Edge Play X (26 page)

After being
told to undress, the middle-aged Russian woman who would be giving her the
treatments told X to follow her to the bath area adjoining the massage room.
There, X, after wetting her body under the showerhead, was told to lift her
arms and stay still, thank you. From a short jar, the woman scooped what
appeared to be and indeed was a handful of black sand. The woman informed X
that the sand, a special kind from
Polynesia
, would exfoliate the
dead skin from her body, all the while softening it with the oils of jojoba,
almond, and calendula. She went on to say that the natural minerals and marine
ingredients would help to purify the skin, revitalize it, and leave it with a
special glow.

X stood as
her body was rubbed, neck to ankle, with the concoction. Then she was told to
enter the shower again and the woman rinsed the sand off X’s body. The dark
granules collected on the smooth tile under her feet, the oils remaining for
the most part on her body, softening it and scenting it. Once the sand was off,
the woman wrapped X in a large, soft towel and told her to please go into the
other room and lay face up on the table.

The Russian
woman covered X with a smooth sheet and then asked her a few questions about
her skin routine: did she use sunscreen, did she moisturize, did she wear
make-up, did she smoke. X admitted that she didn’t regularly apply sunscreen,
believing that the sun was good for her and neither seeking nor shunning it.
And yes, she moisturized and wore make-up. The woman gave her a disappointed
look when X admitted that she smoked, X retorting that it was only a few a day
and that she had every intention of quitting.

“Even a few
each day is terrible for the skin,” the woman said.

The woman
cleansed the make-up from X’s face with a botanical milk, wiping it off with a
warm washcloth and then stroking the skin with a cotton ball dipped in toner.
The woman informed X of the ingredients of each product that was used on her
body, noting that her gift certificate included a bag of all the cleansers,
moisturizers, and oils that would be used on her today. There were astringents
to purify, marine compounds to revitalize, herb extracts to soothe.

 
After the facial, X was rubbed with virgin
oils containing cypress, marjoram and
lavadin
, the
woman skillfully smoothing the tenseness from X’s body. The woman finished at
X’s feet, scouring them with a pumice stone, massaging the arches and in
between each toe. The treatment felt wonderful, and X felt grateful that
Compton
had wanted her to be
so pampered.

Finally,
when the woman left the room so that X could stand up and dress, X had a
sensation of dizziness, making it seem that she was floating, not her entire
body but like some part of her was going to escape into the air like a balloon
let out of a child’s small hand.

When the
woman returned with the bag of goodies, X thanked her, telling her that now she
felt wonderful, that the woman has the hands of an angel. Then X slipped into
the Russian’s palm a rather large sum of cash that made the woman’s eyes light
up.

X finished
at the salon, getting her hair tied into a neat chignon and having her make-up
done.

She
returned to the hotel room then, hoping to sleep for an hour before she would
need to get dressed for the evening. But in her room, on her bed, X found a
small box on top of a garment bag. A note was taped onto the box and X took it
out of the envelope and read it.

I hope that you will wear these for
me tonight. I adore you. Terry.

She
unzipped the bag and removed a white coat.
 
She examined it for a moment, unsure about the material from which it
was constructed.
 
It wasn’t fur—no, upon
closer inspection and then from reading the tag, X realized that the coat was
in fact made from feathers, ostrich feathers.
 

Next, she
opened the box. A mask sat atop a garment. X picked it up. The part that
covered the face was a lovely and feminine, decorated with music notes and gold
paint which accented delicate swirls around the perimeter. A spray of long and
warmly colored feathers extended from the top of the mask. X put it to her face
and peered at herself in the mirror, glad that it was just a partial mask and
not fully covering her face. The black ribbons that would later be used to
secure it to her head draped down to her collarbones. In her reflection, she
saw that the plumage, so delicate and lovely, made her appear as if she were a
bird of prey, powerful and intimidating, yet beautiful.

After setting the mask on the bed, she
lifted up the garment from its box, pulling it up from the swath of tissue
paper. And this garment, in comparison to the extravagant ones that had been purchased
for her at the designer shops, this piece was barely a garment at all—made from
nylon and spandex, its dark purple fabric was meant to cling to the body, its
hem stopping just below the horizontal
gluteal
crease; the back was essentially nonexistent except for a thin string of fabric
which followed the line of the spine from the base of the neck to the coccyx.
The front would barely cover her breasts, she realized. The incredibly deep
plunge of the garment would expose the space between her breasts, her belly
button, and her lower abdomen.

X put it on, knowing that this dress
was not the kind of thing a decent (or sane) person would wear in public. This
was a garment best suited to strip clubs, bedrooms, or orgies. It was cheap and
she liked that such a rich man had bought such a cheap thing. It did not adhere
to societal norms of accepted dress; it accentuated and teased in ways that
people, in their everyday lives, did not comfortably tolerate. It reinforced to
her that
Compton
was different. She appreciated this. His
sexuality was vulgar and subversive and proletariat. Hidden behind his business
demeanor and stoicism, there was another man, one she could understand.

X dropped the garment into the box,
wondering to herself what
Compton
would be wearing to the masquerade ball this evening, and then, more curiously,
wondering the same thing about Simeon.

She climbed onto the bed,
face
down so as to not displace her chignon, and listened to
the street traffic until sleep came to her.

13.

