Tangled Passions Pt. 03 Ch. 32-34

"Yeah." Staying connected they drifted into a mutually satisfied afternoon nap.

Matt told Jenn that he was expected at his club that night. They had woken and showered together. After kissing at the door, Matt turned and walked to the elevator, leaving Jenn to watch him for a moment before closing the door, just like any wife whose husband was working nights. Off to his club he went – and it was still 'his' club; Jenn had never been there. It struck her as a little odd; after all they had been through, all the truths they knew about each other, she still had only the vaguest idea of where it was. She'd never asked to go with him and he'd never invited her. Of course, he too only knew about her organization in generalities. "Oh well," she shrugged, latching the door with a soft thud. Jenn stared around the suite. She had the strange feeling that they had lost something – though she had no idea what. The room seemed too empty – devoid or bereft of what? She stood a while longer, lost in her thoughts; then, finally shaking free, she moved to the couch to sit. There was nothing more. Slowly she lifted the phone, still a little distant, and called Lisa to arrange the evening. Over the next few days, she and Matt each chewed on anticipation relentlessly. The gnawing uncertainty was distracting – worrying. What if only one of them was accepted? Jenn wondered, “Would I go alone? Would Matt?” It sounded too perfect. They both had to be accepted.

A message on their machine, five days later, requested their presence at an office in Gastown "to work out the details of their arrangement." There were no further instructions, other than an appointment time and a phone number. Matt dressed in a good suit with nothing but a G-string underneath. Jenn wore a skirt suit over split crotch panties and a half-cup pushup bra. They made an attractive businesslike couple, as they left his ZX in the old Woodwards parkade and strode down Cordova to find the address.

The office was in one of the older trendy Gastown buildings, above a touristy import shop. The sign on the door said 'I. Shostavich, Lawyer'. They knocked softly and entered, as the door was unlatched. Inside was rather stylish in an eclectic sort of way – sort of understated camp. The man who greeted them from behind the desk was neither Ange nor Hamil from their earlier meeting. "Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I'm Mr. Shostavich." Rising from his chair he shook hands with each and indicated the leather chairs before his desk, "Please sit," before returning to his own seat. He was a wiry man with trim salt and pepper hair and a very precise moustache. Once Matt and Jenn had taken their seats, he folded his hands and observed them, his eyes moving from one to the other as though he were watching a tennis match. Matt met his intense gaze with an intensity of his own, while Jenn made herself sit still, and listened to the silence grow.

"Husband and wife," he finally said. “Welcome.” And then, as if checking it off in his mental notebook, "I don't think we've had that combination past our desk before." Matt turned to look at Jenn, unsure of how to respond. Jenn seemed mesmerized, staring steadily into her host's deep green eyes. "This is not really a part of the interview – you have, already, been accepted – but I'm very curious. Tell me about yourselves – husband and wife."

Matt hesitated a moment. “Go ahead,” the man said, in a light, friendly manner. “A synopsis. We’ve got lots of time.” Matt flashed a puzzled glance at Jenn.

“Well,” Matt, cleared his throat and began, unsure of what Mr. Shostavich actually wanted. “We’ve been married for over twelve years….” As he gave a brief chronology of their lives, Jenn quietly added details here and there. They gave only the briefest mention of the girls' deaths. They tried to explain their relationship but stumbled and stuttered. It was not easy to describe. Yet, they both professed a continuing, undying love, undaunted by the unconventional twists of their sexual proclivities. Although she didn't doubt it for an instant, Jenn wondered why; why did their love still exist? Why did she love him so very, very much? Their lives, while not exactly diverging, were running parallel – in the same direction but not touching, like railway tracks, staying abreast of one another but completely separate – except for the few nights they occasionally shared.

In the silence that followed Jenn timidly asked, "May I ask a question?” The lawyer nodded solemnly. She could feel Matt's eyes on her as well. She felt like a little girl asking for a special favour. "I wonder," she began, "if it would be possible for us to have, while we're onboard, occasional contact with one another." She glanced at Matt, who nodded ever so slightly, before continuing, "Just once in a while be allowed – be given the odd opportunity to hug and kiss – or to hold hands, just once in a while." She looked expectantly at Mr. Shostavich, who seemed to be considering.

