Marquis De Sade
1st Level Blue Feather
- Joined
- Nov 21, 2007
- Messages
- 5,175
- Points
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“What we’ve got here is...failure to communicate.”
- The Captain. Cool Hand Luke.
…and if you’re listening to this right now, you must be a little confused as to what’s happening. I don’t need to be with you to know you’re afraid.
I want you to know it’s okay. It’s okay to be upset. Angry. Hurt. I want you to know it’s normal to feel something.
I know. It’s probably a little difficult for you to admit to yourself that you actually feel anything. Through all that tough, impenetrable armor you call a personality, underneath it all right now, you’re probably scared shitless.
But I’m here. With you. Sort of.
If what you’re thinking is, This is your fault. You’re the one who set this up. You’re right. But, I’m not sorry.
By the time this is all over, by the time you’re put through what you’re going to be put through, you’ll understand.
Well, I hope you do. If you don’t, well hey, it’s like what they say – sometimes you just have to do something for a good story.
So, if you’re still angry after all this is over, if you’re still seething with rage like I know you are right now, someday, you’ll laugh about all this.
I won’t be in your life, probably, but still, whatever.
I just want you to let go.
I just want you to enjoy yourself. I know. It’s going to be hard because of the type of woman you are but, you’ll see.
You’ll learn.
I’ve made sure of it...
Let’s start with what we know. Just to calm you down a little. People always say the more you know about something, the less you fear it.
Or...something.
So, let’s start with what we know. You’re right now lying, facedown, on a table. I’ve only been there once, to pay for all this, so the details might be off a little.
My instructions were to only have one ear piece in your ear. If you have two and you can’t hear anything else, I’m asking for a percentage of my money back.
But, if you can hear out your other ear, I want you to pay attention.
Really listen.
Listen close, to the sounds all around you. That little manmade waterfall, the same as every spa has, there’s a reason for that.
It’s a calming effect.
The sound of water, cascading down smooth slate polished rock and into a little bed of stone pebbles below. It’s there to calm you.
Everything here is. The same as every spa. It’s all meant to coax you into letting go. It’s all engineered to make you relax.
Force you to submit.
Okay, I should really stay away from words that’ll piss you off even more than you probably are right now. Sorry.
So, where were we? Right. Let me try and remember all this...
That little waterfall by the front desk. I know you can’t see it from the room you’re in right now, but I know you can hear it.
That little reminder of nature.
The lights in your room, those aren’t dimmers or mood lights or track lights, those are a new thing, or, new to me at least, called fiber optics.
If used correctly, shining just the right amount of light in all the right places, you should soon feel at peace.
There is no music.
Maybe a few whispers from other rooms. Of other clients saying, “Thank you” for a wonderful massage or some deep tissue relaxation technique thing that just happened.
People pay a lot of money for this sort of thing. To learn how to relax. They’re all so wound up they forget.
Those smells around you – lavender, lemongrass, sage and cinnamon – every scent is present to take you someplace else:
You’re lying in the grass, underneath the shade of your favorite tree. Your fingers are laced behind your head. Your ankles, crossed.
You’re looking up at the sky, finding the shapes of animals and faces of friends in the cotton ball clouds above you. The smell of the sea kissing your senses.
You’re on a swing, someplace where you used to play as a child. The only cares you have are whether or not there really is a Santa Claus.
You’re on vacation somewhere. Everything from your past life slipping, falling away like dust – bills, your job, your habits...
This is a new you. A better you.
The real you.
What’s about to happen to you is a combination of a few things.
Most people call it Acupressure.
This is where different areas of your body are manipulated to stimulate other parts of yourself that make up who you are.
This will be much, much more than just a massage.
Take for example, the reason why you can’t move right now. I don’t need to be with you to know that you can’t.
I asked about this. I tried to warn them about you and how much of a fighter you are. I even asked if this was the kind of place that had orderlies.
You know, those big strong guys who wear white pajama tops and loose drawstring pants as a uniform that chase mental patients down the hallways of asylums.
I had this whole idea of you being wrestled down to the floor and put in some sort of straitjacket or something.
I said, No really, you don’t know her like I do.
And they said...
Well...I couldn’t really understand what they said since it was all in a different language. Chinese or Japanese, I’m really not sure.
What I gathered though, was that they’d immobilize you using pressure points. It would take just a few seconds and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.
From what I remember, they’d ask you to strip down. Naked. This can be explained to anyone without using actual words.
Just using gestures.
Take off your shirt, your jeans, take off your shoes, those damned high heels that are so bad for your posture but look so fucking hot.
Put on a towel and lie down.
And, I’m sure you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be listening to this right now. To me on this recording. And right now, I know you don’t have much of a choice.
I hope they don’t have the volume turned up too loud.
I never really asked about how it would happen, I just know the woman who’s about to work you over pinched me in the shoulder. Just a little demonstration.
Just her index finger and her thumb – clasped over my shoulder. I know that she squeezed, gently, and that was that.
My arm went dead.
Nothing.
I couldn’t move it at all.
I don’t know how it happened exactly, maybe you can tell me later because I’d love to know, but I remember the woman showing me with hand gestures what she would do.
You’d lie down, facedown, on the padded leather massage table you’re lying on right now. You’d close your eyes because, you know, that’s what people do in those things.
Everyone in the world it seems, knows how to go through the motions. They all know how to pretend to let go.
Two quick pinches on each shoulder, probably simultaneously, and I know you weren’t able to get up again. That’s all it would take.
Both your arms, limp. Just like that.
The same thing would’ve happened to your legs immediately afterwards to make sure you couldn’t get up and run. I don’t know whereabouts she pinched you - probably someplace above the backs of your thighs. Stop the flow of energy in your legs.
Maybe she pinched your knees.
To stop your feet from moving, maybe she applied a little pressure to the tendons in your ankles.
And in under just a few seconds, I know you were probably helpless. Kept prisoner in your own beautiful body. Your brain probably screaming orders at all your muscles and them just not listening to you.
They couldn’t.
One by one, every limb, every muscle being put to sleep.
Forced to shut down.
Your arms, your stomach muscles, that finely toned set of abs you worked out and dieted so hard for, everything powering off.
Your legs, your fingers and toes, everything unplugged.
You, unplugged.
This is so much better than having to tie you down. At least I think so. This way, you know there’s no chance of you escaping.
There is no hope.
And I don’t mean that in a sadistic way. I just mean now you can really focus on what you’re about to find out is really important to you.
You can truly focus on letting go.
On learning to love what I’ve paid a lot of money for.
Now, instead of trying to untie a knot, you’re going to have to just endure this. Now, instead of waiting for just the right moment to get up and run, you’re going to have to just lie here and wait for her to decide when you’ve had enough.
Now, I know you. I know how you work Pretty Lady, and, knowing you, the poor woman probably had to stop you from talking as well.
That beautiful mouth of yours.
Those pink lips.
All those cuss words...tsk, tsk.
Her, probably having to immobilize your vocal chords so you couldn’t scream, in my opinion, is so much better than just gagging you.
This way, you won’t have to spend any time trying to form those words over a scarf tied between your teeth. You won’t have to try and make yourself understood through that ball-gag wedged in your jaws.
And besides, I’m sure you’re much more comfortable how you are right now. Lying where you are, still, perfectly motionless. That beautiful, naked body of yours, facedown, and lifeless, waiting for all its secrets to be unlocked.
Secrets you don’t even know about.
So, let’s just be clear on a few things, because I’m sure I gave the instruction to see to you after however long it might take you to listen to this.
To get this far.
And, congratulations by the way, on being so patient.
So, submissive.
Oops. There I go again.
Let’s be clear, Pretty Lady, Jessica. Let’s be clear on what’s what. You can’t move at all right now. I don’t need to be there to know that.
There is nothing, and I do mean nothing, you can do to will your muscles awake right now. Unless you can manipulate your own lifeforce, or “Chi” as some call it, you’re shit out of luck. And, I don’t believe you know how to do that yet.
You can’t speak. Try as you might and I know you are, naughty girl, you can’t and you won’t be able to utter a sound.
There is no getting out of this.
So, lie here, take it all.
Learn to let go.
I’ve taken away all your choice.
