Eliot ran his fingers through his hair as he rolled down the road in his 1957 Chevy pickup truck. He felt his hand shake against his scalp. Today was a bad day. Not Belgrade bad. But bad. As he drove, a small Victorian style house lit gently in red from within. He pressed his lips together in thought as he pulled the truck to a stop. He pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. "Hey man, what can you tell me about The Pearl Street Lounge?"

"It's small but good. They'll take care of you," the voice on the other line said.

"Any specific recommendations?"

"No, anybody's good there. You don't need to be anywhere tomorrow, do you?"

"Don't think so."

"Then you should be good."

"Alright, thanks, man."

"No problem."

He put the truck in park, turned it off and got out. He looked down at his clothes, a pair of dusty jeans and a navy button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He shrugged skeptically and ambled up to the door. He knocked somewhat tentatively, and seconds later, it was opened by a curvy blonde of medium height in a long, flowy, powder blue teddy. "Welcome to Pearl Street Lounge," she said in a soft sultry voice and gestured him inward. He hesitated for a moment then ventured inside.

There was a dark-haired woman in a little black dress on the conservative side standing at a small podium, the kind hostesses at high-end restaurants had. "What can I help you with, Sir?"

Eliot fought the urge to look around at the other women. He gave a half-shrug and stuttered for a little bit. The initial asking was always the hardest part. Finally, he found the best words he could, "I'm looking for...pain."

The woman gave him a smile. "Alright, we do have a few options for-"

"I'll take him," a voice said. It was both warm and authoritative at the same time. A woman in plum stepped out from behind one of the curtains the covered everything, the walls, hallways, doorways, windows. It made Eliot flinch a little bit. He'd taken inventory of the number of people in the room even though he hadn't actually looked them over, and this one wasn't there before. He blamed the curtains and not his already rattled state.

The woman at the podium, apparently she was a receptionist, looked at him curiously. "Well?" At Eliot's hesitation, she pressed. "Lady Violet has rave reviews. And she is very selective. Of course, there are other options." He tried to look closely into the eyes of the woman known as "Lady Violet" without being too obvious. She raised her eyebrow at him in...challenge?

He licked his lips. "I'll go with her," he answered, his voice oddly hoarse. She disappeared behind her curtain giving him a gentle crook of her finger, letting him know to follow her, and he did.

As soon as she passed through the curtain, she asked him, "What can I call you, darling?"

He swallowed without knowing why. "Eliot." He look around the room and saw a lot of restraints, a familiar rack of whips and another table of tools he'd also seen before. Was there a bed in here?

"Eliot," she repeated, like the name was sweet on her tongue. "What are you here for, Eliot?"

"I told the-"

"Pain, I know. But why?"

"I..." He couldn't find the answer. He was unbelievably uncomfortable and calm at the same time. He'd been asked these questions before. What was it about this woman that was getting to him?

Her hand was one his shoulder, and she swept around to face him. "You want to be punished." It wasn't the cheesy way you heard most professionals say it. It had a lilt of question, like she was reading it from him and trying to make sense of it. "You've done many bad things, and you want to be punished," she clarified.

"Yes," he answered the unasked question.

She brushed hair behind his ear. "What are your boundaries, Eliot?"

He gave half a shrug. "Don't seem to have reached them yet. I mean, I don't like electricity. And I'm not here for sex."

"And your safe word?"

"I've never used it, but it's Flor de lis."

The corners of her mouth curled in mild amusement. "Elegant. I would like you to remove your clothes, except your underwear, and fold them, please." He did as asked, already feeling a taste of the relief these experiences gave him. She took his folded clothes and placed them out of the way

"Would you like to step over to the restraints, Eliot?" She gestured over to four leather cuffs, two on the floor, two dangling from the ceiling, near the middle of the room. He gave a nod and stepped over to them. It was strange the way she spoke to him. She made requests in this soft voice. The requests had a tone of authority, an expectation to be followed, but the softness, the fact that they were requests more than demands, gave the suggestion that "No" was an option and that she would just make another suggestion.

