4 comments/  39785 views/  12 favorites

Hotel Pavane Ch. 01

By: dr_mabeuse



Black swans glide along the surface of the lake that surrounds the Hotel Pavane. In the evening, the sinking sun paints the sky and the water red, and the swans become black images casting long shadows among the shadows of the trees that line the shore: shadows with shadows amidst shadows upon the red rippled lake.

The Hotel itself was once a ducal palace, and sits atop a spacious island planted with formal gardens and hedgerow mazes, tall poplars and tangled stands of ancient oak, all arranged just so, so that one view is more beautiful than the next, and the whole is a symphony of light and form and shadow. The island is connected to the shore of the lake by a macadam drive, and when the sun slants low like this and the water burns red, the hotel and the island appear to be consumed by a lake of fire, attached to the mainland by a road of smoke. It is all like a dream within a dream.

Where the drive connects with the island is a long causeway, and at the end of this causeway are the statues of two angels, one on each side of the road, one looking towards the Hotel, the other looking away, so that one faces the traveler as he enters, and the other faces the guest as he leaves. Each angel holds a bronze sword, and in the light of the setting sun these swords appear to be aflame, just like the sword wielded by the angel who guarded the entrance to Eden. Thus, when entering the grounds, the one angel keeps the outside world at bay, and on leaving the hotel, the other angel keeps back all that has happened there. The staff refers to the Angels as Alphonse and Gaston.

Within the hotel are hallways set with infinities of doors, marble stairs leading to hidden verandas, and dimly lit corridors set with lush carpets and hung with faded and obscure paintings. There are ballrooms and dining halls, a spa and pools for taking the waters (in ancient times there were Roman baths here), and although the grounds and hotel are impeccably kept, there is a feeling that time has passed this place by; or rather that time has a different meaning here, measured not by the passage of the seasons, but by the continuity of human habitation. The hotel has assumed a kind of seamless grandeur with the landscape in which it sits, rather like a queen sitting in state over an empty kingdom.

This is the sight that Marija Dumanoir sees as she alights in front of the hotel from the limousine that has brought her from the station: the marble steps that sweep up to the portico, the parade of Palladian windows gleaming in the dull light, punctuating the ancient façade of the building with a calm and stately rhythm, the ornamental statuary overgrown with spots of ancient moss. 

She puts one beige Italian heel down on the gravel, and then the other. She is slim, with large brown eyes and blonde hair, impeccably dressed in a simple beige suit, and from her placid appearance there is nothing to suggest that she's a fragile shell, that inside she's still tender and bruised, wounded by the bitter finish of a relationship of eight months. She's brought herself to Hotel Pavane to try and recover the person she used to be; to try and break through the icy scar that has grown around her heart.

The doorman has seen this all before, and takes her bags without a word. She's brought quite a bit of luggage; most guests do. They arrive with the shards of their lives in tow; uncertain as to what to leave behind and what to take with, and so they all bring too much. He leads the way, and Marija walks to the desk where her key is waiting.

There's an elaborate fountain in the lobby, the waters spilling softly into the pool below with a soothing sound, establishing a kind of tranquility, and Marija stops to peer into the water. There are flowers within, and fish hang in the stillness. She can see her reflection, and thinks of Andre being there with her, and what he would say. She hates the way she automatically invokes his presence whenever she sees or feels something remarkable, but she can't stop it. His absence is like a sore tooth her tongue won't leave alone but has to press at and worry until it hurts again, and then she's satisfied.

"So pleased to have you with us, Ms. Dumanoir. I hope you find your room satisfactory," the clerk says as she signs the register. "Dinner is at seven. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to call."

Marija takes her key and follows the handsome young bellman up to the second floor. She stands behind him in the elevator, so she can look at his behind in his tight trousers. It brings a rueful smile: what she's heard is apparently true. Then down the long, quiet hall, the wheels of the luggage cart squeaking softly as he turns this way and that through the bewildering maze of corridors. 

He stops outside Room 243 and opens the door, and she walks into a large and spacious room, restored to all its rococo glory, dominated by an antique table and matching canopy bed. On the table, an elaborate display of fresh-cut flowers perfumes the air, and as she crosses over to the French doors that overlook the lake and the formal gardens, she stops to run her hand over the ancient wood of the bed, trying to imagine things that have happened there. 

"That bed belonged to the sister of Maximillian the First," the bellman tells her proudly.

Marija looks at him. He is absurdly handsome in his tight burgundy uniform with yellow piping. His cheeks are pink, his eyes bright with youth and health, but he's no more than a boy, and she hasn't any interest in boys. She imagines that he's quite experienced, working at the Hotel Pavane. Everyone is here, and everyone's for hire, or so she's heard.

The bellman stands awkwardly for a moment, then opens the French doors for her, and Marija walks over and steps out onto the small terrace. She hears the call of a peacock, and looking down, sees the group on the shadowy lawn: a cock with three hens. A flight of little birds bursts from the ivy below her window and scatters into the gloom like an omen. She stands with her hands on the doors, inhaling the scent of the roses in the garden. Down and to the left, the light in a room is on. The shades are drawn but the drapes are open, and Marija sees shadows passing by the window in the yellowish light.

She tips the bellman and locks the door behind him. She takes off her jacket and shoes and walks into the bathroom. It's absurdly sybaritic, the floor and walls of Italian marble, the fixture harmonious with the eighteenth century décor but all apparently new. An enormous shower, a toilet, a sink and a bidet. She runs water into the enormous claw-foot tub, pouring in some lilac salts from the collection on the tub's edge. While the bath fills, she unpacks some things, then undresses, carefully hanging up her clothes as if she's aware of the symbolism of the act. She wants to remember this moment of arrival. She wants to remember what she feels like right now, before anything has happened.

She wraps a robe around her and goes back into the bathroom, sits on the edge of the tub and watches the suds accumulate in the steaming water.

She'd tried so hard to make it work. She had assumed from the start that Andre was the one, and even after he'd disappointed her time and again she'd refused to give up hope. In the end it had turned ugly and even degrading, and Marija had clung to him, terrified of being alone after having given so much of herself. But her clinging had gained her nothing, and the more she gave, the less she had left of herself. Finally she lost Andre, all she had given, and a great deal more as well. She'd lost parts of herself she didn't think he'd even had access to, parts she had thought were safe.

She takes off her robe and hangs it behind the door, then eases herself into the tub, enjoying the sting of the hot water against her skin. She scrubs the grime of travel from her body and then soaks in the fragrant warmth, trying to think of nothing. She's lost so much that sometimes the integrity of her body surprises her. It's as if she expects to see a missing limb or vast scar running between her breasts, but no: her body remains surprisingly healthy in spite of all she's been through.

She emerges from the tub and takes a warm towel from the heater and dries herself, then wraps her robe around her body and walks into her sitting room, drying her hair. 

From her make-up case she takes three bottles of sleeping pills and puts them on the bedside table, next to the phone, lining them up like soldiers. Three prescriptions from three different doctors. No matter how bad things get or what happens to her, she always has these three, more than enough. As long as she has them, every day—every minute—is the result of her decision, and she likes knowing that. She no longer pours them into her hand and fondles them as she once did, toying with the feeling of her own mortality, but still, she thinks of them as her freedom.

She walks over to the flower arrangement on the table and takes a tiger lily blossom in her hands, inhaling the fragrance. She looks at the blossom, so beautiful and yet so blatantly, almost comically sexual, the open and welcoming calyx of the petals, the quivering male anthers dotted with pollen.

She smiles briefly and is aware of it, of how unfamiliar it feels, and she feels encouraged. Maybe this place will work for her. She replaces the flower, then walks out onto the terrace again, into the warm summer night where her eyes are caught by that same lighted window, open now, with a figure in it, sharply silhouetted against the shade. A man, apparently shirtless, his arms held above his head. He's turned in three-quarters profile, and Marija can see the dim shadow of another figure behind the shade as well.

Marija stops toweling her hair and stands transfixed as a woman enters the picture. The woman is wearing a corset; it's obvious from her silhouette, and she's holding a doubled-over cord or strap in her hands, bringing her hands together and then pulling them apart with enough force that Marija can hear the snap from across the way. 

She sees the woman bring her arm back, the strap dangling, then bring it down on the man's behind. She hears the slap and sees his body jerk in whatever it is that holds him. Marija stands still as a statue as the woman hits him again, and again, and then she slowly backs up into her room and sits down on the bed.

She knows what kind of place this is, of course, and why people come here. The reputation of sex and sexuality hangs heavily over the entire hotel, and the reputation is the reason she came. But the Pavane is also known for its exclusivity and sense of discretion. She hadn't expected to be confronted with such a flagrant and lurid display. 