"A definite possibility, I should think," he mused, stroking his moustache, "Shouldn't be a problem." If he thought it an odd request, he certainly didn't show it. Although both Matt and Jenn realized that his response was fundamentally non-committal, they accepted it at face value. In their own minds they were already too far along to back out, well past centre-span.

There was little more detail to be discussed. Personalized contracts were given to them each to read and, with a flourish of fountain pen, witnessed by the attendant lawyer, signed contracts legally obligating them to work on a ship as 'entertainment crew' for a year. Matt seriously wondered exactly how legitimate or enforceable such a contract was; not that it made any difference to them. They were voluntarily giving themselves up to a year of degradation and humiliation. It seemed a strange thing to do in that light. "Ours is not to question why."

They thanked the lawyer and accepted his best wishes, then left the office. Standing amidst the milling crowds of Gastown, Matt announced, "I need a drink." They walked the few blocks to the Pan Pacific and ordered drinks in the mezzanine bar. Jenn was puzzled that, once again, they had been met concerning their sexual subjugation and the meeting had passed without so much as a suggestive comment. But the deed was done. They had signed the dotted line. This time she felt drained rather aroused, as if her nervous tension had bonded to her sexuality then slowly leaked away. Jenn tried not to think of the enormity of their decision – the agreement. She would face one day at a time, hold her anticipation in check for as long as possible. Matt silently attempted, in innumerable ways, to rationalize what they had just done. “One really can,” he smiled inwardly, “rationalize anything.” They hardly spoke over their drinks and eventually left the lounge to walk quietly, arm in arm, back to the car.

Matt and Jenn told the few people who might be interested that they were going away for a year or so, but supplied no details. Matt told Roland that he had used him as a reference. Roland nodded, perhaps a little more reserved than usual. However, Jenn stayed very quiet on the subject, not admitting anything of substance to Lisa. She wasn't really sure why, but she thought everything might just run a little smoother if Lisa was kept in ignorance until the last minute. She felt just a little deceitful, and more than a little sad, but she didn't relent.

Jenn's parents had both died before the girls' accident. Her only brother – older than her by three years – had 'gone bad' as they say in the vernacular. He had disappeared many years earlier. Jenn had received two or three brief postcards from exotic places in Southeast Asia during the first couple years of his absence, then nothing until she got official word that he had allegedly died of a drug overdose somewhere in Burma. Jenn blamed him, posthumously, for the deaths of her parents, who were killed when her father went through a red light the day that they had heard the news of her brother's demise.

Matt, on the other hand, was an only child. His mother had died of a cancer shortly before the children had been killed. Matt's father had not finished grieving for his wife at the time of the girls' accident, and he seemed to tacitly blame Matt for his own ongoing unhappiness. Instead of offering Matt and Jenn – his only son and daughter-in-law – the solace and support they needed, he became bitter and unfriendly. It was, at the time, far more than their emotional stamina could bear. They stopped visiting him and he never called.

After a few months had soothed the jagged edges of their grief, Matt had decided to make peace. He was astounded to find that his dad had moved and left no forwarding address. At first it seemed unbelievable. Later, with tremendous difficulty, they managed to secure an address at which to reach him. His dad had apparently gone to the States – the address was in Arizona, but Matt's letters were returned marked; refused’ – not ‘addressee unknown’ or ‘no longer at this address’, just ‘refused’. When he sent a card with no return address, and it, too, came back, with no reply, yet having been opened, he just gave up. He had been well and truly disowned. Now, he had no family other than Jenn.

Matt and Jenn sold their furnishings and most of their belongings. They put their condo in the hands of a property manager and had him deposit the revenues automatically. Keepsakes, those most precious reminders of their former lives as parents, photos of the girls and whatnots, were stowed, along with their home safe, which contained the important everyday things like birth certificates and insurance policies, in a secure storage facility. For obscure reasons about which neither Matt nor Jenn were too clear, most of their liquid assets were transferred to a coded account in a Swiss branch of the Bank of Montreal. And for reasons that were even less clear, they decided to keep the same code as Jenn had originally used on the account she had set up with the money from the insurance claim, '4-LISA-N-LUCY'. Arrangements were made for the rental of the storage facility to be paid automatically out of their property revenue account. Even if the interest rate fell to zero and the condo sat empty, there was enough money to pay the storage fees for years.

