Moisture immediately drenched Peter James' face as he left work on a humid Saturday evening. Not many in his father-in-law's office cared to venture to the cramped New Jersey branch, in its less than posh neighborhood, but Peter found it to be a peaceful respite from the city. Whatever plans he had made for himself were to be interrupted since Calvin, Peter's close school chum, insisted they go out for a romp. Even though he had given up the bachelor life, quite willingly, Peter knew better than to try to refuse his devilish friend. He checked his pocket watch -- Calvin was notorious for being late... among other things. Peter embraced this brief moment of quiet; it would be the evening's last. A sudden strike on his posterior pulled him from his reverie followed by his friend's maniacal laughter.
"Calvin, you're a sight for a sore arse," Peter said as he rubbed his bruised bottom.
"Only trying to prepare you for tonight's entertainment. There's more where that came from," Calvin hinted lasciviously.
"Where are you taking me?" Peter asked nervously.
"To a place you would never go without my encouragement."
"Without your force."
Calvin laughed again, undeterred by his friend's reticence. Peter couldn't help but chuckle along with those mischievous blue eyes on him. He hung his head so Calvin wouldn't notice the pink glow on his cheeks when his evil half wrapped an arm around him to urge them both toward their destination. Calvin walked, aggressively, fast so Peter felt he had to run to keep up at first. Even though Peter plied the scoundrel with questions along the way, Calvin remained mute for once. Peter was left alone with his anxious thoughts for the duration of the walk; he had no idea where they were once he realized they had stopped. He almost bumped into the prankster when Calvin abruptly stopped in front of a dimly lit, pale yellow house with black shutters, curtains, and front door. It seemed in such stark contrast with the houses on the other end of the street. Those were closer together, painted less brightly; one would only notice this house if they were looking for it. Calvin took the ornate, ebony door knocker in hand and hammered it against the wooden edifice four times slowly. Peter shot him a quizzical look, but Calvin merely wiggled his eyebrows in playful mystery.
"Good evening, gentlemen," a smooth, alto voice welcomed them.
Before them stood a middle-aged woman in a low cut, dark gray evening gown; her hair was dark as night with some silver strands that rebelled, in tight curls, from their pinned up sisters. Peter felt like he was in the presence of the Queen of the Night. When the lady of the house gestured for the men to enter, Peter gasped at the sight of her bare arms. When Calvin handed the mystery woman money, Peter became alarmed at the realization of where they might be. His mouth went dry and seemed unable to speak while instructions were given in a tiny foyer.
"Welcome to Madame Della Berteau's Bordello. I am she, the abbess, of this fine establishment and as such will tell you the rules only once. Since your friend," she indicated Calvin, "has already paid, step one is complete. Step two, you will sign your names in my book."
From betwixt Madame Della's bountiful breasts, the abbess brought out a small, leather bound book with its clasp already unlocked. She opened the book to a new page and indicated with an old-fashioned quill that they should sign.
"Why must we sign?" Peter whispered to Calvin.
"To ensure nobody squeaks to the police."
"As a gesture of goodwill, I keep my book locked and tucked away in a safe place. Beyond this foyer everyone wears masks to further ensure secrecy, not to mention heighten pleasure" Della winked at Peter as she brought out two black masks for them to tie on.
"Lastly, while this may be a brothel, I demand respect for my workers. This is a place for a specific type of pleasure and no more than that. Keep your hands to yourself, gents, and you may visit here again."
Mme Della then turned to lead them deeper into the dimly lit den of vice. Peter grew hot with nervousness, but noted how excited Calvin looked. Surely his friend wouldn't lead him into anything unsafe or unreputable. Another smack on the rump sent the message loud and clear for him to relax as they entered the parlor. A most muscular butler, clad only in skin tight undergarments, took their coats while Mme Della leaned over, suggestively, to pour each of them a brandy. At some point in the transition she had acquired a brilliant, silvery mask that exemplified why she belonged in the night sky. Peter was still fidgeting with his black, satin eye mask when the alluring abbess came around to help him.
"You act like a woman on her wedding night, Mr. James. I promise we won't hurt you. Too much," Della Berteau cackled.
"May I have my usual, Madame Della?" Calvin asked as though he were a regular visitor.
"I shall have Bram see if Dangerous Daphne is indecent for you," she said with a flick of her hand towards her aid.
"She sounds...thrilling," Peter gulped.
"Who do you think we should start him with, Madame Della? He's barely a year out of his virginal bed," Calvin chortled into his drink.
"We shall have to decide that without you, I'm afraid."
All eyes went to the stairwell as Bram the butler descended followed by a red-headed amazon clad fully in leather. A riding crop in hand, she gestured for Calvin to rise. Without a word, Calvin drained his drink, then walked towards his goddess of pain. Once at the foot of the stairs he knelt, deeply, before Dangerous Daphne, then rose with a crack of the crop. Peter yelped at the sound, then knocked back his drink for courage, as Calvin was led away by leash.
"How would you like to be punished?" Mme Della spoke softly in Peter's ear.
"Punished?"
"That is what I specialize in. For those who...enjoy pain to various levels of...roughness...with various tools...or methods. Your choice."
Mme Della Berteau poured another brandy for Peter while he sat in quiet contemplation. He had only heard whispers of places like this from his rapscallion father the morning after such base romps. While having been a husband for barely a year now, Peter still felt overwhelmed by the world of lust with its various hedonistic activities. With a final gulp of brandy, he slammed down the glass determined to enjoy himself. Even if it the thought still terrified him.
"I think I need to be broken in gently," Peter declared.