She plugs in her drier and finishes her hair, standing inside her room where she's safe. The clock says seven ten, and she's hungry, but she takes a moment to inspect her room. There's an antique French armoire that holds a courtesy bar and a large television set. The television seems jarringly out of place in this eighteenth century setting, and she's offended at first, but then she takes the remote control and turns it on. There is a channel guide atop the set, and she picks it up and looks at it. 

Everything is apparently closed circuit. Channels are grouped together and marked "Male Escorts", "Female Escorts", "Dungeon", "Exhibitionist", "Exhibitionist/Voyeur", "Commercial Entertainment". 

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. She selects the Male Escort channel and finds herself watching videos featuring virile young men, all apparently hotel employees—little snatches of them riding horses, or emerging dripping from the lake, strolling through the gardens and smiling for the camera. 

She smiles. She wonders if her bellman is in there. Probably, but she's not interested in finding out. 

She selects the Exhibitionist channel and find herself staring into a room much like her own, apparently empty, though she can see towels still lying over the back of a chair. She chooses another Exhibitionist channel and is shocked to see a young man sitting on the side of his bed masturbating. He looks up at the camera with a lascivious leer, his face distorted by his proximity to the wide-angle lens. She quickly changes the channel.

Marija clicks rapidly through the Exhibitionist channels, and suddenly finds herself looking down at herself in her own room. Her blood runs cold.

"This is room 243," she snaps into the phone, her hand shaking with rage. "Why is there a camera in my room? What's the meaning of this?"

The desk clerk is terribly apologetic. Wasn't Madame aware that she'd requested an Exhibitionist room? There it was on her reservation; she's even been charged extra for it. He was looking at her reservation now. The request box had been checked.

"No," she said trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry, but no. There's been some mistake. I want this camera turned off immediately. No. I want it removed. I want it removed or I want a new room."

"At once, Madame. I'll have a man sent up immediately. I do so regret the error. Of course you won't be billed for the camera. I'm so terribly sorry. I can't imagine how this happened..."

His tone is so contrite and profusely apologetic that Marija finds herself consoling him. Possibly she had checked that box when she'd filled out her reservation. She'd been quite intoxicated that night.

"That's quite all right. Just see that it's turned off. No, there's nothing else. Thank you, that's very considerate. Yes, everything else is quite satisfactory."

She hangs up the phone and as she does so, she sees the TV screen go blank as her camera is turned off, but now she can't help but wonder. She aims the remote control at the TV and selects another channel in the Exhibitionist group and finds herself looking down into another empty room. She clicks again and gets yet another empty room, though she can hear voices. On the third try she finds what she is looking for: a man and a woman making love.

Now that her suspicions are confirmed, her reflex is to turn away and switch it off, but she forces herself to watch. The camera is above and to the right of the foot of the bed, as is the camera in Marija's room. She can't see their faces. The man is between the woman's thighs, his pale ass rising and falling with thrusts so powerful that the woman's legs shake. He's panting, while she gives a little yelp or grunt whenever he thrusts into her. 

The camera stares blandly down on them, and though Marija knows that both of them are aware they're being watched and must even enjoy it, she feels contaminated, as if she's been drawn into their perversion. But no, it's not the voyeuristic aspects or even the act itself that strikes her as obscene. It's the couple's awful need, a need that makes them sacrifice even their dignity and privacy in exchange for some brief satisfaction. What keeps her watching is her recognition that she shares the same need. It's as if she's watching people suffering from the same disease she knows she has.

It's the woman's hands that seem to hold her attention. With their faces invisible, it's the woman's fingers that seem to be the most human. They spread out and press down urgently on the man's back, or curl into claws to rake his skin. They leave his body and grab at the sheet, as if she's afraid she'll be swept away, then, in moments of extremity, they reach down as she digs her nails into his buttocks, her knees spreading wide, pulling him into her, beside herself with lust. Pleasure, pain, love, hatred: Marija sees them all in the woman's hands.

The hands come up and grab the man's hair, and now Marija can see the woman's face for an instant: a flash of eyes tightly closed and open, hungry mouth, nothing more. Both voices rise, his to a low, threatening growl, hers to a shrill and gasping wail that peaks as the woman throws her head back in a sudden choked silence, a scream locked in her throat. Marija realizes with a weird thrill that they're both climaxing. Even as she watches, the man's cock must be already jumping inside the woman and spitting out his lust. The woman's hands ball into fists, then fall back on the bed in helpless surrender as the man's hips lunge at her in angry insistence. It's too much. Marija can't watch anymore.

She switches off the TV and puts down the remote. She's breathing deep, her face is flushed.

It's so remarkable what sex does to people: how they need it so much, that terrible intimacy of release in another's arms. With her own ardor quenched and battered by the pain of her break-up, she's been able to look at it more objectively, as an outsider, and it seems so strange. In the past months she's come to realize how hard it is to maintain one's existence in the world, to keep one's ego intact in the face of all that tears at it and attempts to grind it down, and now it seems so strange to see how people fight and contend to give themselves away, to throw themselves at one another and lose themselves in their lover's embrace.

She feels a sudden urge to masturbate that takes her quite by surprise. Since she broke up with Andre she has had no sex, and absolutely no desire for sex. That's why she's come to this place, to try and rekindle that spark, and yet she lives in fear that she might be permanently damaged, that she may have lost the capacity to respond to that kind of intimacy. She worries that she might be the victim of some form of hysterical frigidity brought about by the trauma of her separation, and that it might be permanent. She's afraid to push herself beyond the level of mild interest she feels now, afraid that she won't respond. And then what would she do? 

She makes herself behave, letting herself feel the subtle tension in her body that she recognizes with welcome relief as the beginnings of sexual arousal. She feels as though some energy within in her is being renewed, as if the mainspring of a watch is being wound and tightened. It's a good sign, but it makes her nervous.

She sits down at her dressing table and does her face: nothing too elaborate, some eyeliner and shadow, some blush, her lipstick. She brushes her hair and studies herself in the mirror: the large, expressive brown eyes, the fine features. She's lost her girlish sparkle, but perhaps she's gained a degree of depth and maturity. Andre used to call her his princess for the fineness of her features and the regal way she carried herself, and she wonders now whether her carriage has changed: whether she still walks with her back straight and her head erect. It's something she hasn't even thought to notice before.

It would be easier to stay in tonight, she thinks. She could order in from room service and go to bed early. She wouldn't have to dress, she wouldn't have to see anyone. But she's made a promise to herself and she intends to keep it. She doesn't have long in the hotel.

She goes to her bag and finds a new package of nylons, opens it, and takes out one of the gauzy stockings. She rolls it up, then inserts her foot and extends her leg, unrolling it as she goes, then running her hands up its length, over her calf, her knee, her thigh, smoothing out the thin fabric. The way it embraces her leg feels good, and the band of material around the top of her thigh feels very erotic. It's good to feel this way again.

She puts on the other stocking, looks through the underthings she's packed away but doesn't find anything she likes. Impulsively, she pushes them aside and takes out a suspender belt which she fastens around her waist and tugs into place around her hips. She purposely ignores her panties and clips the garters to her stockings, then goes to her closet and selects her black dress; black crepe, with tiny thin straps that go over her flawless shoulders. It's unlined, but Marija doesn't hesitate. She leaves her bras in the drawer and slips the dress on over her head, naked beneath it, and looks at herself in the mirror.


Hotel Pavane Ch. 01



Yes, the feel of the fabric on her bare nipples and her shaved mound feels very good, very wicked and erotic. So far, so good.

The dress comes with a black jacket. She puts it on, fastens a gold chain around her neck, and threads the matching earrings through her ears. She puts on her watch and a gold bracelet, takes her bag and checks herself once more. She had hoped she would feel irresistible, but the best she can manage is kind of stubborn pride and naughtiness. Well, that's close enough. She turns off the lights and exits the room, slipping her key into her purse.

The hotel is bewildering, with hallways that jog and branch off, small sitting rooms that emerge unexpectedly, and stairways that appear in puzzling places, seeming to make no sense. Marija is quite lost. She was certain she was headed for the main desk, but now she's disoriented and there seems to be no one about to ask for directions. Finally she hears the murmur of voices, and a few turns later, she's in the lobby again, or rather, a different lobby, and it occurs to her that there must be more than one check-in desk, and she's apparently stumbled upon an alternate.

"Excuse me, but how do I get to the dining room?" she asks the young woman at the desk.

"Which dining room are you looking for?" the girl asks. "There are several. The Ladies', the Gentlemen's, the Versailles, The Savoy, The New York Grille, The Tea House..."

Marija holds up her hand. "Please. I'm just looking for a place for a quiet meal."

"Is Madame alone?"

"Yes."

"If Madame would like to choose her own companionship or just dine alone, I'd suggest the Ladies' Salon. If you seek to meet some gentlemen looking for companionship, I'd recommend the Gentlemen's Room or the New York. Perhaps the Savoy if you're looking for more mature company..."

