Green Tea with Jasmine Pt. 04

January, 2007

Tolstoy said that every happy family is happy in the same way but each unhappy family is unique in its misery. Local winters are unhappy families and this winter is very unhappy. This has been one of the driest winters on record – the first real snowfall came three weeks ago on Western Christmas, just like in some movie. It's also cloudy and grey and dirty. Everyone is waiting for the massive blizzards that usually follow this sort of thing. Sniffles and coughs are everywhere.

I'm sitting in a coffeehouse around the corner from my office, drinking green tea with jasmine with a man of about my age. He speaks rapidly and quietly, so I have to make him repeat himself. He is nondescript, handsome without being headturning, well-built without being imposing, sharply dressed without being flashy. He reminds me of someone and it nags me for several months afterwards until I watch Casino Royale and realize he looks like Daniel Craig playing a character who has not revealed himself yet as obviously lethal. He always smiles and he seems totally at home chatting with me. It's the only reason I stay cool throughout this conversation.

His name is Stepa, and he is renowned among the cognoscenti of the local community as the premier local expert on how to flog a woman to whatever level is agreed between the people at both ends of the knout. About two months ago, I contacted him by email and introduced myself, and after a bit of email trades in which he shared pictures of his favorite masochists, we'd come down to arranging a cup of tea to discuss an idea I had.

So, he says to me as he blows on his tea, let me get this straight. You have a lady friend that you want to learn how to beat, and you want me to test her out alone first to see if she really likes it?

I nod. My two little buddies are sitting on either shoulder. Wicked is grinning and Gentle is on the phone.

Stepa smiles as the waitress comes back to see if we need anything else. She is one of those girls that still thinks she has a career in theatre or dance and is keeping her tight little body in shape for the day that she gets her big break. She's got a sweet face hardened to a professional sheen. Stepa in his soft little voice tells her he would be grateful if she left us alone for ten minutes, and avoided seating anyone near us because we were talking man business. Even here, that line would earn at least a displeased look from service personnel. Except the way he says it doesn't sound rude. The girl blushes and puts her head to one side like she's having an ear tickled, says of course, Sir, and walks away with this perfect aerobics-instructor-peach-ass of hers twitching. Stepa times it perfectly – he is watching her ass long enough to make her feel it, but turns his face back to me just as the waitress gives in to the temptation to see if her sweet little can managed to attract a man who dismissed her like a plaything ten seconds ago. What she sees is the grin of a man who knows what to do with a woman, and what appears to be complete disinterest in her. She will take every opportunity to come by – wiping off the sparkling clean tables near us, walking customers past us on the long way to their tables – and he will never again acknowledge her.

I need to know why you want to do it this way, he asks me.

Gentle and Wicked both shrug, their signal for Fuck it, go with the truth.

So. She's a pro and she likes me. I've been seeing her for about five years, on and off. She's got a fellow she's serious about who doesn't know what she does for a living, and I figure soon she'll be off for good when he is smart enough to marry her. I have done X, Y and Z with her – she always puts up with it. Now the only thing left that I want to do to her is beat her until she screams for me to stop, but I need to know that she's into it. Either her character or her profession prevents her from telling me no if in fact she does not. I'm coming to you because you do not have a relationship with her and you can probably tell me if she is a real masochist. So I'd like you to visit her, if she agrees, and work her over up to an agreed point and then tell me afterwards if she got off on it. If so, I'd like to visit her together with you and have you teach me what you did so I can do it. If not, there's nothing left for me to do to her. I know, it sounds fucked up, doesn't it.

Stepa has been holding his tea cup in mid-lift through this little monologue, and now he leans on it, blowing. I can smell the jasmine. He smiles that cryptic Sphinx grin. Not all, he says. A true Thematic needs only two things. Imagination – and honesty. Everything else gets in the way.

I absorb this as he sips.

So, says Stepa. Do you trust me with your girl?

I think. Actually, I check out the devils, both of whom are nodding. We've spoken to his devil, they say. It's a go.

Only one devil? I ask. They laugh. He's a fucking local, Wicked smirks. Generally one is too many for these fuckers.

Relax, chief, Gentle says. He's not tortured, not like –

#5? Wicked teases.

Fuck you. I was going to say like chief here.

I ignore them. Now to the needful question, which I try to deliver as suavely as possible: how much?