I’ve stripped you of whatever power you thought you had.
Of whatever strength you thought you possessed.
What’s going to happen to you, Pretty Lady, Jessica, is you’re about to put through something you hate.
But I’m not doing this to be a sunuvabitch.
I’m doing this because I love you.
Let’s begin...
Her name is Zhang. Or shit, I don’t know. I could be totally wrong and I’m butchering her name right now because I can’t pronounce it.
That’s what it sounded like.
Anyway, in case you can’t see her from how she has you lying down, she’s Asian. That straight, glossy long black hair you always see in hair commercials.
That same flawless skin that doesn’t age.
China Dolls.
Anyway, she’s who’s going to be your masseuse tonight.
If I remember correctly, she won’t be starting with a massage. As the brochure explained (oddly enough, written in English even though no one there seems to know any), the act of a massage is, in itself, an artificial path to enlightenment.
It’s temporary.
It’s someone else giving you pleasure. It’s someone else finding your happiness for you and bringing it back to you.
It’s cheating.
What’s about to happen to you, in just a few seconds perhaps, well, you’ll have to learn how to find pleasure on your own without it being given to you.
There is, people say, no substitute.
When you find that peace within yourself, I’ve heard, you’ll never be the same. My Pretty Lady, my Jessica, look at you, you’ll be forever changed.
Isn’t that a good thing?
I don’t know exactly whereabouts she’s starting on you right now but I don’t have to be there to know what she’s doing.
Looking up Acupressure, I know she’s right now reawakening all your senses except movement. She’s focused on arousing your sense of touch.
Your sense of feeling.
Unless I’m wrong, she should be right now massaging what they call your “Jing.” This is a rebalancing of your Ying and your Yang.
She’s restoring what they call your “Meridian.”
This, basically, is sort of like replacing your battery. And, after just a few minutes of her stimulating the tips of your fingers...
...and right now the pads of your toes...
You should feel like a million bucks.
There now, isn’t that so much better? I hope you feel good. According to this, you should feel like you have a brand new body, inside and out.
Every nerve, wide awake, alive, ready and crackling.
All your senses, flooded with so much all at once. In fact, you not being able to move right now is probably a good thing.
Especially because of what happens next.
If I remember correctly, the woman who’s working on you right now, she’s been doing this sort of thing for years. She’s an expert.
She’ll find what she’s looking for.
All those sensitive places on that smoldering body of yours, she’ll find each and every one by locating what they call your “Shu-Stream.”
This is where the Chi, all that wonderful radiant lifeforce of yours is flowing in one direction. Her hands, right now rubbing against your skin.
Soft. Slow.
Gentle.
Up and down the smooth skin of your back, up and down your spine. The middle of your back. The groove right between your shoulder blades.
Her hands, now becoming her nails.
Becoming one nail.
One nail, manicured and shiny like you see in nail polish commercials, dragging down slow and precise, slow and deliberate...
...right down the center of your spine. Right down the groove between your shoulder blades.
And unless I’m wrong, she must’ve found something.
And I know you, I know. You want to scream. You want to cry out or at least raise your arms up and pound your fists into the padded table.
You want to thrash your legs about behind you because you. Just. Can’t. Stand. This. But, you can’t move. You can’t even twitch.
And I know. It’s killing you.
It’s okay. I promise you’ll get used to it.
She won’t stop until you do.
There’s your Shu-Stream and then there’s your Ju-River. This is where little pools of what she’s looking for collect in certain places.
Energy, lifeforce, Chi.
I don’t know if she can see these, or feel these but it makes no difference. I know you can feel them and that’s all that matters.
I could be off, but her nails should right now be digging into all those places I love so much. All those places that make you squeal.
She’s finding them, all of them, one by one.
The back of your neck, I can imagine her nails, those sharp, manicured nails being dragged down the soft skin of your neck.
The fine, fine hairs on your neck standing up in reaction. Her nail just barely making contact and twirling in light, tiny little Zen garden circles.
The equivalent of someone blowing on you. Making you want to hunch your shoulders and cringe. Make that hissing sound through your teeth.
I know you can blink your eyes. I know you’re probably blinking them real hard right now. I know because this is what you do when I pin you down.
When you tie you down.
Pretty Lady, Jessica, isn’t this so much better? You just lying here, unable to shy away from the sensation of touch.
Of pleasure.
You’ll see. You’ll learn to enjoy this. I promise.
Or perhaps, more importantly, before things get any worse for you, maybe you should promise yourself.
Go ahead, find some pleasure in this. You kind of have to now.
Sorry.
I’m taking a wild guess here but you should be getting chills right about now. This is an unfortunate side-effect of having your Xi-Cleft places stirred.
Those places where your blood flows. Those sensitive, ticklish places on that body of yours. The insides of your arms, the palms of your upturned hands, the sides and underneath of your ass.
That beautiful, beautifully shaped butt of yours.
Zhang’s hands, and tell me later if I’m wrong, circling, trailing nails all over your body and making you want to groan.
Making you want to moan and cry out and bite your lower lip.
Her nails tickling the smooth, tight skin of your back just below where your shoulder blades resemble folded angel’s wings.
Her nails dragging up the channel of your spine. Tickling like spiders, dozens of them scrambling lightly all over your back.
Tickling the insides of your arms.
Her one nail running circles against the lines of your palm.
Those beautiful hands of yours.
And I know, Sweet Thing, you can let it all out when you get home. You can scream and cry and bawl as much as you want to for me making this happen.
For doing this to you.
Right now, and someday maybe you’ll figure this out, you’ll realize it was all worth it. All this tickling. All this, torture.
You’ll love it. Every gentle stroke.
You don’t, but trust me.
My best guess is, because you’re facedown right now, Zhang probably won’t want to flip you onto your back just yet.
Don’t take this as an insult, but you’re a lot of deadweight right now no matter how light you think you are.
So, I guess consider yourself lucky she probably won’t be tickling any places on your front just yet. No finding your Jiquan, your Oingling or your Shaohai.
Yet.
What she’s probably noticed, right about now, are the soles of your bare feet. How they’re upturned and just slightly hanging off the edge of the table.
I know, I know. In your head right now, I can’t even begin to imagine how loud you’re being. All those cuss words and death threats and God knows what else.
I know your feet are two of the worst places and you’ll hate me for it but hey, I’ve gone this far, might as well go all the way.
Besides, what’re you going to do about it?
Let me guess, she’s probably gripped a hand around your ankle. Could be your right foot, could be your left foot, whichever it is, I’m sure she’s stopped.
For just a second.
You can’t see it right now, because of how you’re laying but, she probably has that same look in her eyes she had when I showed her a picture of you.
Me, pointing at the picture and saying, “Jess-i-ca.” Me saying, “This is the girl I’m sending here.”
Me saying to them, “This is the girl I want you to torture.”
I know, I’m being dramatic but hey, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble and spent a lot of money to do this to you so I can pretend I’m in a movie all I want.
And no, it’s nothing to do with the money.
This is about what I’m guessing is running through Zhang’s head right now. How I’m sure she’s noticed every part of you – from the top of your head to the soles of your feet – is just so damn fucking beautiful.
Her, holding onto your ankle, lifting your lifeless limp leg up off the table so she can properly examine what she’s about to torture and admiring its beauty.
Those beautifully, perfectly shaped bare feet.
Those suckable toes.
The shape, the arch, the natural curves. The smoothness and softness of your soles. Everything about your feet saying, “Fuck the rest of my body. But start down here.”
Come on, you know I’ve always had a thing for your feet. Drives me fucking crazy and you know they do. You with those patterned silk screened nylon ankle socks.
Your high heels.
Your pedicures and anklets and...
Oops, oh well, nevermind. I’ve rambled on for too long.
I’m sure right about now she’s cleared her throat, gone back to being a professional. She’s probably laid your leg back down. Put it back where it was.
Your left leg right next to your right leg. Your ankles a few inches apart from each other and each bare foot hanging just slightly off the edge of the table and showing off the curves of each foot. Slightly splaying your toes apart.
I don’t know, I could be wrong, I don’t know exactly what’s happening right now but she’s probably lifting your foot up, just a little this time.
Just a little cupping of her hands on the top of your foot to flex it back a bit more and show off your arch even further.