She buckled him into the restraints with soft, cool, and nimble hands. The arm restraints were high enough to pull him onto the balls of his feet. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine."

"Good to hear. Now, I prefer to keep my sessions on the quiet side, so are you going to need a gag?"

"No, ma'am."

"As much as I appreciate the Southern manners, just answer, don't address me."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. Now, I don't want you to see what I'm going to use on you for the moment. I'll be working from behind. Is that going to be okay?"

Normally, he'd find this much checking in tedious, but with her it was comforting. She wasn't asking if he could handle things, she was trying to make sure he would get the most out of the experience. "You're not going to stick anything...inside me, are you?"

"No." There was a slight laugh in her answer.

"Then I'm good."

"Fantastic." There was quiet shuffling behind him. He heard the barely audible swish just before the flog hit his back. The were pauses between the strikes at first then they came in rapid succession all over the back side of his body, even his ass, arms and legs while most of the strikes focused on his back itself. It registered as a rather soft suede flog. It was just on this side of stinging, and of course it didn't sting bad at all. He could tolerate it for hours, days (he had), but it was a nice way to wake up the nerves. He let out a soft groan as he anticipated more pain.

She switched to a stiffer leather cat of nine tails flog. His skin was starting to get hot. The pain increased, but barely, and it was still very much tolerable.

"I need more," Eliot grunted.

"That is not up to you, Eliot, and even so, I'm sure you're aware we are just getting started. May I continue?" Lady Violet said with authority. He nodded. "Would you please give me a verbal answer?"

"Yes, you may continue," he answered slowly.

"Good." She spent some more time on him with the cat o' nine tails. She was hitting him noticeably harder, but it still wasn't near enough. "Let's see," she mused as he heard her toss it aside. There was a long silence as she selected another implement.

He cried out as he was struck hard across the back and shoulders by...a belt. This was much closer to the pain he wanted. "Yes, more," he muttered through his teeth. If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. But she did give him more, much more. He stopped counting after two dozen strikes. It felt better when he didn't count.

Suddenly, the belt was gone and her cool hands were pressing into his flesh. He tensed and squirmed and grunted. She was massaging him. It hurt, in a good way, but not in the right way. It felt good, and he didn't want to feel good. He didn't deserve to feel good. "No, stop."

Her hands left him immediately. "Normally, I would remind you that that is not your safe word, as I continued, but I believe you use 'stop' about as often as you use your safe word. Is there a problem, Eliot?"

"I said I wanted pain."

"I'm aware what you said you wanted."

"Why aren't you giving me what I asked for?" Eliot growled through his teeth.

"Because you put yourself in my hands, and that means that what you want is merely a suggestion to me," she answered, raising her voice.

"No, this isn't what I signed up for. This isn't what I wanted." He pulled at the restraints.

"You were told that-"

"Flor de lis!" he bellowed. It tasted bitter in his mouth, but at once, her hands were undoing the restraints around his wrists and then his ankles. He stepped away from said restraints and turned away from her to retrieve his clothes.

"Before you go, Eliot, you should know that I have a reputation. I strip men to their core, and we both know I don't mean physically. A man does not leave my quarters at the end of session until he is on his knees broken in ways he cannot come back from. The only time they have left prematurely is when they admittedly could not handle my methods. If you leave now, that is what they will think of you. So you have a decision to make, Eliot. You can leave with your eyes to the floor and the impression that you're a coward, or you can step back into these restraints, and let me continue."

He paused, clothes still in hand, having not changed yet. She was challenging him. Being seen as a coward by the other women didn't bother him. He could pass through here and never see them again. But he was sorely tempted by her implications to be broken. He was leaning towards the opinion that she couldn't succeed with him, but he very much wanted to see how far she could take him. Her methods didn't match any he'd seen before, even the lightweights.

He turned, looked her in the eye, and stepped back over to the restraints. She smiled and nodded in satisfaction, not hiding her smugness. "Glad to have you back, Eliot." The was she said his name sounded almost affectionate. Almost.

She stepped back and looked him over. "I guess we should pick up from where we left off...but we need to warm you back up. Before I put you in the restraints, would you be open to removing your underwear?"