Marija looks at her in confusion. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

The girl smiles and slides a brochure across the marble counter. "The Ladies' Salon is of course for women. We cater to female tastes there, and hotel escorts are available, or, if you prefer, you may dine alone without being bothered. The Gentlemen's room caters to male tastes, but female patrons often go there to be seen and 'socialize'," she gives the word an odd emphasis. "That's where most of the unattached men go to eat."

The girl gives Marija a knowing smile, but seeing her confusion, leans over the counter and whispers, "It's very much like a pick-up bar. They'll be all over you there, if that's what you want."

Marija feels a slight chill run up the back of her neck as the import of what the girl is saying sinks in. 

"Other rooms are available too," the girl adds helpfully, "However, you might feel out of place there dining alone. They cater to couples, mostly."

"I see. Yes, I think perhaps the Ladies' Salon would be best." She just could not see herself walking into a room filled with leering men, like a piece of meat on a stick thrust into a den of lions. She isn't ready for that.

The girl traces a path on the map with a marker and hands it to her. She picks up the phone and says, "I'll call ahead and tell them to see that you get a good table, Ms..."

"Dumanoir. And thank you for your help."

The path she takes now avoids the labyrinthine hallways and stays to the main corridors. Marija has no trouble finding the Ladies' Salon, and in fact can't quite understand how she became so turned around before.

She was afraid that the room would be embarrassingly feminine, but that's not the case at all. The room is done in cream, dusky rose and moss green, the fixtures and place settings pure and elegant, the lighting subdued but not dark. There's a mirrored bar set against one wall, and Marija's somewhat surprised to see that there are some men sitting there, some with women, some alone. Apparently the Ladies' Salon isn't just for women. Despite her misgivings, that lifts her spirits. Although she doesn't want to be stared at by men, neither had she worn this dress for the benefit of women.

A hostess meets Marija at the entrance and addresses her by name. She leads her to a table towards the edge of the room, hands her a menu and asks her if the table is satisfactory. Marija nods. From where she sits she can see most of the room, but she herself is unobtrusive.

She studies the menu hungrily. She's suddenly ravenous, and everything looks good. A very handsome young waiter comes and takes her order, and it's only after he has gone that Marija picks up the leather-bound booklet on her table. She had assumed it was a wine list, but looking at it now, she sees it is filled with more pictures of young men, all of them apparently employees of the hotel, and all of them available for a fee. 

With a mixture of embarrassment and fascination she turns the pages. She recognizes some from the video she'd seen in her room, but there are many more. Apparently everyone who works in the hotel is indeed available. This one dresses as a cowboy, in boots and leather chaps. Another affects the manner of a rock star. A third dresses like a motorcycle outlaw in leather and chains. There are princes and businessmen, priests and barbarians, and at the end, a series of pictures of young men who apparently prefer to appear as themselves. 

Flipping back towards the front, she finds instructions on how the book is to be used. Forms are available from her waitress upon which she can write her choices. Availability of escorts cannot be guaranteed, so she's urged to make her reservations as early as possible. Fees may be charged to her rooms. Gratuities are customary...

She is startled by her waitress bringing the first course, and Marija's aware that she's been staring at the book. She puts it down and looks at the other women dining around her to see if she's been noticed. Apparently not. Most of them are alone, but some are in pairs or groups of three or four. How many of them, she wonders, will be asking their waitresses for forms and filling them out?

As she places her napkin in her lap and squeezes lemon over her calamari, she's aware of someone's eyes on her. Looking up, she sees a man at the bar regarding her with calm and open interest, and Marija finds herself staring right back at him before she realizes the implications of what she's doing. The man turns away to let her eat in peace, and she feels a sudden flush of excitement. How could she have stared at him like that? She'd never done anything like that before. It must be this place, something about this place. He's very handsome, distinguished actually, and his maturity is welcome after all the smiling youths she's seen so far.

The calamari are excellent and Marija eagerly attacks her main course – medallions of veal in Madeira with baby potatoes and fresh peas – keeping one eye on the man at the bar. He's considerably older than she is, and his black hair and beard are flecked with gray. And yet it's impossible to look at his back as he sits at the bar and not think of a man at the height of his powers: knowledgeable and sophisticated. The word "virile" comes to mind, and makes her smile. He's everything that the boys in the catalog are not, and for the first time since her arrival, Marija find her sexual curiosity rising in a personal way. She's not above engaging in a little erotic speculation.

"Ms. Dumanoir?" Again the waitress catches Marija unawares as she lays down a beautifully arranged tray of cheese, nuts, and fruit, accompanied by a cut glass decanter of wine.

"What's this?" Marija asks. "I didn't order this."

"Vintage port," the waitress says. "From the gentleman." 

Marija looks up to see the man at the bar looking at her again, nodding in greeting.

Before she can think to say anything, the waitress has poured a glass of port and handed it to her, and there's nothing she can do but take a sip. The wine is thick and rich, its sweetness aged to an earthy maturity, while the alcoholic bouquet hints at the intoxication to come. The sensual complexity of the wine takes her by surprise. She's never had good port before.

As she takes another sip, the man leaves his stool and approaches the table. He stops some distance away, not wanting to impose himself. "It's satisfactory?".

"Yes," she says. "Quite good. Extraordinary."

She stops short of thanking him outright, enjoying this slight bit of rudeness on her part, just as she enjoys making him stand there as she takes another sip. After all, she didn't ask for this, and she's quite aware this is an opening ploy, and she's curious to see how he'll play his hand.

"Allow me," he says. He takes a knife from the tray, and cuts a thin slice of yellow-gold cheese, slides it onto a plate and sets it down before her. "Use your fingers. We don't stand on ceremony here. It's meant to be enjoyed."

Marija is slightly taken aback by his gesture, but she picks up the piece of cheese and bites into it. It is as firm as flesh at first, then yields to the pressure of her teeth, and her mouth is filled with a rich, sunny flavor, buttery and smooth with an almost citrusy tang..

"The port," he says.

She sips her wine and he smiles as he watches her face.

"Sun in a garden, isn't it? What do you think?"

It's just as he says. The cheese is warm and sunny, the wine cool, fruity and dark: the combination is wonderfully sensual and intimate. But at the same time it's such an obvious pick-up routine that she has to smile, which is just what he expects. His smile in return tells her he knows it's a clumsy approach. 

He's very good; perfectly charming, and yet when he looks at her she can see something warm and slightly dangerous in his eyes that brings a welcome flush of heat to her face and chest. She notices that none of the other men have chosen to approach any tables, and she takes that as a compliment. 

"Please," she says. "Won't you sit?" 

He holds out his hand. "Ariel Bloom," he says. "I hope you're suitably impressed?"

"With your name? Or with the whole presentation? The wine is very good."

"Port," he says. "Vintage port. It was a terribly transparent gesture, I'm afraid. But sincere. Things move very quickly here at the Pavane, and he who hesitates is often lost." He fills her glass and looks at her. "Or she, as the case may be."

Had all this happened only a few hours earlier, Marija would have laughed in his face, but sitting here filled with exquisite food and drink, in a room whose beauty seemed to impose its own set of rules, she enjoys his attention and his outrageous flirtation. This is, after all, what the Hotel Pavane is for, and this kind of elaborate attention is something new to her. She never engages in anything like this in her normal life. There's never any time, and normally Marija prefers to get right to the point. Now, however, she finds his attention both flattering and arousing. She still has doubts about herself, however; about her ability to go through with this.

He works at the Hotel, in some capacity that isn't entirely clear to her: something with event planning, she gathers. He's terribly knowledgeable about the place and often refers to designs and scenes and programs.

"And how is it that you happen to be in the Ladies' Dining Room?" she asks him.

He shrugs. "Why not? There's no segregation, nothing like that. Anyone's free to go wherever they please. Most men are put off by the word 'Ladies' and so they stay away. This room is really intended for women who prefer to choose their own partners, free of the kind of pressure they'd feel in one of the mixed rooms. I find such women fascinating to watch." 

He smiles at her. "I know, it's terrible. Very voyeuristic, but it fascinates me to observe people exercising their desires. Don't you agree?"

In the context of the Hotel, Marija can only guess what he means. "Perhaps."

"But I hope you don't feel that I'm unduly pressuring you," he says. "I don't want to insert myself where I'm not wanted."

She looks at him and sees a hint of a smile in his steady gaze. He's an intelligent man, and she decides his choice of words was deliberate. She returns his smile and holds out her glass for more wine. "Not at all."

They talk of things of no great consequence, but the words are just an excuse to keep themselves together, like the wine and the cheese. There's no hurry, and yet there's a sense that time is wasting too. Inside Marija is filled with doubt. 

He's everything she's been looking for, she realizes. Older, experienced, and discreet—everything that Andre hadn't been—and extremely attractive. And since he works at the Hotel, there won't be any strings attached. When they're done, she can just walk away.