That smooth, beautiful, flawless arch of yours.
And, yeah, here we go, there’s that nail.
There’s that nail running down the length of your foot. Right along the side. I’m just guessing here of course, but that is what controls your circulation.
Her nail, following the natural curve of your arch – up, smooth, smooth, smooth, and back down again, slow, gentle, smooth, precise, and excruciating I’m sure.
Poor Pretty Lady, poor Jessica. I know. You’re probably wanting so damn bad right now to just jerk your leg away. To kick.
To maybe just swing your legs away and dropkick this woman in the face. I know how hard this must be for you. Poor thing.
Poor, sweet little thing just laying where you are and having to not do anything while this woman works your foot over.
Tickling your sole. That smooth, soft bare sole of yours.
That small, beautiful little foot.
Her, lifting your foot up just a little and scuttling her nails along the ball of your foot. The area that makes your heart beat faster.
And faster.
Her nail, finding all the right spots on the bottom of your sole and making sure she doesn’t miss an inch.
The bottom of your heel. That smooth, round heel of yours. Her nails tickling over and around and along the sides of it. Her nail going in circles one way, then the other way, right into the skin. Deep. Leaving marks.
Then gently.
Then fast. Then slow.
Then your arch itself. The inside. The part that always makes you make that wailing sound. You know the one. From someplace deep, deep in your guts.
Deep, like you’re someplace else.
Her hand, twisting your ankle slightly to angle your foot and making it easier for her to run her nail, scratch, at the soft, sensitive skin.
That beautiful sole of yours, that beautiful foot, a shade lighter than the rest of your tanned everything else.
Her nail now, angled and running down the center of your foot. Right down the very middle of it. This usually makes you want to explode.
Scream at least.
Cry and howl and struggle against whatever I’ve had to use to restrain you. Swear at me and tell me all about your plans for revenge.
Isn’t this so much nicer?
Poor thing. Her switching now, to the outside curve of your foot. Her nail trailing slow and practiced up and along the outside bend of your arch.
The soft skin up and along the arc of your foot.
I know. I know, but she hasn’t even gotten to your toes yet.
You know what, just for fun, because I know she’s been doing this for years now and she’s a professional and all that, but I’m sure, I’m sure every once in a while she’ll come across someone like you.
Someone so full of life. Of lifeforce.
All this trapped potential just screaming to be let out.
To be toyed with.
I’m just guessing here, but she might’ve right now switched feet. You know, a just to fuck with you sort of thing.
And I know. You’re probably screaming in your head right now. Seething with blinded rage and exhilaration and hatred and passion and humiliation and lust all at once.
You, screaming in your head, “FUCKING BITCH STOP!! FUCKING STOP IT PLEASE!! FUCKING HELL NOT THE OTHER FOOT PLEASE!!
FUCKING PLEEEEEEASE!!”
You, screaming and pleading in your head, “WHATEVER HE PAID YOU PEOPLE TO DO THIS TO ME I’LL DOUBLE IT!! I’LL FUCKING TRIPLE IT FUCK NO. FUCK. PLEA - FUCK. PLEASE NO DON’T DO THIS TO ME. FUCKING PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME!!”
You, screaming and crying and shouting in your head, “THIS ISN’T FAIR!! JUST LET ME UP! PLEASE FUCKING LET ME UP!! LET ME MOVE!! PLEASE JUST LET ME MOOOVE!!”
You, crying, sobbing now. Probably real tears welling up in those beautiful hazel shined eyes of yours, your vision clouded, sniffing, bawling, “PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!! PLEASE NOT MY OTHER FOOT!!”
I’m not one for an impression of how you laugh, but I do love hearing it. It gives me such a sonic rush. Such a high I can’t even tell you.
And once all those screams and cries and pleas are ripped clean away from you, once all of your fears and self-implicated protections are stripped away, it’s nothing left but the pure liberated resonance of someone who’s completely, and utterly, free.
Free of everything, of everyone including themselves.
Us, always getting in our own ways.
Always cutting off our own Chi’s and wondering, What’s the right thing to say. To do. To behave. All these masks and shields and social rituals and should’ves and could’ves.
Here, now, what’s happening to you is your being cleansed.
You’re being stripped truly naked.
So, dear sweet Pretty Lady, Jessica, get past all that. Get past your useless words and language. Get past your tears. Tear through every emotion you have until you get to what’s real. Rip down to everything until you find what’s pure.
Get past all that anger and hate and love and find out what’s really inside you. Find out what you’re really, truly made of.
The fabric of You.
Go ahead, Sweet Thing, let it all out. Let it all go.
Just be.
What I’m doing, Jess, is introducing you, for the first time, to your own soul.
Zhang’s not going to stop until you at least say Hi.
I don’t know how long it’s been...
I may be jumping the gun here by continuing to speak but hey, I figure it took her however long it took her to tickle whichever foot she started with...
So...
She’s probably working your toes over now.
And wow. I can only imagine. I mean, I know all the right places – the pads of your toes and how tickling each one will produce a different reaction.
Your big toe, circling just a single nail into a swirly pattern will make you giggle. And my God do I love that cute sound you make when I drive it out of you.
Then I move onto your second toe. I have to pinch it still so you can’t wriggle it or any of your others around much. My finger, my one nail just tickling them all from your big toes down to your cute little baby toes like piano keys.
It’s like that saying – tickling the ivories.
Ah, hell, you’re probably not even paying attention to me right now. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I know how much you must be hating this.
Hopefully soon, you’ll be making some breakthroughs.
Maybe after she applies enough gentle pressure to the ball of your foot, whichever foot she’s working on right now. You know, just a thumb, pressed down in the middle of the top of your arch to spread all your toes out.
Now she can probably see what happens if she tickles underneath each toe. Just right below the pad of each one.
Right in between.
Your big toe, your second, third and forth toe, your little toe.
Then, switch feet.
Then, tickling whatever she missed.
Your ankles.
The backs of your heels.
The bottoms.
Tickling hard and soft and fast and slow and...
Oh, I’m sorry. I should give you a little rest from me. All that wonderful forced out silent screaming sound in your head right now.
How can you possible hear me?
There now. How do you feel sweetheart? No doubt she’s probably flipped you over by now. She might’ve used help. I’m not sure.
I’m just guessing because Zhang’s a small girl. Like most Asians.
Small, cute.
I’m sorry. I know. But hey, she is. So are you. Especially like how I’m guess you are right now.
You, lying on your back, looking up.
Looking up at the ceiling or looking up at heaven and praying to angels to make this stop, I can’t tell.
In any case, I love how you look naked. Those beautiful breasts of yours, small but just big and full and round enough to lean to either side of you when you’re on your back.
Your chest, I know you must be breathing hard. All that hyperventilating. It’s bad enough when I tickle you, I can’t imagine the damage an expert has done.
But, I’m not sorry. You’re just however closer you are right now to finding what you might’ve lost within yourself.
Remember now, I’m doing all this because I love you.
So let’s see. Let’s start with what we know. You’re lying there, on your back. Moved from facedown so you must have table marks on your cheeks which probably make you look even more flushed.
You, with movie sex scene sweat in all the right places on your face, your body from all that awful foot tickling. Dripping off you. Beads, rolling down your face.
Your chest, heaving up and down. Your breasts rising and falling up and sideways just slightly. Your breath, coming through, going in, soft, fast, quiet.
You blinking your eyes and looking around, probably finding Zhang standing over you and smiling. She’s trying to comfort you I’m sure.
In all her years of this sort of therapy, this special form of Ashiatsu, I’m sure she’s seen many people, many expressions.
All her clients brought here by their loved ones to save relationships and marriages or as a special gift, all of them with that same look in their eyes.
I can only imagine that look on yours, Jessica. Those big eyes of yours calling out for mercy. Pleading for some sort of stop to all this.
Demanding with your eyes for an explanation I’ve already given you.
This strong willed, spirited woman. This flawless body of yours laid out and naked in more ways than one. Lying out, helpless. Vulnerable.
Submissive.
Yeah, I said it Jess. You just lay there until you see the You that I see in you. The You I’m totally, through-and-through head-over-heels madly love with.
Are you ready for some upper body?