"Um..."

"I'm not looking to do anything to stimulate your undercarriage, I just don't want to get anything on them." Upon seeing his widened eyes, she put a defensive hand up. "If it's too much, I will not force you." He was silent for a minute, staring intently at her face. He opened his mouth to respond then changed his mind and shook his head. She misinterpreted his head shake, and said "No worries, let me just fetch-Oh, alright then." She changed gears when he dropped troue and gave her a boyish grin.

"I must say, you have an impressive ass, Eliot. Should you ever want to step into my sexual services, we could have a lot of fun."

"So you plan on me surviving tonight?"

"Mostly." She made eye contact with him and suggested, "Would you please step over to the restraints?" He gave a nod, kicked his boxers into his hand, and handed them to her before stepping next to the restraints.

She folded his underwear and put it with the rest of his clothes before buckling him back into the restraints and disappeared behind him. He heard the sound of water. He exhaled; the sound was soothing. He heard her footsteps approaching and a warm, wet cloth was pressed between his shoulder blades. It was actually closer to hot than warm, but it felt good. She started massaging him through the warm cloth. She had amazing finger strength; he briefly wondered how she got them so strong. She was taking knots he'd had for years and melting them.

The better it felt, the worse he felt. He groaned and squirmed, but she didn't let up. Only once did she warn him that she preferred quiet but didn't reprimand him further. It was almost an hour before her hands and the hot cloth left his back.

She appeared in front of him with a glass of water. She brought the straw to his lips. "Drink slowly. And just so you know, it's lemon water." He sipped, and when he was done, she took the hot cloth to his legs and arms and spent another hour on them before giving him more water. He writhed for a while before melting. She'd let her hands slide over his rear a few times but as promised, didn't stimulate him.

As she began working his chest over, avoiding his genitals, even looking at them, he finally asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Your muscles are like bricks. You need to relax," she said matter-of-factly.

"No, I meant, I asked for pain, and you're..."

"Not treating you like a prisoner under interrogation?"

He thought back on other sessions he'd done and realized the comparison made sense. "Okay, yeah."

"Because torture doesn't work, Eliot."

He laughed. "In my line of work, I'd beg to differ."

He jerked as her nails suddenly dug into his flesh. "We're talking about my line of work." She dropped the hot cloth into the steaming bowl of water she was keeping it hot and wet with and started circling him.

She started touching him intermittently. He flinched as he recognized where she was touching; his scars. Most professionals had the courtesy to ignore them, or praise them. She saw them as they were. For a brief moment, his safe word rested behind his lips, but she made him insanely curious. He felt safe, too, or as safe as a man like him was going to feel. "In your line of work, you're trying to get can definitely be effective there, though I'm assuming it isn't so much with you."

Eliot couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I can't deny I'm pretty unbreakable."

"We'll see," she mused. "You have a wonderful laugh,, by the way."

"Thank...thank you."

She returned to his chest. He found it a little harder to breathe, but it didn't seem to have anything to with what she was doing to him. Her words circled in his mind.

She stepped away with the bowl and cloth. "I'm going to lower the restraints so that you can relax your muscles." The chains holding the cuffs on his wrists went slack, his heels sunk to the floor, and his hands drifted to his sides. He heard the clinking of the chains around his ankles losing tension. He groaned as his muscles dramatically changed position, and he felt more of the effects of the massage. "Do you feel okay?"

"Fantastic," he breathed.

"Good to hear. If you would, please get on your knees. Take it slow." As he shifted down to his knees, he heard her shuffling things behind him. As she was returning, she directed him, "Close your eyes."

He thought for a moment and closed his eyes. He jumped and sucked air through his teeth as he felt ice touch the center of his chest. He keened as the ice melted quickly against his hot skin. "Oh..."

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked quietly.

"Yes." He normally wasn't big on cold, but she had warmed him up so well, the ice felt sublime. She iced his chest, arms, legs and back, putting the ice against his skin and rubbing it around until it melted away. Then she started over at his chest again. At the second run, he started to get uncomfortable. It was no longer soothing. He felt cold and exposed in a bad way.