But can she do it? Is it really as easy as just saying yes? It's been months since she's thought of being with a man, and she hardly trusts her own feelings anymore. She'd be devastated if she failed. 

At last the room and the decanter are almost empty, and Marija is filled with a languorous goodwill. He tries to pay her bill, citing his employee discount, but Marija won't hear of it and he doesn't insist. He's wise enough to know how things would seem if he paid for her dinner, and so he just signs the tab for the port. She's grateful for his sensitivity.

He will see her back to her room, though, and as they walk from the dining room she notices how the staff acknowledges and defers to him. Perhaps it's the port, but it seems like she's aware of everything, from the looks of the staff to the rustle of her dress against her naked skin.

He walks her outside onto a vast marble terrace overlooking the water. The lake is dark, the trees darker still, great black shadows blocking the reflection of the stars along the edges of the water. He points out the landscape to her, the various views: the arrangement of the different textures of darkness. It was all designed to be as beautiful at night as it is in the day, and indeed there is something soothing yet mysterious out there in the darkness. The moon is near full, slashed by thin clouds that cast moving shadows on the lake. 

"It's all designed to create a certain aesthetic sense," he says. "Beauty provokes a type of longing in the soul, a desire for intimacy, to join with it. We've worked very hard to achieve that effect here."

The night is warm. The swans are asleep on the far bank, so the surface of the water is mirror smooth. There's nobody about.

Marija is unaccountably nervous. She knows what will happen when they reach her room, and it's something she assumed she'd wanted, but now she wonders whether she'll be up to it, whether her body will respond as it should, or whether she's just going through the motions now because she thinks this is what she needs. He seems like a lovely man and an interesting and sensitive lover, but what if he's not enough? What if what she really wants is Andre? 

"You're worried," he says. "I can feel it. Your wicked past is rising to haunt you, isn't it? A man."

She smiles. "It's that obvious?"

"A beautiful young woman, alone at the Hotel Pavane. You don't have to be a genius to figure it out. About four or five months ago, I'd say. And now you're wondering if you still have it, if you still have anything left to give."

"Eight months ago," she says. She doesn't comment of the rest of what he's said.

"Eight months ago? It's worse than I thought."

The subject is uncomfortable, so she asks, "Tell me Mr. Bloom. Just what is it you do here at the Hotel?"

"Ari, please," he says. She can see his teeth in the darkness as he smiles. "You're going to hate me. I don't have a regular title, but I'm a kind of facilitator. I help plan people's activities here, the things they want to do at the Hotel."

"Volleyball games? Basket weaving? Things like that?"

He laughs. "People come to us for all sorts of reasons. Most of them are just looking for fun, but some of them come to us with real problems. Sex can be a powerful force for changing people. I facilitate that change."

"Like a therapist?"

"Not exactly. And not a surrogate either, not anymore. Those days are behind me. Now I simply recommend therapies, things that might help. Of course, for special cases..."

Marija watches one of the black swans stand up and ruffle its feathers. It beats its wings uneasily, and she can see the moonlight gleaming off the onyx feathers. Then it settles down and tucks its beak under its wing.

The thought that comes to her is an ugly one, but she has to ask. "Is that why you picked me out? Do I look like someone who needs therapy?"

He looks at her levelly. "Of course not. In any case, you'd have to request our services." He's silent for a moment, then asks, "Is that what you want?"

"What if I did?" Her eyes are on the swans across the lake. "What would you recommend?"

She knows what's going to happen, and at first she hates herself for even inviting it. He puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her to face him and she feels a surge of fear and sudden trepidation. She searches his face but his eyes are impossible to read in the dark. His lips come down on hers in a gentle kiss: tentative, as if he's examining her, and it's not the feel of his lips as much as it is the sensation of his hands on her shoulders, holding her. The kiss deepens, and he slides his arms around her back, pressing her against him, and she feels herself press back at him. The feeling of being held is delicious, 

She lets herself be kissed, basking in his need for her, letting him take her where she wants to go, and thankfully her body doesn't resist him. She feels again that needful ache between her legs, that fullness in her breasts, and she realizes that she still knows how to respond. Her heart might have forgotten, but her body remembers.

He lets go of her reluctantly, as if he's afraid that he's rumpled her dress, but Marija is glowing with excitement now, her heart pounding with remembrance.

"Where's your room?" he asks.

She hardly remembers. She has to take the key from her purse and show it to him, and when she does, his eyebrows rise.

"Two forty-three? But that's an exhibitionist room number. All the three's are for exhibitionists." He looks at her with curiosity.

"It was a mistake. I booked that room by mistake. I had them take the camera out."

He smiles in the dark. "Yes. I don't think that's what you need right now, to be putting on a show for the other guests."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"No. It's my male opinion." He takes her hand. "Now come with me."

He leads the way across the garden and into a nearly invisible service door at the base of the building. She's hardly paying attention as he finds an elevator, and as they ride to the second floor, he puts his hands around her waist and she willingly wraps her arms around his neck. They kiss, and this time Marija feels the heat rise into her face as he presses his body against hers. Her mouth is suddenly hungry, and whatever she does to him, he does again to her, harder and more insistent, so that when she bites his lip, he bites her back, and when she opens her mouth for him, he opens his, and his tongue penetrates her in a lewd and delicious imitation of the sexual act.

His hands rise to find her breasts, and once again it's the feel of his hands on her body that she finds so terribly exciting, even more arousing than these hungry kisses.

The elevator stops and he leads her down a maze of corridors until they stand outside of her door. She opens it, and her eyes go immediately to where the camera was. It's gone now, along with its concealing piece of molding.

He looks about the room, and his eyes fall on the three neatly-arranged bottles of pills. He walks over to the bedside table and picks one up, reads the label, then picks up another. She stands there uneasily. She'd forgotten she left them out. She'd forgotten all about them.




Hotel Pavane Ch. 01



When he looks at her now there is something new in his eyes, something she hadn't expected to see there: a kind of angry lust that makes her weak. She makes herself stand up straight. There's no sense in trying to pretend or make excuses. He knows what they mean.

"It's that bad?" he asks.

She shrugs. "At times."

His eyes soften now and she's relieved she's not going to be lectured or consoled. He's to wise for that. When he takes her in his arms, though, there's a savagery in his touch., a sudden hunger, as if he's afraid now that he might lose her. One hand goes to the back of her head, holding her in place for his kiss, while the other slides over her back, pressing her close, then down across the small of her back over her bottom, where he opens his hand and grips her tight, squeezing her possessively, so hard that Marija gasps in surprise.

Yet his sudden hunger thrills her too. He doesn't give her time to worry or think or say yes or no. He's just there, bearing down on her with this furious need, and it's all she can do to keep from being swept away on this cataract of passion. His sudden hunger for her is overwhelming. It's as if she's standing under a waterfall trying to breathe.

Both hands are on her ass now, and as he kisses her, he bends her back, keeping her hips pressed to his. He gathers up her skirt, lifting it over her bottom till she feels the cool air of the room against her naked ass. Now her decision not the wear anything underneath her dress comes back to haunt her. What will he think of her now?

His hands find her naked skin, and if anything it only inflames him more. He grabs both buttocks in his hands and sinks his fingers into her flesh, then pulls them apart. One finger slides down her crack and probes at her anus, and Marija turns her head to the side and gasps for breath, shocked at his boldness. She clings to his jacket if she might fall.

He pulls her over to the bed and stands her there, posing her like a doll as he kisses her face, her eyes, her mouth. His kisses are tender now, but still trembling with a restrained hunger. He seems poised on the edge of some terrible violence, and she's almost afraid to move, afraid she might set him off.

He grabs her arms and pushes her elbows back, forcing her breasts to strain against the thin fabric of the dress, and he pulls her against him, crushing her yielding softness against his chest and making her his prisoner.

"I'm going to fuck you, Marija," he whispers hotly. "I'm going to fuck you so good you won't ever think of those pills again. You're more than what your boyfriend thinks, and you're more than you know. That's what I'm going to show you."

He runs his hands up and down her body, from the hardness of her back down to the softness of her ass and Marija shelters in his arms, her hands against her chest.

"You just leave everything to me," he says. "Understand? You don't have to do anything. You just do as I say."

She already feels overwhelmed and capable of doing nothing. It's exactly what she wants, for someone to take charge of her and do things for her. 

He turns her around so her back is to him and unzips her dress. She stands there like a child as he pulls it up over her head, leaving her naked but for her shoes and her stockings, her garter belt and jewelry. She should be ashamed to be seen in her nakedness, but already she's taken his advice to heart. She'll do nothing, not even judge herself. She'll let him do as he wishes. 

He turns her to face him and steps back, holding her at arm's length so he can have a good look at her. He scans her body up and down, as if confirming what he already knows, and Marija stands there nervously in her nakedness as he inspects her like a simple commodity. His face seems cold and distant, his inspection almost degrading, until his eyes meet hers again and she sees such a look of heat and desire there that she feels herself began to swell and grow wet for him. Her pussy, her whole being, feels like a flower opening to the sun under the heat of his eyes.