Looking this up, this Acupressure Ashiatsu thing, it doesn’t say where she’ll start but it does say that your Shenmen is connected to your heart Meridian.
This is the crease of your wrist and at any second now, after a little gentle rubbing, you should start to feel this warm, soothing sensation wash over you from the inside.
This is your heart beating a little faster, like before, but flooding all your special Chi channels with everything she’ll need.
You know. All those usual places like your sides and your stomach and those abs of yours. You know, that thin sheath of skin by your pelvic bone.
And yes, I could be wrong, but I’m also guessing you’re feeling something tingling right now between your legs.
You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend.
Now, you’re not more ticklish. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just right now much more sensitive. Much more open to any sort of stimulus.
God, wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could fix you to stay like this?
Anyway, the good thing is now that you’re on your back, you can watch Zhang at work. You can watch her do what she’s been trained to.
You know that look in her eyes, those beautiful Asian eyes of eyes darting from one place on your body to the next, to another. Almost like she’s in a trance.
She’s finding all your weak spots.
Finding one...right...I’m going to say your collar bone. That smooth, smooth skin of your collar bone. I’ve always loved how graceful that part of you makes you look.
Like, regal, almost.
Her nail, probably right now trailing along the edge of your bone. From left to right and down the middle. Tickling, tickling and just gently, gracefully, skating that one nail over your skin and causing your nerve endings to light up.
In your head, just gritted imaginary teeth and growling I’m sure.
In your head, with her nails scuttling down your chest and circling her nails around and over and across those beautiful breasts of yours, just a whole lot of shouting.
You, thrashing about the table, all in your head.
You, shaking all that wonderful dark hair from side to side.
You, violently pounding at the table and struggling in your own body. Struggling to get out. To escape. To move.
Her fingers, I’m going to say, just her left hand – scratching gently down the side of your body from under your arm, slowly down
down
down
your side and across your lower abs. That smooth round little bump of muscle above your waistline and making your convulse in your own imagination.
Her other hand, her right hand, slowly drawing lines underneath the curve of your left breast. One line from right to left. Her finger dragging sideways.
From right to left.
From right to left.
Then back again. Left to right.
Then left to right.
Then pinching your nipple. Then tickling your nipple. The edges. Making it harden. Stiff. Your body reacting to this unlocking.
Her other hand, just her nails dancing across your stomach. Swirling circles and scratching, lightly, gently at the edges of your belly button.
Tickling inside.
Tickling around it. Tickling your abs one by one and all in between them. Tickling the inner shape of your front. That silhouette of another figure on your stomach and chest.
The kind you get when you really work out.
And you, poor sweet Jessica, Pretty Lady, you’ve worked so hard. You look so strong and tough and formidable.
You look so fucking hot.
Zhang’s just tickling all this away, isn’t she? This false self-image. The real you. The you inside, you shouldn’t have to work at.
Your Self, your I, it’s perfect just the way it is.
Sexy Girl, Jessica, have you found Her yet?
I’m going to stand a few feet away from the mic now while I do this impression of you. I don’t want to hurt your ears or anything.
Later on you can tell me where I went wrong but I’m guessing she’s moved your arms up by now. Lifted them up above your head so your arms hang off the edge of the table.
Those smooth, waxed underarms...
Oh yeah...
So, in your head you’re probably like…
“OH MY FUCKING GOD FUCKING STOP IT!! YOU FUCKING ASIAN **** YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FUC---”
Am I right? Am I right? Like I said, I don’t want to do an impression of you laughing because my voice doesn’t go that high.
God, all those high pitched screams and squeals.
Making my ears hurt just imagining them.
Wait, let me try again.
“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE STOOOOOOOOP-STOP-STAAAAAAAAAAAP IT MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!”
Am I close?
Okay, I know. I’m just being a jerk now. I’m sorry Love. I just always know tickling your armpits makes you really laugh. Like you’re enjoying it.
I know you can’t stand it having it done to your feet but there was always something about how tickling you under the arms made you laugh that I love.
So much.
All that wonderful, happy, bubbling laughter coming up from God knows where. I don’t hear it that much and I miss it.
Tickling that smooth skin. Taking one nail, and Zhang’s probably doing this right now, just one nail and sliding it sloooow across the inside curve of your underarm.
You know, that muscle part. That smooth edge.
Making you almost cackle with laughter. I’m sure, if you could move right now you’d be all over the place flopping and crashing about everywhere.
That beautiful body just having a carefree fit that looks like a seizure.
Her nails, drawing circles from smaller, just around your belly button now and getting bigger and bigger, up and out across your front.
Across your breasts and your chest. The middle of your breastplate. That smooth skin. Up across your collar bone and back down...
...and up your sides again, tickling all your ribs as she moves her fingers, gliding them across your body.
All up to your armpits again and then digging in.
Like, DIGGING IN. Real deep. Making your shriek and howl. If you could move right now, you’d just be losing it.
Just going apeshit.
Good thing you can’t, right?
Yeah, I like you like this.
Nothing you can do about it. You just lying there, lying still, forced to endure this for however long it takes her.
Zhang, tickling your armpits and the insides of your arms and the crooks of your elbows. All that wonderful ticklish, sensitive skin and Chi flowing right underneath it.
Pooling in places.
Your stomach, your abs. Your ribs and sides and your waistline. Her nails tickling the skin just above – slicing from left to right.
Then down, down and tickling your pelvic bones. The tight skin between where your thighs start. Right next to your vagina.
Hold on hon, I need a moment...
God, I would really fucking LOVE to be there with you right now.
Or hey, maybe I’m just saying that to throw you off because maybe I’m on my way right now, ready to take you home.
Might have to re-think that putting you in straitjacket idea first again before I ask Zhang to allow you to move again. You know, just in case you’re REALLY pissed off.
I don’t see how you could be though. Not right now anyway.
Not with Zhang probably working your legs right now. Probably tickling the insides of your thighs. Those, long, beautiful legs of yours.
Being tortured.
Being tickled.
Her nails flowing in the direction of whatever only she sees, slow and precise, along the insides of both thighs.
Those fucking beautiful legs of yours.
Her nails then switching direction and going against the current. Driving you insane.
Propping your legs up on the table, ticking the backs of your knees and squeezing your calf muscles hard, gentle, HARD, gentle, tickling
scratching
clawing
pinching at your lower leg muscles and thigh muscles and tickling your kneecaps and smooth places like your shins.
Her nails like water trickling down your legs.
Naturally, this leads her down again, to your feet. Your feet, now right side up and exposed and ready all over again like the rest of you.
Zhang just working you all kinds of ways in all kinds of places.
Making you scream. Making you cry. Making you laugh and find yourself.
Find inside, somewhere, my gift to you.
The gift, of You.
The funny thing is, with three thousand nerve endings all lit up like Christmas lights in just your feet, I’m willing to bet she’s probably taking advantage of this.
Her holding your one leg up, resting your ankle on her shoulder and reaching with her other hand and tickling different places on that fucking crazy beautiful foot.
Making you feel it in other places on and in your body.
On your skin.
Underneath.
The crackling sparks and electric fault line splinters of sensation surging all through you from the soft sole of your foot through the rest of your reawakened body.
Your sciatic nerve detonating and coursing nothing but pure feeling through all your swollen veins. Your brain, lighting up and shutting down at the same time.
I don’t remember how, I don’t remember when, but they told me that this could and would happen. What you’re feeling right now.
Between your legs.
That feeling, you know the one, it’s coming isn’t it?
It’s coming hard, fast, it’s fucking throbbing and throwing off all your senses and everything you thought you knew all at this right now very second making you...
Twitch.
Making you jump.
For real.
I don’t have to be with you to know you’re orgasming right now. To know you’re fucking cumming your brains out and you just. Can’t. Help. It.
Can you?
It won’t stop. The feeling. Right now flooding your muscles with so much blood and lifeforce and Chi and whatever else, you’re moving on that table for real.
Just slightly.
And this, dear, sweet, Jessica, is Pleasure.
This is real.
This is Pleasure in its purest, purest form.
This, Lady Love, is what I wanted for you.
My gift.
This is what you are to me. What you’re feeling, right now, everywhere, crashing through every thought, every fiber of your being, every memory, is how much I love you.