Stepa shrugs. Here's the deal. I'll call your girl and tell her you recommended me. If she's up for it, I'll go see her. That's on my account. If she's no good, you owe me – I pick the girl, you pay, I take the first half of the session and then you can have the second. If this Jasmine girl is good, you have to bring me along the next time on your wallet – I take the first half, you have the second. Sounds fair?

Sounds fair. So when do you want to call?

No time like the present.

I give him the number off the top of my head. He dials and hands me the phone.

Hi, Jasmine? So good to hear your voice, yes, it's been awhile. Listen, I have a friend I want to introduce you to. His name is Stepan, he has a proposal but it's up to you, okay? Okay, here's Stepan.

Stepa takes the phone. Hello, I've heard a lot about you. Listen, our mutual friend believes you and I might get along. I'd like to call you in about ten minutes and discuss it, and then if possible stop by in about two or three hours if you are in agreement with what I have in mind. Wonderful. I look forward to it. Talk to you soon.

He hangs up. There's something unpleasant about her voice, he says.

She's like that at the beginning, I explain. Her voice is like citrus. It starts out tart but when everything flows it smells like slightly overripe oranges on a seaside grove.

When I start talking about the smell of voices, most people look at me strangely. Stepa just tilts his head. At dawn or at evening? he asks with a grin.

Dawn, on hot summer morning.

He smiles. There's a lot of energy in her, isn't there.

I nod. He tells me to go back to work, he'll call me.

Twenty minutes later. It's Stepa, she agreed to two hours at such and such. She knows exactly what's up – two hours of straight beating, no sex. Stepa does not have intercourse except with whatever woman is living in his house as his main slave. Sex, he says, sends the energy back out. Only lovemaking keeps it rolling in a circle. I nod and pretend to understand. He tells me that if I get a call on my cell tonight from his cell phone, to answer but not say anything. Just listen.

Three hours later my phone rings and I pick up. I can hear the flogger attack her flesh and I can hear her yelp with each landing. Wicked grabs his crotch and starts pumping his fist in the air, whoot whoot. Gentle is nodding. Can demons blush? Stepa is murmuring to her, I can't really hear what he is saying, she is moaning and then crying and then shouting and then squealing stop. The phone dies. Then he calls again five minutes later. Same routine. Then again ten minutes later. More of the same.

My mouth is dry. I close my eyes and I can see her.

About two hours later he calls again, this time he's done. He's walking home. For ten minutes he explains. Oh, yes, the girl is a masochist. She came from being beaten, at least five times. He started slowly and did not leave marks because she said she could not be left with bruises that could not be explained to her man. He agreed – her voice ripens. The energy flows. He got what he came for, and now I have to follow through.

I'm too shy to do this by voice, so I sms her:

Hi Jaz, did everything go OK with Stepa? All OK. He didn't hurt you? Not more than I could handle. Would you like him to teach me how to do that to you? Yes. Can I come over with him tomorrow? Yes. It will be three hours, one of him and two of me, will X cover that? Yes.

So the next night, I'm up the elevator, and there she is with that grin. She hugs and kisses me. Stepa is already there. He has a bag of toys. He knows I like to tie her up so he brought cuffs from his studio. He doesn't waste his own time on bondage, he says. Takes too much time. Either the girl holds still or she's the wrong girl. To each his own.

Stepa tells her to strip to her panties. She shrugs and pulls up her dress. She's in high heels and a thong. He pulls out one flogger, and snaps his fingers. She immediately puts herself into a doorway, hands up and to the sides, legs apart, ass out at us.

Stepa hefts the flogger. This is a warmup move, he explains, and he swings his arm low like a tennis pro. He is standing back, so on the upswing the tips of the flogger whish against her ass and up her back, tenderly. Then he brings it back down so it snaps against the round of her butt. She pushes forward and then back, eeping at the snap. He does the same thing against her other cheek. The trick, he says, is always to know how long your arm and the flogger are and to stand accordingly so you control how hard it impacts the flesh. All of the force of your swing breaks into the tips and the flesh when they impact. If your swing is soft --

And he brushes her.

-- then it just warms her a bit. She purrs and wiggles. If your swing is hard –

And he thumps it down and she yelps and squeals and hisses and looks back at me and fuck me she's grinning as she's blinking the first tears out.

-- then it gets the blood flowing and...