He goes to the wall switch and turns off the lights. The only illumination is from the moonlight seeping through the French doors. He takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes; removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt; shrugs off the shirt and lets it fall around his arms as he works on the cuffs, and the sight of his chest and the domed muscles of his shoulders makes her breath race. He's thicker and darker than Andre, and altogether more dangerous. She's so intent on watching him strip that she doesn't even notice her own nakedness.

He pulls off his socks and unbuckles his belt, opens the zipper and lets his pants fall to the floor, and Marija can see his cock tenting his shorts, his beautiful, threatening cock, hard just for her.

When he comes to her and embraces her again, his shaft presses into her lower stomach and she has the strong urge to reach down and feel it, but he grabs her arm as she reaches for him and stops her.

"No," he says. "I'm taking charge. I'll tell you when. Now down. Down."

He grips her wrists and uses them to force her down to her knees at his feet. There's no real need to force her. She's willing, but his strength excites her: a measure of his hunger. She wants to be used, which is strange, because she's always hated being treated as a sex object, but now his force is exactly what she wants. She wants to feel the depth of his need for her. She wants him to make her do things.

He holds her with one hand on her wrist and pulls down his shorts with the other. His cock springs free, standing straight out in rampant eagerness. He's shaved entirely bare, which only makes him look bigger and more magnificent: thick and hard and wreathed in veins, arching upwards defiantly and capped with a straining helmet like a medieval warrior. Below it his balls hang ripe and heavy, obscenely potent, like stones for a catapult.

Marija looks up at him from her knees. He looms above her, still holding her forearms in his hands, glaring down like Zeus from Olympus, his hips thrust forward slightly. Marija has a brief thought of Andre, of a line she never meant to cross, and then she closes her eyes. She opens her mouth and takes him inside.

He moans, almost a growl, and she feels his hands tighten on her arms, urging her on. She slides her face forward, feeling the head of his cock rubbing across the roof of her mouth and over her soft palate. She hears him groan again and he shudders, and something inside her smiles with deep relief and satisfaction.

She's never thought of herself as being particularly good at oral sex, but then she'd never really had any way to judge. Andre had tended to lie back and keep quiet, but Ariel is the exact opposite. She can feel his cock quivering in her mouth, hear his satisfied moans as her lips envelope his shaft, and feel his excitement in the way he grips her arms.

He lets go of her now and reaches down and caresses her face, running his hand over her cheek and then over her lips to feel them stretched around his cock. "Yes," he whispers. "Like that. Show me how you love it."

He begins to move his hips, slowly fucking into her waiting mouth. Marija puts her hands on his thighs and feels the iron-like rigidity of his muscles. Above her, she can see his stomach trembling with tension, and the realization that she is having such an effect on him arouses her terribly. She begins to bob her head up and down on his cock, sucking as hard as she can.

Already he's panting. Marija weighs his balls in her hand, feels their heavy potency, and his overwhelming maleness makes her groan herself. She knows where that cock is going, knows there's no way to stop him, and it's such a relief to her. He reaches down and combs his fingers through her hair, pushes it back from her face so he can watch her, then holds her head gently as he begins to fuck her mouth with slow, deep strokes.

The way he uses her excites her: the way he takes control of her and imposes his will leaves her free of any responsibility, free to just experience the feel of him in her mouth. His excitement communicates itself to her, and suddenly she's on fire, sucking his cock, pulling it from her mouth and rubbing it over her cheeks, painting her face with his seeping lubricant. Ari thrusts his hips out, wraps her hair in his fists and begins to fuck her mouth with a hard, steady rhythm.

It's a savage way to treat this girl, yet she responds with moans and gasps of her own, thrilled by his violence. His stomach trembles, the big muscles in his thighs stand out like steel cords, and he lets her feel all his animal desire, pure and undiluted. But when he feels himself close to coming—when he feels the muscles tightening in his ass and belly, the fire in his nerves that signal the start of release—he stops, pulls his prick from her open mouth and bends down. He lifts her to her feet before she knows what's happening.

"On the bed," he says, and he pulls her over and pushes her down face first onto the mattress.

Marija wipes her mouth with her hand, totally confused, on fire for him and feeling her mouth's emptiness throughout her entire body, as if a part of her is missing. Her sudden need makes her weak and unsteady, and she lets him push and pull her around on the bed until he has her as he wants her: head down on the mattress, ass in the air, knees parted. 

She remembers the mirror standing against the wall, and looking over she can see herself. She looks at the woman on the bed, the wicked stockings and garter belt, the breasts hanging down in elongated cones. She is a slut, she realizes, a brazen, shameless slut who's about to be fucked by a total stranger.

As if reading her mind, Ari caresses her naked ass and says, "I want you to forget all about who you are. For tonight I want you to be nothing but a body, pure sensation. All you do is feel."

He pushes her knees together and pulls her hips back so that her puffy lips are compressed into two fleshy buns between her thighs. He holds her knees together, squats down and licks her, a lewd, animal-like swipe of his tongue, totally unexpected. She shudders, and he licks her again, pushing his mouth against her and trying to spear his tongue inside, though with her legs compressed he can only just touch the sensitive nerves at her entrance.

Marija groans. The way he licks her and presses his face against her is obscene, primitive and feral. It's totally unlike what she expected from this worldly and urbane man, but the very wildness of his actions arouses her terribly and brings out her own primal feelings, dirty and deliciously alive. 

She sneaks a glance in the mirror again and sees him kneeling on the floor, his face pressed into her ass. One hand caresses her buttocks, pulling them apart and squeezing. His other hand is on his hard, glistening cock, and he's pumping himself, masturbating as he licks and mouths her pussy. 

He raises his hand and brings it down sharply on her ass, totally unexpected, making Marija cry out in surprise. No one has ever struck her before, not even in play, and it shocks her, but when she tries to move he pulls her roughly back into place and slaps her bottom again.

"Ow!" 

"Shhh!" he warns. "Stay still! I'm not hurting you."

He slaps her again, and Marija grabs onto the bed cover, not knowing what else to do. It's a violation of all that she believes about love-making, and yet the angry sting of his hand on her flesh satisfies something deep inside her, some need to be owned and possessed, to be punished for her own erotic desires.

Four times he spanks her, and then his hand slides over her ass like a thief returning to the scene of the crime, caressing her, feeling the heat rise to the surface, worshipping her reddened skin. He slaps her twice more and now she makes no protest, feeling his blows as rightful possession. She feels the mattress sag beneath his weight as he climbs into the bed.

"I'm going to fuck you now, pretty," he says. "Just like this. Like animals fuck, back to front. Spread your legs."

She's on fire for him now, wet and aching between her legs, consumed by a wild mixture of shame and raw sexual need. She knows what he meant about forgetting who she is. She doesn't want to think about that, about guilt and remorse and making it good for him or what he'll think about her afterwards. She just wants his hardness inside her and the fierce strength of his lust possessing her. She spreads her thighs and lifts herself up on her forearms, daring to look back over her shoulder at him..

He doesn't come right into her. Instead he reaches beneath her from behind and presses hard against her labia, as if checking her condition, seeing if she's ready. His fingers slide between her lips and find her secret flesh, the eager bud of her clitoris, and his touch is almost too much to bear. It's a casual, almost cruel gesture, as if he were checking his bath water, and the callous way he touches her turns her heat into a raging flame. It's so foreign to her to be treated like this, but it inflames her.

He works a finger into her and pumps it in and out mechanically, his other hand on the small of her back. Marija can feel his eyes on her, and she gasps and covers her head with her hands, lacing her fingers in her hair as if she can hide herself from what he's doing to her.

"Do it!" she hears herself cry. "Fuck me!"

He only grunts in acknowledgement, and again the mattress rocks as he gets into position. His big cock nudges at her opening, and she grabs the covers and holds on, waiting for his entry, not daring to think.

It's been so long, and she's grown tight, but he's amazingly hard and won't be denied. His hands go to her hips and he grabs the crests of her hips bones and pushes forward, and she feels herself opening up to his onslaught, her stubborn flesh yielding before his irresistible attack.

"Oh!" she cries. "Oh God!"

"Tight," he says. "You're all closed up, aren't you, Marija? But we'll open you up, pretty. You'll see. I'll open you up!" 

It's like being a virgin again, the same fear of pain, of inadequacy, but now she knows she doesn't have to do anything. It's like he said: he's going to take it from her. She just has to be there for him and he'll take what he wants.

"Oh!" she cries out again as he shoves the entire length into her at last, and she feels unused muscles stretch and throb around him. Delicious pain, a thrilling ache as he fills her, till he tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her all the way back, thrusting forward and impaling her on his rampaging cock, flattening her buttocks against his hard stomach. 