Now then, wasn’t this worth it?
--------------------------------------------------------------
- The Captain. Cool Hand Luke.
…and if you’re listening to this right now, you must be a little confused as to what’s happening. I don’t need to be with you to know you’re afraid.
I want you to know it’s okay. It’s okay to be upset. Angry. Hurt. I want you to know it’s normal to feel something.
I know. It’s probably a little difficult for you to admit to yourself that you actually feel anything. Through all that tough, impenetrable armor you call a personality, underneath it all right now, you’re probably scared shitless.
But I’m here. With you. Sort of.
If what you’re thinking is, This is your fault. You’re the one who set this up. You’re right. But, I’m not sorry.
By the time this is all over, by the time you’re put through what you’re going to be put through, you’ll understand.
Well, I hope you do. If you don’t, well hey, it’s like what they say – sometimes you just have to do something for a good story.
So, if you’re still angry after all this is over, if you’re still seething with rage like I know you are right now, someday, you’ll laugh about all this.
I won’t be in your life, probably, but still, whatever.
I just want you to let go.
I just want you to enjoy yourself. I know. It’s going to be hard because of the type of woman you are but, you’ll see.
You’ll learn.
I’ve made sure of it...
Let’s start with what we know. Just to calm you down a little. People always say the more you know about something, the less you fear it.
Or...something.
So, let’s start with what we know. You’re right now lying, facedown, on a table. I’ve only been there once, to pay for all this, so the details might be off a little.
My instructions were to only have one ear piece in your ear. If you have two and you can’t hear anything else, I’m asking for a percentage of my money back.
But, if you can hear out your other ear, I want you to pay attention.
Really listen.
Listen close, to the sounds all around you. That little manmade waterfall, the same as every spa has, there’s a reason for that.
It’s a calming effect.
The sound of water, cascading down smooth slate polished rock and into a little bed of stone pebbles below. It’s there to calm you.
Everything here is. The same as every spa. It’s all meant to coax you into letting go. It’s all engineered to make you relax.
Force you to submit.
Okay, I should really stay away from words that’ll piss you off even more than you probably are right now. Sorry.
So, where were we? Right. Let me try and remember all this...
That little waterfall by the front desk. I know you can’t see it from the room you’re in right now, but I know you can hear it.
That little reminder of nature.
The lights in your room, those aren’t dimmers or mood lights or track lights, those are a new thing, or, new to me at least, called fiber optics.
If used correctly, shining just the right amount of light in all the right places, you should soon feel at peace.
There is no music.
Maybe a few whispers from other rooms. Of other clients saying, “Thank you” for a wonderful massage or some deep tissue relaxation technique thing that just happened.
People pay a lot of money for this sort of thing. To learn how to relax. They’re all so wound up they forget.
Those smells around you – lavender, lemongrass, sage and cinnamon – every scent is present to take you someplace else:
You’re lying in the grass, underneath the shade of your favorite tree. Your fingers are laced behind your head. Your ankles, crossed.
You’re looking up at the sky, finding the shapes of animals and faces of friends in the cotton ball clouds above you. The smell of the sea kissing your senses.
You’re on a swing, someplace where you used to play as a child. The only cares you have are whether or not there really is a Santa Claus.
You’re on vacation somewhere. Everything from your past life slipping, falling away like dust – bills, your job, your habits...
This is a new you. A better you.
The real you.
What’s about to happen to you is a combination of a few things.
Most people call it Acupressure.
This is where different areas of your body are manipulated to stimulate other parts of yourself that make up who you are.
This will be much, much more than just a massage.
Take for example, the reason why you can’t move right now. I don’t need to be with you to know that you can’t.
I asked about this. I tried to warn them about you and how much of a fighter you are. I even asked if this was the kind of place that had orderlies.
You know, those big strong guys who wear white pajama tops and loose drawstring pants as a uniform that chase mental patients down the hallways of asylums.
I had this whole idea of you being wrestled down to the floor and put in some sort of straitjacket or something.
I said, No really, you don’t know her like I do.
And they said...
Well...I couldn’t really understand what they said since it was all in a different language. Chinese or Japanese, I’m really not sure.
What I gathered though, was that they’d immobilize you using pressure points. It would take just a few seconds and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.
From what I remember, they’d ask you to strip down. Naked. This can be explained to anyone without using actual words.
Just using gestures.
Take off your shirt, your jeans, take off your shoes, those damned high heels that are so bad for your posture but look so fucking hot.
Put on a towel and lie down.
And, I’m sure you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be listening to this right now. To me on this recording. And right now, I know you don’t have much of a choice.
I hope they don’t have the volume turned up too loud.
I never really asked about how it would happen, I just know the woman who’s about to work you over pinched me in the shoulder. Just a little demonstration.
Just her index finger and her thumb – clasped over my shoulder. I know that she squeezed, gently, and that was that.
My arm went dead.
Nothing.
I couldn’t move it at all.
I don’t know how it happened exactly, maybe you can tell me later because I’d love to know, but I remember the woman showing me with hand gestures what she would do.
You’d lie down, facedown, on the padded leather massage table you’re lying on right now. You’d close your eyes because, you know, that’s what people do in those things.
Everyone in the world it seems, knows how to go through the motions. They all know how to pretend to let go.
Two quick pinches on each shoulder, probably simultaneously, and I know you weren’t able to get up again. That’s all it would take.
Both your arms, limp. Just like that.
The same thing would’ve happened to your legs immediately afterwards to make sure you couldn’t get up and run. I don’t know whereabouts she pinched you - probably someplace above the backs of your thighs. Stop the flow of energy in your legs.
Maybe she pinched your knees.
To stop your feet from moving, maybe she applied a little pressure to the tendons in your ankles.
And in under just a few seconds, I know you were probably helpless. Kept prisoner in your own beautiful body. Your brain probably screaming orders at all your muscles and them just not listening to you.
They couldn’t.
One by one, every limb, every muscle being put to sleep.
Forced to shut down.
Your arms, your stomach muscles, that finely toned set of abs you worked out and dieted so hard for, everything powering off.
Your legs, your fingers and toes, everything unplugged.
You, unplugged.
This is so much better than having to tie you down. At least I think so. This way, you know there’s no chance of you escaping.
There is no hope.
And I don’t mean that in a sadistic way. I just mean now you can really focus on what you’re about to find out is really important to you.
You can truly focus on letting go.
On learning to love what I’ve paid a lot of money for.
Now, instead of trying to untie a knot, you’re going to have to just endure this. Now, instead of waiting for just the right moment to get up and run, you’re going to have to just lie here and wait for her to decide when you’ve had enough.
Now, I know you. I know how you work Pretty Lady, and, knowing you, the poor woman probably had to stop you from talking as well.
That beautiful mouth of yours.
Those pink lips.
All those cuss words...tsk, tsk.
Her, probably having to immobilize your vocal chords so you couldn’t scream, in my opinion, is so much better than just gagging you.
This way, you won’t have to spend any time trying to form those words over a scarf tied between your teeth. You won’t have to try and make yourself understood through that ball-gag wedged in your jaws.
And besides, I’m sure you’re much more comfortable how you are right now. Lying where you are, still, perfectly motionless. That beautiful, naked body of yours, facedown, and lifeless, waiting for all its secrets to be unlocked.
Secrets you don’t even know about.
So, let’s just be clear on a few things, because I’m sure I gave the instruction to see to you after however long it might take you to listen to this.
To get this far.
And, congratulations by the way, on being so patient.
So, submissive.
Oops. There I go again.
Let’s be clear, Pretty Lady, Jessica. Let’s be clear on what’s what. You can’t move at all right now. I don’t need to be there to know that.
There is nothing, and I do mean nothing, you can do to will your muscles awake right now. Unless you can manipulate your own lifeforce, or “Chi” as some call it, you’re shit out of luck. And, I don’t believe you know how to do that yet.
You can’t speak. Try as you might and I know you are, naughty girl, you can’t and you won’t be able to utter a sound.
There is no getting out of this.
So, lie here, take it all.
Learn to let go.
I’ve taken away all your choice.
I’ve stripped you of whatever power you thought you had.
Of whatever strength you thought you possessed.