Compton arrived at 6 o’clock as he
said he would, entering the hotel room in rush, setting his laptop bag under
the console table, happy to see X through the open door of her bedroom as she
sat on a chair and read a book.

He entered the room and saw that she
was already wearing the dress that he had purchased for her.
 

“Stand up and let me look at you,”
Compton
said.

X closed her book and stood, wondering
if the special double-sided tape that she had asked the spa to send up would
keep the fabric from sliding off her breasts. It worked.
 

“Words cannot describe your beauty.”
He paused, relishing the experience of looking at her. “The limo is outside
waiting for us,” he said. “I’m going to get dressed in the car.”

X began to put her coat on, but
Compton
came over and stopped her.

“Not yet,” he said. “I have something
for you.”

He handed her a small box which she
opened. Inside was a pair of chandelier diamond earrings.

“They’re antique, so they aren’t blood
diamonds,” he informed her. “The total weight is five carats.”

“They’re beautiful,” X said as she
held them up and then put them on, “truly beautiful.”

X paused, sensing that he had a
request.

“Whip me.”

X told him that she had not brought a
whip or flogger.

Then,
Compton
undid his belt, pulling it through the loops until
it dangled loosely in his hand. X took it from him and told him to take off his
shirt. He undid a few of the buttons and then pulled it over his head, tossing
it onto the bed.
 

X held the belt. The leather, soft,
supple, and black, was folded over by X, folded over onto itself so that in her
right hand she held the buckle and the end. Then, she ran her thumb through the
separation between them until it had reached the smooth curve at the middle.
With a quick movement, she snapped the belt together, the sound of its leather
colliding sending waves of sound through the air and to
Compton
, a noise which seemed to penetrate him. It was so
lovely. He wanted her to do it again, and she did.

Compton
kneeled and put his hands onto the bed in front
of him. X whipped him until her arm grew tired, doling out a preemptive
penance.

When they had finished, X pulled her
coat over her nearly naked body, carrying the mask in the box under her arm.
She accompanied
Compton
down to the limousine, he carrying a snakeskin
case which contained whatever it was he planned on wearing to the masquerade.

X climbed into the car,
Compton
following behind her. The bodyguard was already
up front with the driver, and once the pair had sat down, the driver slowly
pulled away from the hotel.

Compton
pressed a button and put up the privacy screen
between the front and back of the car, dimmed the interior lights and turned on
some music. X took off her coat and
Compton
was aroused again at the sight of her.

A stocked bar ran along the side of
the vehicle, and
Compton
and X looked through the small bottles of liquors
playfully until
Compton
opened a couple of them and mixed them each a
drink.

Compton
opened a white bag that contained their dinners,
pulled out two small white Styrofoam containers, and handed one to X. She
opened the box, seeing that it contained a hamburger and French fries. A laugh
escaped her.

Compton
took a packet of ketchup out, tore it open, and
squeezed its contents over the fries before popping one into his mouth.

“Sometimes I just want a big greasy
burger,” he smiled. From the bag, he pulled out a napkin and began to roll it,
fold it, and twist the thing until the shape of a rose appeared. He handed it
to X who accepted his gift with a smile.

They enjoyed their drinks as the city
passed by through their windows, its light diminishing as they journeyed to the
chateau where the evening’s festivities would be taking place. The car drove
with a smooth momentum towards the
Loire
region,
X and Compton becoming more inebriated with every mile.

As they neared the
Loire
region,
Compton
opened his python skin case, took off his
clothes, and began to put on the outfit that he had brought along. He pulled on
a leather pair of pants, leaving his chest bare with the exception of a leather
harness which X helped him buckle. The case also contained a thick collar and
long leash, and
Compton
asked X if she would clasp the collar behind his
neck, a task which she indulged, jerking it a little after the buckle was
secured.

Finally, the car pulled into a long
circular drive outside of a large chateau. A row of cars, several of them
limos, was already parked outside in a neat line along the pebbled drive. The
faint vibration of music pulsed through the air, seeping its way out of the building
and into the cars where the drivers waited as they chatted on cell phones or
read the paper.

X looked through the car window to the
chateau and saw a building, grand and stately, three stories high, its
perimeter bearing tall multi-paned windows which exuded dim lights from behind
thick curtains. It instantly made X wonder what sorts of activities were
occurring within its walls and many rooms.

Compton
peered out the window as he kneeled next to her.

“It was built for a Prussian prince in
the 16
^th
century,” he said. “You can see from the roofline that it
is built in the classical Mansard style. It even has a secret dungeon, an
oubliette.”

X looked up to the top floor and saw
how the windows poked out of the hip style roof, one which had several chimneys
lifting up through the peak. At a side terrace, a group of masked people
smoked, the moon above them highlighting the clouds and illuminating them
below.

X asked, “And they have this party
here every year?”

“Yes. But there’s no need to worry.
The building is surrounded by thousands of acres of forest.”

X wasn’t worried. It was Compton who
should be worried.

Compton
said, “I would like you to make a selection for
me.”

From his case,
Compton
removed two masks and laid them onto the leather
seat. One was a simple chrome mask. The other, made of leather and expertly
constructed, was pink and bore large eyeholes, pointed ears, wrinkles on the
forehead which were emphasized with thin streaks of black paint in the furrows,
and a wide,
repulsive
pig nose. X pointed to it.