Author’s note: this is the first chapter in an erotic novella. Explicit scenes begin in Chapter 3.
******
DAY ONE
Chapter One: Welcome to Eros House
The shaded drive opened onto a sweating expansion of emerald lawn, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. The Perfume of roses and gardenias, and the crunch of gravel beneath car tires drifted in the open windows of the blue sedan. Ahead, residence, was the grey brick chateau I remembered from the pictures.
The pictures were nothing.
Oscar pulled the car around a white gravel roundabout with a central fountain featuring cavorting satyrs and sparkling nymphs. Here a satyr clutched a breathless nymph, his marble hands clawing her soft thigh as she swooned into him, her head thrown back in rapture. Another nymph gasped with pleasure as she poured, perpetually, a pitcher of water over her nude body.
“Remarkable,” I murmured, gawking out the open window.
The car came to a stop, and Oscar reached out for my hand. His blue eyes were intent.
“How you doing, babe? Are we still doing this?”
I took a deep breath.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready—I think.”
“Are you sure?” His browser wrinkled dubiously.
“I’m sure.” I squeezed his hand.
“At any time, we pull the plug if either of us wants to, ok? Just like we agreed. No questions asked.”
“That would be a lot of money to waste,” I answered, watching as a valet approached the car.
“I don’t care about the money, Perdita, I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said, nervousness clenching my belly. “Uh, I think this guy’s waiting to open the car doors for us.”
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to drive straight home and never speak another word about this whole idea.
Then again, I also very much wanted to go inside. We had spent a lot of money on this vacation. If we were ever going to do it, now was certainly the time. And so I rehearsed to myself that I could change my mindat any moment, that the worst thing that could happen was survivable, and I claped Oscar’s hand as we walked up the stone steps towards the mansion.
Small white butterflies flitted in our path, and the sunshone warmly on my shoulders and my yellow dress. We were greeted at the chateau’s entrance by a woman dressed in gauzy linen.
“Welcome to Eros House,” she said, bowing her head slightly.
I tried to avoid staring at her body, its details clearly visible beneath the fabric. Oscar looked from me to the girl and said, “Well, I’d say we’re at the right address.”
“Please, come this way,” she said, giving no indication she had heard his comment. “Your car and baggage will be stored for you for the duration of your stay. Any medicines or medical supplies you may need should come with you; otherwise, all is provided. A reminder: cameras and phones are not allowed within Eros House or on its grounds.”
“Orientation will commence in the Cherry Hall in half an hour.” She led us down a richly appointed hallway, hung with classically-inspired erotic paintings. I fixed my gaze politely on the paintings as we passed.
We walked through the hall’s open double doors into a room milling with a couple dozen people. Some clung to each other like Oscar and I did, others chatted excitedly with one another. A young man stationed inside the door checked our names off a list and handed each of us a clipboard and a pen.
“Just a little paperwork before the fun begins,” he said, flashing a clean-shaven smile, “to acknowledge the intent of your stay here, a sign-off agreeing to the house-ubiquitous safe words and house policies, and a copy of the profiles and limits each of you provided with your application.”
I reread the limits listed underneath my name. Perdita Price. No cutting, burning, piercing… I thought I felt the young man watch me as I read, and embarrassment burned my cheeks. Hastily, I scribbled my signature on the bottomof the page, thrust the clipboard towards Oscar to return, and walked several paces into the room to wait for him.
I felt the warm flush in my face—betraying me, as usual. Everyone in this room is here for the same reasons I am, I told myself. It didn’t work.
Oscar caught up with me and I took his arm. He kissed the top of my head. We strolled the room’s perimeter, making a pretence of enjoying more of the mansion’s art collection as we waited for the orientation to begin. I had a terrifying thought that Oscar might engage us in some conversation, and as if on cue a woman standing nearby turned to us and introduced herself. My eyes searched desperately for a neary bathroom exit, and saw none.
“Hi,” the woman said, “I’m Carmen. It’s our third time here—this time I’m doing Package A, my partner’s doing B. Is this your first time?”
“Yeah,” said Oscar. “My wife and I have wanted to come here ever since we heard about it. This place looks crazy!”
“Oh, just youwait,” said Carmen. “It hasn’t even started.”
I was relieved when finally the large wooden doors were shut behind the last arrival guests and, moments later, a door at the opposite end of the room swung open. The noise level in the room dropped to a hush as in strode a man, looking as if he had stepped out of the eighteenth century in a regency-era waistcoat and white cravat. Six other men and women Followed, each clad in a different blend of couture fetishware and luxe costumery.
The first man cleared his throat, and the murmuring stopped.
“Good morning,” he said, in a pleasantly modulated voice. The others fanned out beside him to face the small crowd. “I welcome you warmly to Eros House. My name is Master Aries—though some of you will address me as Sir while you are in my house. You know who you are.”
Master Aries smiled into the crowd, and I feel it the sting in it touch me.
“‘Package ‘A’ folks, you’re welcome to take a seat,” he said, gesturing witha gloved hand towards two rows of red upholstered chairs. Oscar kissed me, and with a last whisper of “I love you,” made his way towards the chairs. Don’t leave me! I thought desperately, as I watched him go.
Master Aries swept his gaze over those who remained. “The rest of you,” his voice grew playful. “…kneel.” He pointed to a dark red area rug to the left of the chair seating.
All around me, the crowd was separating into those who took the chairs and those sitting on the floor. I stood, frozen in place. I had to move or I would be the only one left standing, but if I followed the instructions I’d be obviously admitting what I was—what I wanted—in front of all these people. I couldn’t do it, I thought.
The crowd thinned as everyone took their assigned seats, until I was indeed the last one standing, wrapped with misery. Then, Master Aries looked at me. The direct eye contact sent a jolt through my body, and I couldn’t say what changed, exactly, as he held out his hand towards the red rug, but suddenly it was easy to go there. To admit it. It was ok.
I sank to my knees on the floor and looked up at him as he addressed the now seated arrivals.
“I’d like to introduce my esteemed colleagues: Mistress Agrippa. Mistress Tigerlily. Daddy Rio. Domina Velvet. Master Jonathan. And Master Black.
“You are all here for the two-week couples package, which means that for the next fourteen days you will be under our tutelage and care. For the first week, you will be temporarily separated from the person you arrived with, and each of you will be assigned to one of us as students. We will give the tops among you the tools to become commanders of the art and craft of BDSM play. And as for the ‘Package B’ folks, well…” Aries raised an eyebrow at those of us seated on the carpet. “We have much to teach you, too.”
“In the second week you’ll be reunited with your partner and you will begin practicing together, under our eye. If we’ve done our jobs right, by then the tops will be skilled players of the flesh, and the bottoms will be transformed into the plumant, willing creativity they crave to become.”
As he spoke, I eyed the lineup of the house masters, wondering which one I would be assigned to. Domina Velvet was vampish, with pale skin and dark corsetry. She smiled lazily, but her eyes were watchful. Daddy Rio was the only one who didn’t seem to be in costume, though he looked at home among his more ostentatious colleagues. There was something about Master Black that put me in mind of a vulture, and silently I hoped it would not be him.
But it was Master Aries whose presence I felt like a physical force. One or two of the others may have been handsomer, perhaps, but Aries’ voice was rich and mesmerizing, and his gaze magnetic. His hair was longish, tied at the nape of his neck, and a faith scar curved along his hairline. When the orientation drew to a close and we were shepherded onwards in our new groups, I looked back for one last glimpse of Oscar’s dark blond head before we parted ways and I left through the small door, deeper into Eros House.
Leave a Reply