Marija looks into the mirror and sees their image. He's standing tall on his knees and leaning back slightly, his hands on her hips; she's kneeling slavishly before him, ass up, back bowed down as she presses her tits against the bed. All her attention's on his throbbing hardness inside her, on how good he feels, on how sweet it is to be caught on the end of that angry male shaft.

"All right," he gasps. "Here it comes, Marija. Get ready for me."

She doesn't know what he's talking about. Wasn't he already in her balls deep? Her pussy's stretched around the thick base of his cock like an elastic band. She can feel him throbbing inside her. But now he pulls back, increases his grip on her hips, and begins to fuck her, slamming into her, the knobby shaft of his cock bumping over her flesh.

"Oh yes! Oh yes! Fuck me! Do it!" she yells.

His roughness and selfishness thrill her to the core. He fucks her like she belongs to him, like she has no purpose other than to serve him, and his selfishness sets her free. There's nothing she can do, no way she can reciprocate. Her only option is to lie there and moan and get fucked, possessed by his savage lust. It's delicious, liberating, and before she knows what's happening, a little orgasm washes like a wave of fire through her body, summoned by his lust. Her body, her very sensations are no longer hers to control. They belong to him.

He seems to know exactly what she's feeling, for no sooner has she come then he pulls out of her and pushes her over on her back. Marija's too weak to even try and resist him. She's like a rag doll in his hands, and as soon as he has her on her back, he enters her again with one smooth move of his hips. He falls on top of her, cradling her head in his hands, and his ass begins to rise and fall, thrusting his prick into her like a battering ram, knocking down all her defenses, battering her senseless.

He kisses her, biting and licking her lips like an animal, swallowing her moans and groans into his mouth, and his hips never stop working. Her knees are spread wide, her feet planted weakly on the bed, and her hands grab at the bed cover in a desperate attempt to hold on.

"Take it, Marija!" he moans into her mouth. "Take my big cock and make me come! Can you do it? Can you make me come? Can you make me come in that hot pussy?"

She wants to. She wants to fuck back at him, to make it good for him, but he's already moving so fast, fucking her so brutally she can't get any sort of rhythm or purchase on the bed. She feels herself climbing to another orgasm, her feet and ankles tingling, her face growing hot and flushed.

She turns her head and looks in the mirror and sees herself pressed into the mattress, her knees up and apart and shaking with every bruising thrust of Ari's hips. She sees his muscular ass rising and falling, his buttocks clenching as he feeds his cock into her and stirs it around inside. His shoulders are thick knots of muscle; his face a mask of furious lust and anguish. His violence overwhelms her, thrills her. He fucks her so hard the entire mattress sways beneath her, the whole world rocking to the angry rhythm of his prick inside her.

Ari grabs her wrists and pushes them down beside her shoulders, holding her to the bed, holding her immobile while his thundering cock hammers at her cunt, filling her and releasing, filling and releasing. Marija can't move, can't resist him if she'd wanted to. She closes her eyes, opens her mouth to his ravishing tongue and gives up; gives up fighting, gives up resisting, and opens herself to him entirely: not just her body, but her heart and soul, letting herself be conquered by his thrusting cock and the tight grip of his hands on her wrists.

She knows then that surrender is triumph, that letting go is security. His wild need proves her worth, and the only way she'll find herself is by giving herself away, and with those thoughts in her mind, she climaxes. She climaxes with a violence and a thoroughness that she's never felt before, as if her entire soul were washed in brilliant light. For those brief moments she's entirely sexual, nothing but cunt, and she plants her feet on the bed and thrusts her hips up at him hard, enveloping him in her clutching sheath and letting him feel her raging joy.

She has an image of his face above her, his look of furious lust replaced by one of sudden astonishment. His eyes glaze and go sightless, and with a low, feline growl she feels his cock jump inside of her, feels his entire body tighten into one, tense and trembling mass of muscle, and feels the burning jolt of his ejaculate splash inside her, one gout after another, and each one pushing her higher into a brilliant darkness.

*****

He's lying on his left side facing her, the covers pulled down to his waist, his back to the open French doors so that his right arm and shoulder are lit by moonlight, his face in shadows. "You're sure?" he asks.

She's on her back, the covers under her chin. She's always cold at night, even in the summer. "Yes. Would there be a problem?"

He lifts himself up on his elbow and looks down at her, reaches out and runs his palm across her breast. "No. No problem. I'd even waive my fee, if that's what you really want to do."




Hotel Pavane Ch. 01



"It is."

"It's not just all fun and games, you know. You'd have to do as I say."

"I don't mind. I want to do it. If it's anything like tonight, I want to do it."

He pulls the covers down and looks into her eyes as his hand caresses her naked breast.

"You have to be with me full time," he says. "So you'll have to extend your stay. I'll take care of your room. I don't want you paying. They won't miss you at work?"

"I don't care about the money," she says. "And they've been after me to take a vacation. They said it would be therapeutic. I don't think anything could be more therapeutic than this."

He lowers his head and his tongue traces circles around her nipple. Marija closes her eyes and arches her back against his touch. The chills she feels aren't due to the cold.

His hand slips under the sheets and trails down her stomach, detours over her hip and comes to rest against her sex, where she's still wet with the overflow of their passion.

"And you want everything?" he asks.

"Yes. Everything. When can we start?"

He touches her and despite herself, she gasps and feels her thighs tremble.

"Right now," he says. 



Hotel Pavane Ch. 02



Marija gets up so early the next morning that the stars are still in the sky. The first thing she thinks of is Ari and the night before, and the next thing she thinks of is that he's gone—her bed is empty. The guilt she was prepared to feel is replaced by shame and anger as she remembers her wanton behavior of last night and wonders whether she's scared him off. Even in this place she embarrasses herself. She feels like she can do nothing right.

She steps out on the balcony. It's very early but already the thick clouds are gathering, blown in from the north and tinted red and purple in the east by the rising sun. This may be a cheery place in the summer, but in this season it is gray and foreboding. She hears the dawn call of the peacocks in the garden followed by a woman's distant laughter. It only makes her feel more lonely. She comes inside and goes back to bed.

He comes for her at ten, startling her from a dream of Andre, which left her with a feeling of nagging unease, as if she's greatly disappointed someone. She transfers this feeling to Ari when he enters and tries to beg off their appointment, claiming she's unwell.

"I have things to show you today," he says, unbearably cheerful. "Things most people here never see—the insider's tour. I've arranged for a boat, so dress casual." 

He's brought tea and croissants on a cart, but Marija has no appetite. It occurs to her that maybe it would have been better if she had scared him off after last night. She can't bear anyone's company in the morning, and sightseeing is the last thing she wants to do today.

She's better after she's had her coffee and showered. The shower itself is a miracle, hot, over-engineered, and lavish with water. She goes through her clothes, wincing at all the romantic dresses and gowns she's brought, as if she'd intended to spend all her time at a ball. She puts on a pair of jeans and a sweater, a pair of athletic shoes. It's hardly what she thought she'd be wearing when she packed for the Hotel Pavane.

The island upon which the Hotel sits is still known as Palace Island and has always been dramatically landscaped and laced with canals, moats, and pools for boating, except at the northern end, where the island rises into sheer cliffs, densely wooded and intentionally left wild. The waters are still and mirror the trees and gardens that line the shore. Swans, black and white, glide upon the surface like clouds. The waterways are especially lovely at night, when little boats, decorated with candles and lanterns, drift about in the darkness like fireflies.

It's to a misty dock on one of these pools that Ari brings Marija in the early afternoon of this gray and forlorn day. He installs her in the prow of a small boat, part canoe, part gondola—short and wide with high and decorated stem and sternposts—and settles himself in with blankets and a paddle. He pushes off and they head for the waters of Lake Pavane that surround the island. 

The air is still and a thick mist rises from the water obscuring the towers of the hotel and the tops of the trees—sometimes even the banks themselves—so that they seem to float in a dream world, accompanied only by their own wake on the mirror-like water. The rose gardens and chrysanthemums they pass are mere smudges of color in this foggy world of gray and green.

"It's so still," she says. There are no other boats. The water is the color of a black mirror. "Is it always so still?"

"You've come during the misty season, and while the mists rise, yes, it is still. It's relaxing though, in its way."

"I don't think I've ever been in such a quiet landscape."

"Good. Then this will be a perfect place to talk."

"Talk about what?"

Ariel pulls in his paddle and lays it across the thwarts. "You. I want to know."

Marija knows he's talking about what he said last night, about healing her. "Oh Ari, that was sweet, but you weren't serious? You're going to be my sex therapist?"

"No," he says. "Don't call it that. A sex therapist works on a particular sexual problem. Sex is just the means to the end."

"What's the end?"

"To get you away from him and give you back to yourself. Don't you think that's a worthy goal?"