What’s going to happen to you, Pretty Lady, Jessica, is you’re about to put through something you hate.
But I’m not doing this to be a sunuvabitch.
I’m doing this because I love you.
Let’s begin...
Her name is Zhang. Or shit, I don’t know. I could be totally wrong and I’m butchering her name right now because I can’t pronounce it.
That’s what it sounded like.
Anyway, in case you can’t see her from how she has you lying down, she’s Asian. That straight, glossy long black hair you always see in hair commercials.
That same flawless skin that doesn’t age.
China Dolls.
Anyway, she’s who’s going to be your masseuse tonight.
If I remember correctly, she won’t be starting with a massage. As the brochure explained (oddly enough, written in English even though no one there seems to know any), the act of a massage is, in itself, an artificial path to enlightenment.
It’s temporary.
It’s someone else giving you pleasure. It’s someone else finding your happiness for you and bringing it back to you.
It’s cheating.
What’s about to happen to you, in just a few seconds perhaps, well, you’ll have to learn how to find pleasure on your own without it being given to you.
There is, people say, no substitute.
When you find that peace within yourself, I’ve heard, you’ll never be the same. My Pretty Lady, my Jessica, look at you, you’ll be forever changed.
Isn’t that a good thing?
I don’t know exactly whereabouts she’s starting on you right now but I don’t have to be there to know what she’s doing.
Looking up Acupressure, I know she’s right now reawakening all your senses except movement. She’s focused on arousing your sense of touch.
Your sense of feeling.
Unless I’m wrong, she should be right now massaging what they call your “Jing.” This is a rebalancing of your Ying and your Yang.
She’s restoring what they call your “Meridian.”
This, basically, is sort of like replacing your battery. And, after just a few minutes of her stimulating the tips of your fingers...
...and right now the pads of your toes...
You should feel like a million bucks.
There now, isn’t that so much better? I hope you feel good. According to this, you should feel like you have a brand new body, inside and out.
Every nerve, wide awake, alive, ready and crackling.
All your senses, flooded with so much all at once. In fact, you not being able to move right now is probably a good thing.
Especially because of what happens next.
If I remember correctly, the woman who’s working on you right now, she’s been doing this sort of thing for years. She’s an expert.
She’ll find what she’s looking for.
All those sensitive places on that smoldering body of yours, she’ll find each and every one by locating what they call your “Shu-Stream.”
This is where the Chi, all that wonderful radiant lifeforce of yours is flowing in one direction. Her hands, right now rubbing against your skin.
Soft. Slow.
Gentle.
Up and down the smooth skin of your back, up and down your spine. The middle of your back. The groove right between your shoulder blades.
Her hands, now becoming her nails.
Becoming one nail.
One nail, manicured and shiny like you see in nail polish commercials, dragging down slow and precise, slow and deliberate...
...right down the center of your spine. Right down the groove between your shoulder blades.
And unless I’m wrong, she must’ve found something.
And I know you, I know. You want to scream. You want to cry out or at least raise your arms up and pound your fists into the padded table.
You want to thrash your legs about behind you because you. Just. Can’t. Stand. This. But, you can’t move. You can’t even twitch.
And I know. It’s killing you.
It’s okay. I promise you’ll get used to it.
She won’t stop until you do.
There’s your Shu-Stream and then there’s your Ju-River. This is where little pools of what she’s looking for collect in certain places.
Energy, lifeforce, Chi.
I don’t know if she can see these, or feel these but it makes no difference. I know you can feel them and that’s all that matters.
I could be off, but her nails should right now be digging into all those places I love so much. All those places that make you squeal.
She’s finding them, all of them, one by one.
The back of your neck, I can imagine her nails, those sharp, manicured nails being dragged down the soft skin of your neck.
The fine, fine hairs on your neck standing up in reaction. Her nail just barely making contact and twirling in light, tiny little Zen garden circles.
The equivalent of someone blowing on you. Making you want to hunch your shoulders and cringe. Make that hissing sound through your teeth.
I know you can blink your eyes. I know you’re probably blinking them real hard right now. I know because this is what you do when I pin you down.
When you tie you down.
Pretty Lady, Jessica, isn’t this so much better? You just lying here, unable to shy away from the sensation of touch.
Of pleasure.
You’ll see. You’ll learn to enjoy this. I promise.
Or perhaps, more importantly, before things get any worse for you, maybe you should promise yourself.
Go ahead, find some pleasure in this. You kind of have to now.
Sorry.
I’m taking a wild guess here but you should be getting chills right about now. This is an unfortunate side-effect of having your Xi-Cleft places stirred.
Those places where your blood flows. Those sensitive, ticklish places on that body of yours. The insides of your arms, the palms of your upturned hands, the sides and underneath of your ass.
That beautiful, beautifully shaped butt of yours.
Zhang’s hands, and tell me later if I’m wrong, circling, trailing nails all over your body and making you want to groan.
Making you want to moan and cry out and bite your lower lip.
Her nails tickling the smooth, tight skin of your back just below where your shoulder blades resemble folded angel’s wings.
Her nails dragging up the channel of your spine. Tickling like spiders, dozens of them scrambling lightly all over your back.
Tickling the insides of your arms.
Her one nail running circles against the lines of your palm.
Those beautiful hands of yours.
And I know, Sweet Thing, you can let it all out when you get home. You can scream and cry and bawl as much as you want to for me making this happen.
For doing this to you.
Right now, and someday maybe you’ll figure this out, you’ll realize it was all worth it. All this tickling. All this, torture.
You’ll love it. Every gentle stroke.
You don’t, but trust me.
My best guess is, because you’re facedown right now, Zhang probably won’t want to flip you onto your back just yet.
Don’t take this as an insult, but you’re a lot of deadweight right now no matter how light you think you are.
So, I guess consider yourself lucky she probably won’t be tickling any places on your front just yet. No finding your Jiquan, your Oingling or your Shaohai.
Yet.
What she’s probably noticed, right about now, are the soles of your bare feet. How they’re upturned and just slightly hanging off the edge of the table.
I know, I know. In your head right now, I can’t even begin to imagine how loud you’re being. All those cuss words and death threats and God knows what else.
I know your feet are two of the worst places and you’ll hate me for it but hey, I’ve gone this far, might as well go all the way.
Besides, what’re you going to do about it?
Let me guess, she’s probably gripped a hand around your ankle. Could be your right foot, could be your left foot, whichever it is, I’m sure she’s stopped.
For just a second.
You can’t see it right now, because of how you’re laying but, she probably has that same look in her eyes she had when I showed her a picture of you.
Me, pointing at the picture and saying, “Jess-i-ca.” Me saying, “This is the girl I’m sending here.”
Me saying to them, “This is the girl I want you to torture.”
I know, I’m being dramatic but hey, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble and spent a lot of money to do this to you so I can pretend I’m in a movie all I want.
And no, it’s nothing to do with the money.
This is about what I’m guessing is running through Zhang’s head right now. How I’m sure she’s noticed every part of you – from the top of your head to the soles of your feet – is just so damn fucking beautiful.
Her, holding onto your ankle, lifting your lifeless limp leg up off the table so she can properly examine what she’s about to torture and admiring its beauty.
Those beautifully, perfectly shaped bare feet.
Those suckable toes.
The shape, the arch, the natural curves. The smoothness and softness of your soles. Everything about your feet saying, “Fuck the rest of my body. But start down here.”
Come on, you know I’ve always had a thing for your feet. Drives me fucking crazy and you know they do. You with those patterned silk screened nylon ankle socks.
Your high heels.
Your pedicures and anklets and...
Oops, oh well, nevermind. I’ve rambled on for too long.
I’m sure right about now she’s cleared her throat, gone back to being a professional. She’s probably laid your leg back down. Put it back where it was.
Your left leg right next to your right leg. Your ankles a few inches apart from each other and each bare foot hanging just slightly off the edge of the table and showing off the curves of each foot. Slightly splaying your toes apart.
I don’t know, I could be wrong, I don’t know exactly what’s happening right now but she’s probably lifting your foot up, just a little this time.
Just a little cupping of her hands on the top of your foot to flex it back a bit more and show off your arch even further.
That smooth, beautiful, flawless arch of yours.