She was starting her third run on his chest when he, regrettably, started shaking. "Eliot, is there a problem? You're shaking."

"I'm just-just not a fan of...c-cold."

She put the ice aside. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to stop. I thought I could just power through it."

"I want you to look at me, Eliot." He squeezed his eyes shut further before opening them and looking up at her. His face was getting hot. "You can tell me you're uncomfortable without stopping the session. You know about yellow cards, right?"

He was still shivering. "I d-don't use them. I can either t-take it, or I c-can't. And I c-can take it."

She took his chin in her hand. "I do. You're not understanding me. This is not a punishment."

"It's what I came for," he responded in a low voice.

She squeezed his chin and shook it slightly. "Not from me." She started undoing the restraints on his wrists.

"No! I don't wanna stop!" He was ashamed to hear himself almost begging.

"Calm down, we're not stopping. We're changing direction."

He sighed with relief. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She undid the restraints around his ankles. "You came here straight from a job, didn't you?"

"Yes."

She turned. "Stand up and come with me please."

He followed her into another room. It turned out to be a very nice bathroom; literally, a bathroom, there was no toilets, just baths, showers, some opulent seating and tables full of fancy bottles. Everything in the room was ivory and copper, a stark contrast to the black and violet in the previous room. She stepped over to a clawfoot tub and started the water. While the water was running, she moved an ivory leather chair next to the tub and shifted a table full of bottles next to it as well. She opened a few bottles and drizzled the contents into the running water. The smell of sandalwood drifted through the air and foamy bubbles rose on the surface of the water.

She took off the sheer plum teddy that gave a glimpse of the matching sports bra and boy short underwear she had underneath. It was odd seeing such casual undergarments under such an elegant one, but he wasn't going to criticize. He then remembered he was, in fact, naked and started to feel a little insecure. "Eliot, would you like to step into the tub?" Her soothing voice quelled him.

He moved towards the tub, and asked, "Will you be joining me?"

She laid the teddy over the back of the chair. "No, I just didn't want to get the good stuff wet."

He bit back a lecherous comment and eased a foot into the tub. It was just above warm. It felt great against his chilled flesh. It seemed appropriate that it wasn't hot. It was just...nice. He sunk into the tub and rested his head against the edge of the tub. He exhaled, closing his eyes, and felt another level of relaxation melt into him. He heard a plastic click from behind him and was about to take a look when the soft sound of smooth jazz music floated through the room.

"Jazz huh?" he remarked.

She snickered as she sat herself down on the chair she set next to the tub. "You are in Louisiana, honey," she said, accentuating her drawl.

"It may not be Texas, but it's pretty damn close to home," Eliot sighed with satisfaction.

She started to hum along with the music. She dipped a plum-colored loofah in the water and started running it gently along his legs. She was scrubbing by feel, with the bubbles obscuring her vision, so he was impressed that she was thorough, but still hardly even grazed his crotch.

As she moved to his stomach, he started feeling uneasy again. "This isn't..."

"It isn't supposed to be. You're stubborn."

"It feels more like-"

"A reward? Yes."

"But-"

"You feel like you don't deserve one."

He took a deep breath. "The things I've done..."

"You feel bad for them. You've punished yourself enough. And you'll keep doing it. I will not add to it."

He looked away, running his thumb over his bottom lip. She worked on his arms, his chest, and finally his shoulders and back. He was brought from his all-too-comfortable haze when her hands and the loofah left him. She said nothing as she took the sprayer and turned on the warm water. She put her hand on his forehead to keep the water from his face and sprayed his hair down. She turned off the water and retrieved another bottle from the nearby table. She poured the thick amber fluid in her hand, and he smelled citrus. She applied the shampoo to his hair.

He exhaled heavily and bit his lip, trying to hide how he was feeling. Having his hair played with was a big thing for him. And she'd made him feel so vulnerable. Without tearing him down. Without touching him...south of the border. It seem like she lathered forever. He didn't want her to stop.

"Your hair is fantastic," she admired.

"Thank you..."