They were all set. No one would even miss them.

They rented a posh room in the Hotel Vancouver, but spent their last night very quietly. There was too much to think about – consider, predict, anticipate, fear. Offering one another support in their introspection simply by their presence and their non-sexual intercourse, Matt and Jenn finally descended into a surprisingly calm sleep, holding on together.

XXXIII.

TheCelestial Concubine, arrived, unheralded in the early morning, anchoring in Vancouver's outer harbour. It was a beautifully sleek, futuristic cruise ship with a water line length of about four hundred fifty feet, although its raked bow projected spear-like, far beyond that. Even at anchor, the swept back superstructure gave an illusion of speed and a suggestive mien. With its white sides and gold tone accents glistening in the morning light, it was subtly salacious in its allure. Ostensibly on an exclusive Billionaires' World Tour, it was in town for only a brief one-day stop. Details of the cruise – an exclusive floating bawdy house, purveying a stable of innocents, subverted and perverted – were most certainly contrary to prevailing morality. If the city’s populace had known what Jenn and Matt – and who knew how many others onboard – had contractually agreed to they would be at first horrified then outraged. Hence, whether the operation was actually illegal or not, the organizers considered it politic to simply and surreptitiously spirit the newcomers aboard.

That evening, Matt and Jenn accompanied Roland to dinner at the Jericho site of the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club. Roland, it seemed, was somehow associated with the cruise although he remained very vague about it, deflecting most questions. His heartiness during the meal became conspicuously forced, and Matt wondered what he knew that he wasn't willing to share. Jenn figured that he was simply trying to hide his disappointment at losing a friend and slave for the coming year. While trying to remain jocund, he commented, wiping away imaginary tears, that he was losing his only true prodigy.

After a late meal that stretched well into dusk, after the lights on theCelestial Concubine had flickered on and danced across the water like golden fairy-dust from the sandman’s pouch, the three of them, Matt and Roland flanking Jenn like bodyguards, quietly strolled down the ramp onto the floats, to the soothing sounds of the sea – slapping, lapping. They boarded a twenty-five or thirty foot motor launch calledA Kind of Freedom, where Jenn and Matt collapsed onto the settee, consumed by their own thoughts and apprehensions. Roland prepared a couple stout drinks – a very tall single malt, neat, for Matt and an ice-cold vodka straight up for Jenn. There was no one else on board. They watched the clock and the colour of the sky, sipping and talking trivia – watching the clock. The ...Concubine was departing at midnight; they would board during the half-hour before.

At eleven twenty, long after dark had obliterated the water – all but the twinkling reflections of lights on the anchored vessels – they motored inconspicuously from RVYC straight out to the ship. At the companionway, when Roland said "Farewell,” Jenn was tempted, momentarily, to analyze the sad and unsure, almost forlorn, apologetic look he wore. It was as if he were not absolutely sure that a terrible mistake wasn't being made; but it would not do to even consider that at such a late hour. Nonetheless, he said farewell – not goodbye, just farewell. Matt, suddenly hyped, like a kid leaving home for the first time, remarked that they were just like Elliot inExit to Eden, and Roland nodded resignedly, "Yes... something like that."

An officer stood just inside the door, just inside the hull, eight feet above the waterline, watching silently. With a hug and a kiss, a handshake and embrace, Roland stepped back onto the ...Freedom alone, and pushed himself free of the companionway, before climbing to the bridge. They could see him as he started the engines and motored away slowly. He seemed to deliberately avoid looking back at them. Jenn caught herself waving at the retreating transom. She felt a little ridiculous as she quickly wiped an unexpected tear from her eye. Only his working Adam's apple, betrayed Matt's feelings as they watched the blackness swallow Roland. The uniformed man at the entrance said nothing until they had turned, picked up their small bags and crossed the threshold. They heard the companionway being retracted as the door closed. They had, in effect, just vanished from their old world.