And, yeah, here we go, there’s that nail.
There’s that nail running down the length of your foot. Right along the side. I’m just guessing here of course, but that is what controls your circulation.
Her nail, following the natural curve of your arch – up, smooth, smooth, smooth, and back down again, slow, gentle, smooth, precise, and excruciating I’m sure.
Poor Pretty Lady, poor Jessica. I know. You’re probably wanting so damn bad right now to just jerk your leg away. To kick.
To maybe just swing your legs away and dropkick this woman in the face. I know how hard this must be for you. Poor thing.
Poor, sweet little thing just laying where you are and having to not do anything while this woman works your foot over.
Tickling your sole. That smooth, soft bare sole of yours.
That small, beautiful little foot.
Her, lifting your foot up just a little and scuttling her nails along the ball of your foot. The area that makes your heart beat faster.
And faster.
Her nail, finding all the right spots on the bottom of your sole and making sure she doesn’t miss an inch.
The bottom of your heel. That smooth, round heel of yours. Her nails tickling over and around and along the sides of it. Her nail going in circles one way, then the other way, right into the skin. Deep. Leaving marks.
Then gently.
Then fast. Then slow.
Then your arch itself. The inside. The part that always makes you make that wailing sound. You know the one. From someplace deep, deep in your guts.
Deep, like you’re someplace else.
Her hand, twisting your ankle slightly to angle your foot and making it easier for her to run her nail, scratch, at the soft, sensitive skin.
That beautiful sole of yours, that beautiful foot, a shade lighter than the rest of your tanned everything else.
Her nail now, angled and running down the center of your foot. Right down the very middle of it. This usually makes you want to explode.
Scream at least.
Cry and howl and struggle against whatever I’ve had to use to restrain you. Swear at me and tell me all about your plans for revenge.
Isn’t this so much nicer?
Poor thing. Her switching now, to the outside curve of your foot. Her nail trailing slow and practiced up and along the outside bend of your arch.
The soft skin up and along the arc of your foot.
I know. I know, but she hasn’t even gotten to your toes yet.
You know what, just for fun, because I know she’s been doing this for years now and she’s a professional and all that, but I’m sure, I’m sure every once in a while she’ll come across someone like you.
Someone so full of life. Of lifeforce.
All this trapped potential just screaming to be let out.
To be toyed with.
I’m just guessing here, but she might’ve right now switched feet. You know, a just to fuck with you sort of thing.
And I know. You’re probably screaming in your head right now. Seething with blinded rage and exhilaration and hatred and passion and humiliation and lust all at once.
You, screaming in your head, “FUCKING BITCH STOP!! FUCKING STOP IT PLEASE!! FUCKING HELL NOT THE OTHER FOOT PLEASE!!
FUCKING PLEEEEEEASE!!”
You, screaming and pleading in your head, “WHATEVER HE PAID YOU PEOPLE TO DO THIS TO ME I’LL DOUBLE IT!! I’LL FUCKING TRIPLE IT FUCK NO. FUCK. PLEA - FUCK. PLEASE NO DON’T DO THIS TO ME. FUCKING PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME!!”
You, screaming and crying and shouting in your head, “THIS ISN’T FAIR!! JUST LET ME UP! PLEASE FUCKING LET ME UP!! LET ME MOVE!! PLEASE JUST LET ME MOOOVE!!”
You, crying, sobbing now. Probably real tears welling up in those beautiful hazel shined eyes of yours, your vision clouded, sniffing, bawling, “PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!! PLEASE NOT MY OTHER FOOT!!”
I’m not one for an impression of how you laugh, but I do love hearing it. It gives me such a sonic rush. Such a high I can’t even tell you.
And once all those screams and cries and pleas are ripped clean away from you, once all of your fears and self-implicated protections are stripped away, it’s nothing left but the pure liberated resonance of someone who’s completely, and utterly, free.
Free of everything, of everyone including themselves.
Us, always getting in our own ways.
Always cutting off our own Chi’s and wondering, What’s the right thing to say. To do. To behave. All these masks and shields and social rituals and should’ves and could’ves.
Here, now, what’s happening to you is your being cleansed.
You’re being stripped truly naked.
So, dear sweet Pretty Lady, Jessica, get past all that. Get past your useless words and language. Get past your tears. Tear through every emotion you have until you get to what’s real. Rip down to everything until you find what’s pure.
Get past all that anger and hate and love and find out what’s really inside you. Find out what you’re really, truly made of.
The fabric of You.
Go ahead, Sweet Thing, let it all out. Let it all go.
Just be.
What I’m doing, Jess, is introducing you, for the first time, to your own soul.
Zhang’s not going to stop until you at least say Hi.
I don’t know how long it’s been...
I may be jumping the gun here by continuing to speak but hey, I figure it took her however long it took her to tickle whichever foot she started with...
So...
She’s probably working your toes over now.
And wow. I can only imagine. I mean, I know all the right places – the pads of your toes and how tickling each one will produce a different reaction.
Your big toe, circling just a single nail into a swirly pattern will make you giggle. And my God do I love that cute sound you make when I drive it out of you.
Then I move onto your second toe. I have to pinch it still so you can’t wriggle it or any of your others around much. My finger, my one nail just tickling them all from your big toes down to your cute little baby toes like piano keys.
It’s like that saying – tickling the ivories.
Ah, hell, you’re probably not even paying attention to me right now. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I know how much you must be hating this.
Hopefully soon, you’ll be making some breakthroughs.
Maybe after she applies enough gentle pressure to the ball of your foot, whichever foot she’s working on right now. You know, just a thumb, pressed down in the middle of the top of your arch to spread all your toes out.
Now she can probably see what happens if she tickles underneath each toe. Just right below the pad of each one.
Right in between.
Your big toe, your second, third and forth toe, your little toe.
Then, switch feet.
Then, tickling whatever she missed.
Your ankles.
The backs of your heels.
The bottoms.
Tickling hard and soft and fast and slow and...
Oh, I’m sorry. I should give you a little rest from me. All that wonderful forced out silent screaming sound in your head right now.
How can you possible hear me?
There now. How do you feel sweetheart? No doubt she’s probably flipped you over by now. She might’ve used help. I’m not sure.
I’m just guessing because Zhang’s a small girl. Like most Asians.
Small, cute.
I’m sorry. I know. But hey, she is. So are you. Especially like how I’m guess you are right now.
You, lying on your back, looking up.
Looking up at the ceiling or looking up at heaven and praying to angels to make this stop, I can’t tell.
In any case, I love how you look naked. Those beautiful breasts of yours, small but just big and full and round enough to lean to either side of you when you’re on your back.
Your chest, I know you must be breathing hard. All that hyperventilating. It’s bad enough when I tickle you, I can’t imagine the damage an expert has done.
But, I’m not sorry. You’re just however closer you are right now to finding what you might’ve lost within yourself.
Remember now, I’m doing all this because I love you.
So let’s see. Let’s start with what we know. You’re lying there, on your back. Moved from facedown so you must have table marks on your cheeks which probably make you look even more flushed.
You, with movie sex scene sweat in all the right places on your face, your body from all that awful foot tickling. Dripping off you. Beads, rolling down your face.
Your chest, heaving up and down. Your breasts rising and falling up and sideways just slightly. Your breath, coming through, going in, soft, fast, quiet.
You blinking your eyes and looking around, probably finding Zhang standing over you and smiling. She’s trying to comfort you I’m sure.
In all her years of this sort of therapy, this special form of Ashiatsu, I’m sure she’s seen many people, many expressions.
All her clients brought here by their loved ones to save relationships and marriages or as a special gift, all of them with that same look in their eyes.
I can only imagine that look on yours, Jessica. Those big eyes of yours calling out for mercy. Pleading for some sort of stop to all this.
Demanding with your eyes for an explanation I’ve already given you.
This strong willed, spirited woman. This flawless body of yours laid out and naked in more ways than one. Lying out, helpless. Vulnerable.
Submissive.
Yeah, I said it Jess. You just lay there until you see the You that I see in you. The You I’m totally, through-and-through head-over-heels madly love with.
Are you ready for some upper body?
Looking this up, this Acupressure Ashiatsu thing, it doesn’t say where she’ll start but it does say that your Shenmen is connected to your heart Meridian.