Marija looks at him as his eyes scan the shore. Last night he'd seen her in all her naked vulnerability. He'd taken her not against her will, but forcibly, taking what he wanted without asking, and it had been the best thing he could have done. His selfish desire had aroused her more than any gentle consideration would have and had thrilled her, so much so that she was surprised at the lack of shame and remorse she felt today. She'd not only enjoyed last night, but she'd had a most intense orgasm, unusual for her, and quite inexplicable. 

The boat barely seems to move. It's a strange shape, unusually wide for a craft so short. The generous beam makes it very stable.

She sighs, trailing her fingers in the water. "So what did you want to know?"

"About this man, the one who broke your heart. What was his name?"

Marija brings her hand into the boat and rolls over on her back. The prow of the little boat is an elaborate chair with pillows and cushions. Because of the stillness of the lake, they never become wet.

"Andre," She says. "But really, just when I was feeling better too. Do we have to, Ariel?"

"He left you?"

She sighs. "Yes. He just walked out one night, angry. He came back two days later while I was at work and got his things. It didn't matter. I couldn't afford the place without him anyhow. I had to leave."

"And why did he leave?"

She shrugs, loathe to talk about it. "We were always fighting."

"Of course. But what about?"

Marija drops her fingers in the still waters again. The smooth movement of the boat leaves barely a ripple.

"I don't know. Everything. What do people fight about? It's all so stupid. What we have for dinner at night, where we go on the weekend. Things he said, things I said..."

Ari picks up the paddle and strokes them in a new direction

"People don't fight for no reason, Marija. Either they fight because they're competing for the same thing, or because they hate each other, or because they've exhausted each other. You two didn't hate each other, so I'm going to bet you exhausted yourselves. You were with each other too much. You used each other up."

Marija smiles to hide her unease. The topic is a sore point

"It's no joke," he says. "People exhaust each other all the time. It's the curse of our age, where everyone has to tell everyone everything, be all things to their lovers. Relationships can't stand that. You should always keep something back. Never give everything to anyone. That doesn't do you any good, and believe me, they don't want it. Love's strength comes from mystery. Why do you think falling in love is so much more exciting than being in love? 

Marija makes a face. "Is that my lesson for today? To just shut up and not talk to men?"

"No." He drops the subject and peers at the shoreline. 

Marija turns to see that they've changed direction and are heading back to Palace island, but approaching from the north side, where the island rises and into a range of large, heavily wooded hills before plunging down into the lake in a series of precipitous cliffs. This is the wild side of the island, neither cultivated nor landscaped.

"There it is," he says, correcting the boat's motion with his paddle. "No. Today's lesson is about something else. It's about sex, how it's all around you."

"What are you looking for?" she asks, trying to follow his eyes. 

He doesn't answer, just starts taking them in to shore with strong strokes of the paddle. Marija gets up on her knees and turns around so she can see where they're headed, but all she can see are the ancient willows that dip their leaves into the misty water at the base of the cliffs.

"Watch your head," Ari says, and the boat glides under the trailing leaves, strands of willow dragging over Marija's face and back. She looks up then and is amazed to see a large cave right ahead of them arching over the water. The opening is partially blocked with an ancient iron water gate. The boat glides in under the overhanging rock and Ari backs water to stop them at the very entrance. In the dark twilight he produces a cigarette lighter and lights the kerosene lantern that hangs in the stern. He passes the lighter to Marija and tells her to light the bow lantern.

She does, and then gasps as he paddles them into the cave. 

The cavern is huge and vast with no walls to be seen. The black waters trail off into the far distance, and stalactites and stalagmites form a forest of columns and stumps that emerge from the water and disappear into the darkness overhead, shadowy shapes painted yellow-orange now by the lantern light. The cavern is full of them, and they fade off into the distance in a bewildering maze of pillars and arches.

"What is this, Ari? What is this place?"

"You remember 'Xanadu'? 'Where Alph the sacred river ran, through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea."

He smiles, but the place is too profound for laughter. "This is The Cavern. The lake is fed by underground springs, very deep. They formed these caverns. Then, not that long ago by geologic time, the lake broke through and flooded them. The old dukes used this cave to supply his castle in times of war. The castle was replaced by the palace centuries ago, but some of the medieval stonework still remains. The Hotel keeps the cave a secret, but they use part of the old landing stage for a wine cellar. That's the dim light you see way up ahead. It's too dangerous down here for the regular guests. Only a few of us even know about it."

The little boat glides along in its dome of yellow light, casting weird shadows on the columns. She cannot see the ceiling, she cannot see the walls. All there is is a forest of strangely shaped columns stretching away on either side as far as she can see, as if the whole island were hollow. 

Marija is spellbound. Speaking in this place seems wrong. They're in a deep and secret place, and the human voice isn't welcome. She looks over the side but sees nothing but her face staring back at her from the ring of lamplight. The water is a perfect black mirror. 

"The water in this cave is very deep," he says. "There are fish down there too, big fish, living at the bottom in the darkness."

The thought of fish there in the black water does something to her, brings up some primitive emotion of fear or reverence, and she unconsciously puts her hand to her chest as if to still her heart.

"They're not dangerous. Some subspecies of catfish, blind and pale white. They won't hurt you."

He paddles on for a ways, then says softly, "This is the lesson for today, Marija."

She looks back at him. "The caverns?"

"Just wait," he says.

They travel on, keeping the light of the landing stage ahead of them in the distance. The paddle is soundless in the water; the entire cavern is soundless, though Marija can hear the slow drip of water when they pass certain spots. It is timeless; the deep unimaginable patience of nature, the black water in caves unseen.

Ari steers the boat away from the light and behind the shadowy concealment of some fused columns. He takes a rope from the boat's stern and ties it around a stalagmite that emerged from the water, then he turns up the mantles in the lanterns.

The columns flash back at them like thousands of diamonds or shattered mirrors, and Marija's breath catches in her throat. 

"Incredible!"

"They're just quartz," he says. "Quartz and mica. But who would have thought? How lavish nature is with her beauty, isn't she? She just throws it away."

He turns the lanterns down and the sparkle fades. There's no current, and the boat barely moves. Ari stands up and joins her in the prow, and now Marija sees why the boat's shape is so curious. It allows two people to recline together comfortably in the prow and stern.

It's cool down here but not cold, and Ari's warmth is quite welcome as he arranges himself behind her and pulls her back against him. 

"We'll wait here and let the spirit of this place seep into us. I'm not a religious man, but this is a sacred place. We respond to it on many levels."

They sit in the darkness, in the absolute silence, the only sound the distant drip of water, and Marija wonders what it is she's supposed to feel: reverence, awe. She's about to speak when Ariel puts his hands on her breasts and gently pulls her back against him. Marija holds her breath, afraid to say anything but unsure of what he means to do. His behavior is shocking but not unwelcome. It's been some time since a man couldn't keep his hands off her and she doesn't object, and his human touch is comforting in the silent darkness.

His hands don't move, but Marija starts to get excited. It's the quiet, the absence of people. She's never felt silence as a presence before, but now it exudes from the very stone and the surface of the water. It makes her want to do things, to yell or scream. 

Ari's hand leaves her breast and presses against her cheek, gently turning her face back at him for a kiss, and Marija feels a surge of excitement before their lips even meet. She opens her mouth to him, eager for his tongue.

His male warmth is wonderful in this cool, dark place, and Marija feels herself opening for him as if her body is already far ahead of her. His hand slips under her sweater and finds her own warmth and softness and Marija sighs. She can't remember when a man's hand felt so comforting.

She's been slightly ashamed of herself all day, conflicted by her behavior last night, but now in this underground labyrinth of glistening towers with the black water below and around her, her hunger surfaces to a shocking degree. It's as if the still lifelessness makes their human presence all the more precious and Marija presses back against him and covers his hand on her breast with her own. There's no one else around. She's never been in a place so totally devoid of humanity and her sensual excitement seems to expand to fill the emptiness like the glow of the little boat's lanterns seeks to fill the darkness.

Ari's sitting directly behind her and the feel of his shaft coming to life and pressing against her bottom is terribly exciting. She still worries that her own capacity to respond to a man might have been damaged and it's gratifying to know that she hasn't, but more gratifying is his response to her. His ardor seems greater than her own, and suddenly the memory of last night comes back to her in physical sensations: the memory of his cock inside her and the weight of his body on hers.

Marija presses back against him. His left hand leaves her breast and travels down between her legs and she groans. She's on fire for him, as if she's been drugged. She raises her knees and lets them fall open.

Behind her, Ari laughs softly.

"What is it?" she demands. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. This place is very magical, isn't it? It invokes feelings of majesty and awe, but finally they all come down to sex, don't they? When words fail us, we always have that."

He uses both hands to open her jeans and his warm hand dips inside. Marija has to stifle a cry as he finds her and begins to play with her.