"Welcome." The sailor was suddenly animated. "Just leave your luggage here, and follow me if you will." Obediently, Jenn and Matt trailed behind the fellow who moved with a military precision as he chatted about the ship and its amenities – as if he were simply filling the silence – as indeed he was.

They were ushered into a large office, where an array of about a dozen chairs was arranged facing an expansive oak desk. Their guide showed them to seats in the middle of the front row, advising them to be attentive, as they would find this little orientation very pertinent. He quietly moved away to stand at the side of the room. A man in a suit entered from a door in the back corner of the room, and, after pausing to converse briefly with the officer, strode around the desk and seated himself in a large, leather swivel chair. Jenn noticed their guide leave quietly as the man got settled. After he had spread out his papers and put on his glasses, he seemed to survey the room, although Matt and Jenn were the only other occupants – sitting apprehensively still. His gaze rested on them for a long moment before he cleared his throat and began.

"Hello and welcome to theCelestial Concubine. My name is Peter and I am one of the administrators of this organization." He looked like a fairly ordinary fellow, Matt thought, not sure of what else he would have expected. Matt was intrigued by the man's nonchalance more than by what he was saying. The details of their employment were, he thought, basically trivia as they were already here and that was that. Peter pointed out that, as they had all signed contracts, they were basically indentured slaves. "You will be leaving society as you know it; the rules you lived under there," his sweeping gesture indicated everything outside the ship, "are no longer applicable.” The enormity of their move began to take shape, take on a form and size in Jenn's mind. It was to be a small matter of sexual serfdom, pure and simple, and they had agreed to be the serfs. The tingling fires of excitement that had been glowing, smouldering all day, for the past several days, began to spark and crackle. Their warmth began to lick in slow tongues up Jenn's spine. “For the duration of the voyage,” the administrator explained, “you will be vassals, that is, as opposed to crew or staff, administration or guests.” He continued very matter-of-factly, “You will, of course, be totally and completely obedient – fully compliant. You have leave to question nothing."

He was a good speaker, Matt observed. Very smartly dressed, he had a lot of poise and good delivery; although, there were no surprises in what he said. He described exactly what they had signed up for. "There's no need for modesty." His executive manner became slightly more confidential. "We all know what we find attractive and what we don't; we can all face our desires head-on; to desire or be desired, we can all cope with that as adults, I trust." He went on further, generally re-explaining the expectations and responsibilities inherent in fulfilling their contracts. Here and there in his presentation he added some detail. Matt wondered if it was done more for titillation than for elucidation. "Despite our loud and vehement protests, humans are creatures easily manipulated – easily conditioned." His voice dropped as he added, rather conspiratorially, and looking, for the moment, directly at Jenn, "For that reason, after any and all corporal discipline you will be caressed – to climax if manageable. That way sessions always end on a high, and the prospect of a whipping almost always means the anticipation of a climax." He looked around the room. Matt fought a sudden urge to turn around to see who else was there. Had anyone come in behind them?

"It's none of my business," he reprimanded, pulling himself up rigid as the speaker concluded the orientation, such as it was.

"If you have any doubts, you can disembark now, for once we are underway, you will have no choice but to remain for the duration of your contracts." Once again he stopped, but Jenn knew from something in his eyes that he didn't expect any last minute resignation.

“We have been far too well screened for that,” Jenn observed to herself.

"Are there any questions? No? Then the keepers will escort each of you to your quarters."

There was movement behind them but neither Matt nor Jenn turned around; they knew that their submission had already begun. At that moment, the ship began to move. Jenn could feel it – barely perceptible. Matt felt it too. He placed his hand gently on her thigh. He couldn't decide whether the shiver he felt there echoed fear or arousal; but the shudder than ran through him was the realization that they were committed. And committed to whatever, there was no turning back.

The Andersons, Matt and Jenn, were approached by two staff members – a man and woman respectively – who beckoned them follow. The silence, broken only by their shuffling feet, was both oppressive and soothing. Matt wondered what they had done. Jenn just wondered what would happen next. Matt fretted; Jenn anticipated.