Clarifying Relationships

Steve placed a hand on her upper arm. Marie was acutely aware of his touch. He towered over her. His massive silhouette blocked out the light from the hanging lamps and the brightness streaming through the windows. She stood in his shadow. His harsh, masculine scent enveloped her.

He said he had an idea. What kind of idea?

Marie had a suspicion.

His grip was not firm, but determined. Did he want to take her away? Or right here...

She shuddered. Her gaze wandered unconsciously to the women kneeling motionless along the wall with their heads bowed in humility. Basically, it was only by chance that she had been born in another country and was standing here instead of crouching there with the others.

“Come with me.” Steve spoke softly.

He led Marie to the wood-paneled wall and held his wrist with the watch to a spot marked with a small key pictogram. A door-sized section of the paneling swung open.

Behind it were subdued, indirect lighting and muted, toned-down colors. There were heavy wall hangings that absorbed sound. The air that blew toward them smelled of warmth, wood, ****, and something else that Marie couldn't immediately identify. She stepped inside.

“What is this place?” She looked around in amazement.

“This is where people come when they want to relax. Or when they want to have confidential conversations they don't want everyone to hear.”

Marie looked around more attentively. The room was smaller than it appeared at first glance. Some might say more intimate. A dark leather seating area was arranged in a semicircle so that when you sat down, you inevitably faced each other. To the side was a self-service bar with bottles of various colors and crystal glasses. It also featured a coffee machine, latte macchiato glasses, and espresso cups.

She moved deeper into the room, taking in the atmosphere. She registered the expected—and then the unexpected.

At the back of the room was a separate area. Not partitioned off, not hidden, just lit differently. Metal gleamed in the semi-darkness. She recognized leather—straps, cuffs. Whips, lashes, and paddles hung neatly lined up on the wall. In a display case were collars, blindfolds… and other things Marie didn't want to name, but whose purpose was immediately clear to her.

Above it all towered a large steel St. Andrew's cross, like the crucifix in a church. However, it had leather straps where hands, feet, and waist would rest when someone stood in front of it.

Everything looked neat, clean, almost clinical. She understood: this was not about pornography or explicit sexuality, but about the display of power and control.

When she turned back to the door, Steve had already settled into one of the armchairs, his arms loosely resting on the armrests, his legs spread wide. He was watching her intently.

She noticed that the semicircle of seats was open at the back, like the audience seating at a stage. It took her a few minutes to process everything.

“Is that...?” She couldn't finish the sentence.

“Yes.” Steve didn't smile.

Marie had to swallow hard. She tried to sort through her thoughts and feelings. A place like this, here? In a luxurious hotel with international guests? Right next to a conference room where diplomatic negotiations were taking place? That was absurd.

“Why?” She looked at Steve questioningly.

“For relaxation. And to clarify relationships.”

He said it without any irony. Suddenly, he no longer seemed like a guard to Marie, but like a hunter. Lurking, dangerous. She kept her distance.

“Pour me a glass.” He pointed to the bar. And without her asking, he added, “You can have one too.”

While she did what he had asked—she preferred to see it as a request rather than an order—he continued talking.

“Power requires control. And control works better when it's ritualized.”

“Power over women?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Steve laughed dryly.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Marie became acutely aware of her body. Her business suit was deliberately formal in cut, but also had a feminine touch. The blouse started to feel tight across her chest.

She handed him his glass and sat down opposite him.

He looked at her over the rim. “You seem anxious.”

“Yes, I am,” she admitted honestly. “And... curious.”

The memory of last night came flooding back. Her tied to the bed. Steve standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. His gaze cold and warm at the same time.

She trembled. Steve appeared so present and strong. It seemed almost natural for him to take control. Was that what American women felt when they bowed down and submitted to men?

For every person who controls, there is someone who allows themselves to be controlled.

To distract herself and buy some time, she sniffed the rye whiskey she had poured. At first, a distinct note of oak and vanilla rose to her nose, with something sharp underneath—pepper. Maybe there was cinnamon too, and definitely a hint of smoke.

The first sip tasted strong but surprisingly smooth. The whiskey slowly spread across her palate, warming her tongue. First came the spice, then a mild sweetness, almost like caramelized sugar, before a dry, slightly bitter note appeared in the finish. It didn't burn, it demanded attention. And it lingered.

Just like the memory.