This is the crease of your wrist and at any second now, after a little gentle rubbing, you should start to feel this warm, soothing sensation wash over you from the inside.
This is your heart beating a little faster, like before, but flooding all your special Chi channels with everything she’ll need.
You know. All those usual places like your sides and your stomach and those abs of yours. You know, that thin sheath of skin by your pelvic bone.
And yes, I could be wrong, but I’m also guessing you’re feeling something tingling right now between your legs.
You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend.
Now, you’re not more ticklish. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just right now much more sensitive. Much more open to any sort of stimulus.
God, wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could fix you to stay like this?
Anyway, the good thing is now that you’re on your back, you can watch Zhang at work. You can watch her do what she’s been trained to.
You know that look in her eyes, those beautiful Asian eyes of eyes darting from one place on your body to the next, to another. Almost like she’s in a trance.
She’s finding all your weak spots.
Finding one...right...I’m going to say your collar bone. That smooth, smooth skin of your collar bone. I’ve always loved how graceful that part of you makes you look.
Like, regal, almost.
Her nail, probably right now trailing along the edge of your bone. From left to right and down the middle. Tickling, tickling and just gently, gracefully, skating that one nail over your skin and causing your nerve endings to light up.
In your head, just gritted imaginary teeth and growling I’m sure.
In your head, with her nails scuttling down your chest and circling her nails around and over and across those beautiful breasts of yours, just a whole lot of shouting.
You, thrashing about the table, all in your head.
You, shaking all that wonderful dark hair from side to side.
You, violently pounding at the table and struggling in your own body. Struggling to get out. To escape. To move.
Her fingers, I’m going to say, just her left hand – scratching gently down the side of your body from under your arm, slowly down
down
down
your side and across your lower abs. That smooth round little bump of muscle above your waistline and making your convulse in your own imagination.
Her other hand, her right hand, slowly drawing lines underneath the curve of your left breast. One line from right to left. Her finger dragging sideways.
From right to left.
From right to left.
Then back again. Left to right.
Then left to right.
Then pinching your nipple. Then tickling your nipple. The edges. Making it harden. Stiff. Your body reacting to this unlocking.
Her other hand, just her nails dancing across your stomach. Swirling circles and scratching, lightly, gently at the edges of your belly button.
Tickling inside.
Tickling around it. Tickling your abs one by one and all in between them. Tickling the inner shape of your front. That silhouette of another figure on your stomach and chest.
The kind you get when you really work out.
And you, poor sweet Jessica, Pretty Lady, you’ve worked so hard. You look so strong and tough and formidable.
You look so fucking hot.
Zhang’s just tickling all this away, isn’t she? This false self-image. The real you. The you inside, you shouldn’t have to work at.
Your Self, your I, it’s perfect just the way it is.
Sexy Girl, Jessica, have you found Her yet?
I’m going to stand a few feet away from the mic now while I do this impression of you. I don’t want to hurt your ears or anything.
Later on you can tell me where I went wrong but I’m guessing she’s moved your arms up by now. Lifted them up above your head so your arms hang off the edge of the table.
Those smooth, waxed underarms...
Oh yeah...
So, in your head you’re probably like…
“OH MY FUCKING GOD FUCKING STOP IT!! YOU FUCKING ASIAN **** YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FUC---”
Am I right? Am I right? Like I said, I don’t want to do an impression of you laughing because my voice doesn’t go that high.
God, all those high pitched screams and squeals.
Making my ears hurt just imagining them.
Wait, let me try again.
“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE STOOOOOOOOP-STOP-STAAAAAAAAAAAP IT MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!”
Am I close?
Okay, I know. I’m just being a jerk now. I’m sorry Love. I just always know tickling your armpits makes you really laugh. Like you’re enjoying it.
I know you can’t stand it having it done to your feet but there was always something about how tickling you under the arms made you laugh that I love.
So much.
All that wonderful, happy, bubbling laughter coming up from God knows where. I don’t hear it that much and I miss it.
Tickling that smooth skin. Taking one nail, and Zhang’s probably doing this right now, just one nail and sliding it sloooow across the inside curve of your underarm.
You know, that muscle part. That smooth edge.
Making you almost cackle with laughter. I’m sure, if you could move right now you’d be all over the place flopping and crashing about everywhere.
That beautiful body just having a carefree fit that looks like a seizure.
Her nails, drawing circles from smaller, just around your belly button now and getting bigger and bigger, up and out across your front.
Across your breasts and your chest. The middle of your breastplate. That smooth skin. Up across your collar bone and back down...
...and up your sides again, tickling all your ribs as she moves her fingers, gliding them across your body.
All up to your armpits again and then digging in.
Like, DIGGING IN. Real deep. Making your shriek and howl. If you could move right now, you’d just be losing it.
Just going apeshit.
Good thing you can’t, right?
Yeah, I like you like this.
Nothing you can do about it. You just lying there, lying still, forced to endure this for however long it takes her.
Zhang, tickling your armpits and the insides of your arms and the crooks of your elbows. All that wonderful ticklish, sensitive skin and Chi flowing right underneath it.
Pooling in places.
Your stomach, your abs. Your ribs and sides and your waistline. Her nails tickling the skin just above – slicing from left to right.
Then down, down and tickling your pelvic bones. The tight skin between where your thighs start. Right next to your vagina.
Hold on hon, I need a moment...
God, I would really fucking LOVE to be there with you right now.
Or hey, maybe I’m just saying that to throw you off because maybe I’m on my way right now, ready to take you home.
Might have to re-think that putting you in straitjacket idea first again before I ask Zhang to allow you to move again. You know, just in case you’re REALLY pissed off.
I don’t see how you could be though. Not right now anyway.
Not with Zhang probably working your legs right now. Probably tickling the insides of your thighs. Those, long, beautiful legs of yours.
Being tortured.
Being tickled.
Her nails flowing in the direction of whatever only she sees, slow and precise, along the insides of both thighs.
Those fucking beautiful legs of yours.
Her nails then switching direction and going against the current. Driving you insane.
Propping your legs up on the table, ticking the backs of your knees and squeezing your calf muscles hard, gentle, HARD, gentle, tickling
scratching
clawing
pinching at your lower leg muscles and thigh muscles and tickling your kneecaps and smooth places like your shins.
Her nails like water trickling down your legs.
Naturally, this leads her down again, to your feet. Your feet, now right side up and exposed and ready all over again like the rest of you.
Zhang just working you all kinds of ways in all kinds of places.
Making you scream. Making you cry. Making you laugh and find yourself.
Find inside, somewhere, my gift to you.
The gift, of You.
The funny thing is, with three thousand nerve endings all lit up like Christmas lights in just your feet, I’m willing to bet she’s probably taking advantage of this.
Her holding your one leg up, resting your ankle on her shoulder and reaching with her other hand and tickling different places on that fucking crazy beautiful foot.
Making you feel it in other places on and in your body.
On your skin.
Underneath.
The crackling sparks and electric fault line splinters of sensation surging all through you from the soft sole of your foot through the rest of your reawakened body.
Your sciatic nerve detonating and coursing nothing but pure feeling through all your swollen veins. Your brain, lighting up and shutting down at the same time.
I don’t remember how, I don’t remember when, but they told me that this could and would happen. What you’re feeling right now.
Between your legs.
That feeling, you know the one, it’s coming isn’t it?
It’s coming hard, fast, it’s fucking throbbing and throwing off all your senses and everything you thought you knew all at this right now very second making you...
Twitch.
Making you jump.
For real.
I don’t have to be with you to know you’re orgasming right now. To know you’re fucking cumming your brains out and you just. Can’t. Help. It.
Can you?
It won’t stop. The feeling. Right now flooding your muscles with so much blood and lifeforce and Chi and whatever else, you’re moving on that table for real.
Just slightly.
And this, dear, sweet, Jessica, is Pleasure.
This is real.
This is Pleasure in its purest, purest form.
This, Lady Love, is what I wanted for you.
My gift.
This is what you are to me. What you’re feeling, right now, everywhere, crashing through every thought, every fiber of your being, every memory, is how much I love you.
Now then, wasn’t this worth it?
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