"Ari! Should you?" 

Again he laughs. "I doubt there's another place on earth as private as this."

The boat hardly moves. When Marija opens her eyes she can see the stone columns stained yellow by the kerosene light, soaring into the darkness. She's in a place of deep beauty and secrecy, and even Ari's hand moving between her legs seems to have some extra meaning, summoning up something dark and primal from her depths.

The boat hardly moves. Ari is kissing her now, kissing the side of her neck and her face as his hand rubs and massages her breasts and catches her nipples between his fingers. His hand between her legs is busy and coated with her wetness, and Marija's belly and hips are grinding about as if trying to dispel a sudden empty ache she feels. 

His breath is like fire on her ear. "I want you to do something for me," he whispers. "I want you to take my cock in your mouth. I want you to suck it, Marija. I need you to do it."

His words thrill and alarm her. Since she's been with him she's done nothing really, only let him do things to her, and this is a rather bold first step. Still, there is something about this place that makes her not only willing, but eager—the closeness, the warmth of him, the darkness and isolation. 

"Yes," she says. "Let me."

He arranges her on her knees between his legs as the boat rocks softly. The sound of his zipper is unusually loud, and there is the dull clunk of his belt buckle hitting the seat as he pushed his trousers down. Marija is on her knees, hungry to taste him. The shame and self-consciousness she feared is totally absent, as if the caverns had made her a different person.

His prick is soon revealed in the lamplight, and she loses no time in taking it in her hand and running her tongue up and down its length, loving his heat and responsiveness. She opens her mouth and takes him inside.

His gasp of pleasure echoes softly and Marija is in sensual heaven. His thickness on her tongue, the wild male taste of him. She sucks hungrily, filling her mouth with his virility as he combs his fingers through her hair and stares down at her.

His voice is as soft and insistent as the water that drips in the cavern. "Yes, Marija. Suck me. Suck my cock", and she feels a part of it too, a part of the deep, dark places, a hole in the earth meant to be filled, containing secrets and darkness..

He's so virile, his cock so full of light and life. It's like a torch upon her tongue. Marija doesn't move. She just leaves his prick sitting in her mouth, the tip edging towards her throat. Her nostrils flare. In the darkness, it's like there's nothing but this: her mouth and his prick. There's all the time in the world.

"Male and female made he them," Ari says softly, and Marija knows instinctively what he means. The creation, born from the earth, born in duality. She feels the hunger for sex as a glow deep within her, deeper than she'd ever imagined, down below the worries and doubts and beyond even the thoughts of love and affection. It's as though they're the only people in the world, male and female, and Marija feels a thrill at this recognition of her own sexual identity—she's the same as Ariel, and yet profoundly different, and in that difference lay everything that mattered.

She begins to move her head, feeling his knobby stalk bumping between her lips, and is gratified to feel his fingers tighten in her hair.

"Easy," he says. "Feel me, Marija. This isn't just for me."

She's done this before of course, but never paid much attention to her own sensations. It was always for Andre, always a matter of finding out what he liked and doing it, but Ariel now is intentionally trying not to respond, to give her no cues, and except for an occasional low moan of appreciation, it's up to her to find her own motivation and derive her own pleasure. 

She's aware of the bumps and veiny ridges on the shaft of his cock, the way the wide, rounded glans presses against her throat, and the thrilling hardness, the feel of something potent and aggressive pushing at her just above the point where she can swallow him. On a sudden urge, she pushes her face forward and feels her throat close in stubborn resistance. She insists, pushing harder, feeling him touch the part of her that makes her want to gag, and she has to back off.

She pulls her head off him, gasping for breath, feeling his cock emerging from her mouth railing long strings of mucus from the back of her throat, and her sense of shame at her own lasciviousness brings her to a new state of arousal. The boat rocks gently upon the dark water as she repositions herself then slides her head forward to take his cock again, the head slithering over her tongue and down her throat.




Hotel Pavane Ch. 02



She's determined this time. Something fierce and female possesses her, and she's determined to do this. There's no time for shyness or circumspection; no time to think and worry. Some hunger compels her to take him inside as deep as she possibly can. She wants to swallow him like he's never been swallowed

The blood pounds in her ears as Marija fights down her gag reflex. The head of his cock is right at the top of her throat and she feels her soft palate close on it in a series of muscular spasms, but still she doesn't stop. She pushes her face farther forward until the head of his prick is in her gullet and his pubic hair is between her teeth. Tears stream from her eyes as she fights the urge to reject him. She wants him there, deep within, all the way down to her stomach—even farther. Ari's groan of harsh pleasure and astonishment echoes off the invisible walls and Marija has a vision of the fish swimming in the darkness below, blind things in the caves, seeking the dark water.

She becomes aware of Ariel yelling, pushing at her head, trying to get her off his cock. She coughs as his withdrawing prick sets off her reflex again and chases after him, suddenly missing that throbbing thickness in her throat, but he seems desperate, pushing her away and crying out, "No! Marija, no!"

He pulls his cock from her lips and she sees it almost glowing in the lamp lit darkness. She licks her lips, feels the emptiness in her mouth and the hollowness in her body. She looks up to see Ari breathing hard, looking down at her with a look of astonishment on his face, and Marija gets up on her knees, digs her nails into the bunched muscles of his thighs, and impales herself again on his hard shaft.

It's like diving into deep water. Again the gag reflex, again the frantic spasming of the ring of muscle in her throat, and again a savage hunger she can't explain forces her head down on him, taking him deep, so deep he's almost a part of her body. The broad, thick head of his cock opens her secret and intimate flesh and holds it open. She feels the tickle of his lubricant burning into her throat, and here she waits

She waits with the patience of the blind fish in the deep pools, with the patience of the dark cave and the dripping water. She waits as her throat closes on him again and again in a series of peristaltic contractions, milking him, massaging his glans, her very body trying to pull him deeper. She waits with the patience of the female serving her man, and Ari groans and throws his head back. 

There's no chance of his controlling himself this time. She can tell from his helpless growls and breathless gasps, the spastic shudders of his tightly clenched abdominals. There's no strength in his hand as he touches her, just the feeble palsy of a man at his limit, in the extreme of sensation. Marija holds herself there while her ears roar and her throat milks him in a reflex action she can't even control, her lower lip against his balls, her nose in his pubic hair. She holds herself there even as she feels his tool jerk in her mouth and he cries out, his head falling back in helpless abandon as his hips thrust against her. He tries to warn her but he's not in control of himself, and Marija knows instinctively just what she's doing. She holds him in her throat and feels him erupt.

Hot, thick gouts of semen hit her in a place where she has few nerves, and yet she can feel the powerful contractions of his cock and the jets of come splattering against the back of her gullet. She can taste it as the aroma wafts up from the sticky pools of his passionate discharge. He's ejaculating straight into her throat, pouring his seed directly into her body, and she's totally open to him and entirely accepting. She waits till the first two blasts are finished before she pulls her head off his throbbing spear, the thick glans giving her a weird thrill as it passes the portal of her esophagus. The come hangs in thick strands from her lips as she holds his slime-covered prick poised at her mouth. The next jet misses and the silvery semen arcs up and falls into the black water.

She can't resist it now and she smothers the head of his cock with her lips, her hand pumping the silky-hard shaft like a demonic machine, demanding his come. She receives the next bolt on the roof of her mouth, and then the rest of his load spills onto her tongue as she swallows greedily. Ari's head rolls back, his fingers tangled in her hair as he gasps out the last of his savage pleasure.

She drinks him up, with a desperation for his masculine essence that goes beyond the mere sexual. In her young life she has denied herself this, has treated the male discharge as something dirty and shameful, but here in the place, surrounded by this feminine darkness, she feeds feverishly at his spurting cock, famished for the taste of his sex.

"Aghhh! Christ!" Ariel finally has to lever her off his cock forcefully, pushing her until she falls back in the bottom of the boat, her pants still open, her face smeared with semen and saliva, a glazed look of desire on her face. His come was like a drug to her, and she's completely intoxicated, but at the same time his sudden shove brought her back to herself and she looks around in confusion.

"Oh God!" he moans, "I've never felt anything like that! I was in your fucking belly, Marija! What happened to you? Where did you learn that?"

She wipes her lip and looks at her fingers, looking for any stray drops that might have gotten away. She shudders at her own unexpected depravity. She doesn't know where she learned it or even how she knew she could do it, but inside her is a wild and willful pride, the pride of a woman in her own sexuality. After last night's passive performance, she's paid him back in kind and shown him that she's not as helpless and unskilled as he might have thought. And more importantly, she's taught herself the same thing.

She sits back in the boat and feels the cavern around her like a cloak, tastes his semen in her mouth and still feels him reaching into the darkest part of her body. The cavern is, she realizes, a very female place, and she feels a kinship now with the mysterious darkness.

She knows what lives in the depths.