to sleep in her arms, still holding the shotgun in case by some cruel trick, he comes back to life. Loud knocking at the door wakes me. I close my eyes tight and wish the world away but they crash through the door and find me.

"Joe."

I open my eyes. I can't see. "The hood." I remember.

"Joe." Elizabeth speaks beside my ear. Her warm, wine sweet breath on my face. "Are you with us Joe?"

Hands rub my thighs and splash soapy water on my belly. Cleaning my ejaculate off I imagine. I am aware my hands are still holding the firm thighs above me.

"Welcome to our club, Joe Smith." It's the unidentified voice, "I am really touched to have been part of this. You have no idea how thankful I am you found us."

Hands smooth up my cheeks and tug at the hood. Bright light blinds me and as my eyes slowly adjust I see two long white thighs joining in a shaven 'v'. A yellow pvc suit is unzipped from the back to just below lovely round breasts. Above I see a yellow masked face that shows only deep blue eyes smiling down at me. Long blonde hair falls down her shoulders and her breasts rise and fall in post orgasmic cadence.

"You may speak Joe," Elizabeth prompts from behind me, "We are finished this little show of ours."

I look to the sides and see we are in one of the glass rooms. People peer back from behind the glass. Embarrassment rises looking for a place in my awareness but there is no space beside the sheer sexual bliss that still pulses through my body.

"The pleasure was all mine, Elizabeth." I say not to Mrs Gualtierre, but to the present Elizabeth who straddles my tub.

She smiles and places a tender hand against my cheek then awkwardly steps down from the tub. Heather hurries to help her zip up and re-arrange her slightly dishevelled appearance. At the door to the glass cubicle she stops and tightens the band which secures her hair and there at the base of that long pretty neck I see a small letter "E". Something wants to occur to me but my mind is in no state to think on it right now.

Elizabeth and Heather help me from the tub. Apparently, my legs are not to be trusted just yet and I use the girls for support while I towel off.

"Your final sponsor." Elizabeth G confirms.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes. On that first night, she saw me with you and she took a personal interest in your induction."

"Did she just piss on me?" I don't know how I feel about it yet but slightly annoyed is probably a better description of my opinion.

"If you like you can believe it was bath water." Smiles Elizabeth, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

"The bard had thoughts on golden showers?"

"I like to think he was a kinky little wordsmith, but come now. The night is young and there are many more delights to sample."

Heather hands me the brown robe I had been carrying and a strange chrome contraption. "A gift from Elizabeth herself no less. Some people would think you are a little spoiled boss. It took me a year or more to earn my collar."

I turn the device this way and that and try to make sense of it.

"Here dummy," Heather volunteers and with a few deft movements its purpose becomes painfully clear. My cock and balls are trapped in this chrome cage. Elizabeth G lifts a small key on a chain from around her neck and laughs. Heather smiles and shows me a similar key. I pull the brown robe around my otherwise naked body and tie it with the soft rope.

"Laissez les bon temps roulez." I mumble and head toward the door as the curtains draw on the public side of our peacock room.

...

We join the... um - 'spectacle' in the hall. I can't think of a better way to describe the shuffling throng of strangely clad and half-clad people as they move toward the next room. Beside me, a middle-aged man in a diaper sucks a dummy and holds a young woman's hand. A completely naked girl on a leash and all fours, crawls beside an aloof looking older woman; her 'pony-tail but plug' swishing playfully from side to side.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Elizabeth's earlier quote echoes in my mind. I'm glad for these people. I'm happy that they can be exactly who they wish to be with neither fear nor favour as consequence. I'm happy too for myself in this instant. I have no role to play. I need not control a single thing. I'm free of responsibility and I feel safe. There are people who love me and care for my well-being. I simply must 'be' whatever I am.

And 'what' exactly am I? I decide for now I need not define myself. I will let my actions and needs define me as they will.

"Joe dear, hold my hand a while love. I find this next show challenging."

The statement worries me but I take Elizabeth's hand.

"I love it." Heather tastes her words savouring some kind of Pavlovian emotional response to the expected sexual feast.

"You would, now come distract me poppet."