"I could just imagine...tangling my hands in it...with you writhing beneath me...as I rode you til dawn." He choked on a breath momentarily and found it hard to took in her direction. She leaned closer to him. "What do you think about that?" she asked quietly.

"It sounds...good...another time," he answered slowly.

"You really think so?" she asked, pressing for a genuine answer.

"Mmhmm."

"That's good to know," she said with a smile on her voice. She covered his forehead again and rinsed his hair. "Are you ready to get out?"

"Okay." He stood up, she put her hand on his shoulder briefly as he stepped out of the tub. She guided his towards a puffy bench upholstered in ivory leather and wrapped an enormous white, fluffy towel around him. He exhaled.

"How do you feel?"

"Foggy."

"Are you okay? Do you need-"He shook his head. "Verbal, Eliot."

"I'm fine." She patted the towel around him, drying him off. He didn't know what it was about this damn woman or her stupid towel, but he could feel himself cracking, quickly.

"Are you ready to continue?"

He nodded, then remembered her verbal rule. "Yes," he mumbled, trying to keep the distress out of his voice.

She pulled the towel down to uncover his back, but his lower half was left swaddled. Her touch left, and he heard the clinking of the jars and bottles. "This might feel the a little chilly," she warned as a rich, oily cream touched his shoulder blade...with a paintbrush? "But it should warm up rather quickly." And she was right. The cream melted against his skin, and the brush traveled across his muscles.

His body relaxed, but his mind felt like chewing gum in a blender. After a while, he heard her put down the paintbrush with finality. Her fingers pressed into him to rub the cream in further, and that was it. He sucked a gasp into his chest, and let out a shuddering breath. The sobs were dry as the tears welled but didn't fall. She waited a few minutes, massaging, before acknowledging it.

"Eliot," she said softly. It was almost a question, but only almost. He didn't respond. She kept massaging. When she got most of the cream rubbed in, she took the towel and wrapped it tightly around him to absorb the excess oil. Of course, there were other purposes. She kept her arms tight around him. "Eliot," she repeated. He shook his head. "I told you I would break you."

There was another deep breath as her meaning dawned on him. As she started to pull away, he grabbed at her arms. "No, don't...please...I..." He couldn't say it.

She patted his shoulder. "Calm down, I'm just getting you some more water."

As he sipped on the lemon water, this time with ice, she knelt in front of him and looked him over. She pushed his hair out of his face. "A man like you can never completely break. But you haven't been broken in a long time, not like this, not a good kind of broken."

He shook his head again. After a long silence, he said in realization, "There are good kinds of broken."

She smiled, such a warm smile, and looked into his eyes. "There are. Do you know the japanese art of Kintsugi?"

"I do, actually. They take broken pottery and mend it with melted gold." And Eliot smiled. The sobs were gone.

"Making it more valuable." The tears stung his eyes some more.

She took his hand. "Will you come with me?" He let her guide him. "Close your eyes." He obeyed and heard her rolling things across the floor around him. She took his hands again. "Open." He did, and she stepped aside. She had him sandwiched between two full length mirrors. "There is a lot of gold in you, Eliot." It was subtle, but he saw it. His skin had a golden glow. He looked over where he had been sitting when she applied the cream, and saw that the cream had been infused with gold. "That much gold could only come from a lot of brokenness."

He looked at her silently for a long time. "Thank you." He hugged her. "Um, have a good evening, Lady Violet."

As he began to make his exit, she grasped his arm. "Eliot, you've been here several hours. It's nearly dawn. I have to recommend you get some sleep before you leave."

He was, in fact, tired, in every way one could be tired. He nodded and she pulled him back into the first room. She pulled him to the bed he was looking for previously. She tucked him in and laid next to him.

Ninety minutes later, he woke up and got dressed. She silently watched from the bed. When he finished, she got up to escort him to the reception area. He stopped a few steps before the door. "We never discussed...payment?"

She smirked. "Next time."

"How do you know I'll come back?"

She winked. "First hit's free."

He laughed. Another silence settled in. So he kissed her, hard. And she kissed back. The kiss broke as he caught his breath. "There will be a next time," he assured her. She nodded, patted his hand, and sent him through the curtains.