And he reaches his hand and touches the crotch of her panties. Come here, he says, and puts my hand there. Wet. He wipes his hand on her hair like it's a dishtowel. She never looks at him. Just me.

Gentle and Wicked are sitting on my shoulders, taking notes, nodding. Wicked is acting like he knows this shit already, but he's as rapt as Gentle is.

It's my turn to try. I practice the swing before hitting her. Then I do a couple of upswipes and downslaps. She starts to make noise. Stepa urges me on, to keep going until she starts to wiggle and cry and gasp and then he has me stop. He tells her to turn around.

Her nipples are rigid. Beating the breasts is a delicate matter, he explains. Too much tissue that can get damaged, not like the ass. So what we do here is this –

And he takes a short handful of strands, maybe five, maybe four inches long, and just starts to slap them across her nipples. She closes her eyes and bites her lips. There are no marks, but her tits darken with circulation increase and she pumps her hips forward.

My turn to try. Now she opens her eyes and looks at me, nodding, egging me on to go a little harder. Stepa does not let me. Just give her a taste he says. Warm her up for the next round. He takes her into the bedroom and tells her to take the panties off. He leaves the shoes on. He has a thing for legs and shoes. He always photographs his girls in shoes.

He puts cuffs on her ankles and wrists, and makes her put her ass in the air. He cuffs each ankle to each coordinate wrist. Her asshole and pussy are wide and exposed. She waits, patiently. He takes one long strand and smacks it down across her crack. The sound is evil. She wails. Still no marks. A lot of noise, a lot of smack, but no real weight – concentrated pain without damage. My turn.

Uh yeah. Yes, I am turned on. I want Stepa out of there as soon as possible. Gentle is jealous. Wicked is just impatient.

He shows me a few more tricks for the road. I'll keep those a secret for now. Then he leaves the floggers and the cuffs – he'll be by another day to pick them up, he says, and I get his point, he'll be seeing her again but only for this – and he tells me to have fun.

As soon as he is gone, I let her up and put a bathrobe on her. She likes a cigarette and tea break. We sit in her little kitchen. So that was all right? Not bad. You really like the pain? I do, I didn't expect to but it's a rush. So it's okay that I found this guy? I'm grateful, but I don't like him. Why not, did he hurt you? No, but I can tell he wants to mark me, even though he won't. I won't mark you. Thanks, my boyfriend wouldn't understand. How is that going? Not bad, maybe he'll marry me. I hope it works out, does he know what you like? Does any man, she asks? We both stare at each other for a second and we both know that what is possible and what is not possible have just shaken hands in mutual respect.

Well, shall we? We shall.

I take her back in, and this time using the cuffs and the ball gag I bought her and the scarves I secure her facing the wall. I have two floggers and I criss cross her ass until she's shrieking behind the gag. I do bruise her a bit but nothing that won't come down with ice. Then I put her on her back, and hogtie her. She closes her eyes as I whip her pussy carefully and brutally at the same time – carefully not to touch the inside of her thighs. I make her sniff and lick the tips of the flogger. She's crying and squealing through the gag, keeping her eyes closed. And she's coming.

NOW whispers Gentle. She's hogtied, open, soaking. Fuck her. She's waiting for it. And she is. I can see it. She's grinning at me. She's rocking her hips. I should be stone stiff and standing.

But I am not. Wicked is just sadly shaking his head. Either he didn't bring his game or he ain't playing tonight.

What the fuck? Gentle and I are stunned. It's booty time. She's fucking gift wrapped for you. She's as beautiful as ever and you've smacked her to orgasm. Time to get yours.

No, Wicked croaks. Stepa is right. We've gotten all we can doing this. Fucking her would erase it. Cheapen it. Cheapen her. Ruin the ending. We got what we came for.

Well, I don't need either of them for this: I lay down and lick her. I love the way she moves under my tongue, and I want to remember her taste. When I am done, I release her and lift her up. The demons have retired for the evening, it's just me and this girl I've brought to this point over the last four years with nowhere else to go.

Anything else, she asks?

I smile and rub her ankles and wrists. A cup of tea and one of your smokes? In the kitchen?

She nods, and we chat about our kids, our significant others, the weather, eating up the last half hour. I pay her, hug her, and I promise to call again. We both know I won't.

As I leave the building, the blizzard blows in like an overdue promise...