Ann Mayburn - Sodom and the Phoenix

“Love you too.” Sherry’s normally teasing voice turned serious. “Tanwen, you deserve someone who recognizes you for the fantastic woman you are, but watch yourself. I know how easily you bond with people—you can’t help that you have that earth-mother vibe—and I’m afraid you could come home with a submissive in your suitcase. You need to know who you are and love yourself before anyone else can love you. And you need to figure that out on your own without falling in love on vacation like some dippy heroine from a soap opera.” Tanwen snorted, but Sherry continued unabashed. “Have lots of kinky VR sex and take advantage of this opportunity to just focus on yourself and your pleasure. You’ve spent half your life putting your family first. Now it’s time for you to take care of yourself and your needs.”

Before Tanwen could respond, Sherry hung up, leaving her staring at her suitcase. With a tired sigh, she put away her clothing and took her dresses out of the hanging garment bag. The petal pink dress shimmered in the golden light pouring through the windows. It really was a beautiful dress, and she liked how it made her feel soft and feminine.

Slipping her shoes on, she automatically went to put her hair up in a ponytail before she left for her fantasy. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to leave it long and loose around her shoulders. She still tugged the peasant blouse back up in place, but the decision to wear her hair down made her conscious of the almost sensual feel of it brushing her shoulders. She dithered at the door, putting her hand on and off the handle about a dozen times before laughing at her own foolishness.

It was easy to be brave about facing new and potentially uncomfortable situations when she was focusing on her sons. Knowing she was doing something to make their lives better or make them happy gave her the courage to face any embarrassing situation. Her oldest boy, Brad, found that out the hard way years earlier when she had marched into an unsupervised party when he was fifteen and hauled him out by his ear in front of all his friends.

Just the memory of his shocked expression as he spied her slipping through the crowd of underage, drunk kids made her smile. It was almost as scared as Sherry’s daughter Jenny’s expression when Tanwen nabbed her on the way out of the party. Tanwen’s smile turned into a laugh as she remembered how pitiful Jenny and Brad had looked next to each other on the living room sofa as two sets of parents read them the riot act. That moment must have bonded them together, because now Jenny and Brad were engaged, and Tanwen couldn’t be happier with her future daughter-in-law.

Focusing on that memory, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway with a purpose.

Tanwen sat up as straight as she could and tried to look cool and composed. Not the easiest thing when she perched on the edge of a white silk-covered bed elevated about three feet off the floor by the machinery beneath it. The room itself was small and unremarkable. Soothing cream walls with a floral impressionist painting adding a splash of color. Most of the space was dominated by the VR pod and the bank of electronics that controlled the stimulation.

The VR suites took up three whole floors of the hotel and boasted over three hundred beds. Each guest had their own personal VR concierge who helped them set up their simulations. Tanwen was rather surprised at the appearance of her concierge. Being that this was a VR resort specializing in sexual fantasies, she had been expecting some kind of sultry sex kitten, not an older woman who looked like she wouldn’t be out of place at a church social.

Seated in a battered rose velvet chair before the computer controlling the whole setup was a woman in her late sixties who would have fit in perfectly at Tanwen’s old country club if not for the streaks of vibrant purple in her well-styled salt-and-pepper hair. Her name was Michelle, and she was Tanwen’s VR concierge and a registered sex therapist. At the moment, she looked at Tanwen’s file on the screen of her computer while tapping her lips.

Michelle turned to Tanwen with a smile. “I must say, your fantasies are well thought out.”

Tanwen laced her fingers together in her lap to keep her hands from shaking as she let out a small sigh of relief. She knew it was totally irrational, but she couldn’t banish the voice of doubt in her head that told her Michelle was going to scream in horror when she saw her fantasies and call her a weirdo. “Thank you.”

The computer chair creaked as Michelle turned to face her fully. The woman’s gray eyes were kind, and she leaned forward so her elbows were resting on her knees. “I was pleased at how honest and how detailed you were in filling out your questionnaire. You have no idea how many people I get that feel like they have to lie about what arouses them. Thank you for trusting Sodom and, more importantly, me with your fantasies.”

Happiness coursed through Tanwen, and the smile she gave Michelle this time was real. “It wasn’t easy. I think it took me nine days to finally complete it. That was after going back and changing my answers about a hundred times.”

Michelle nodded. “Sometimes it takes people a while to admit what they want and not feel guilty about it.” She leaned back in her chair and touched her hair. “Take me, for example. For fifteen years, I was a couples therapist until I finally admitted to myself that the type of therapy I was drawn to, that I really wanted to do, was sex therapy. I saw over and over again in my practice couples whose issues all started with various sexual problems. Once I got over the stigma of actually being a sex therapist, I felt happy for the first time in a long time. That’s what being honest with yourself does. It makes you happy.”

Tanwen considered this as she unlaced her hands and stretched them out. They tingled as blood rushed back into her fingertips. “What fantasy do you think I should start out with?”

“Whichever one you want. Today we’ll stick with one from your list, but if you want to deviate from it, let me know at least six hours in advance so I can set up the new fantasy for you.”

“I”—she swallowed and said in a soft voice—“I’d like to try the hot cop one.”

Michelle beamed at her. “Fantastic! I’ve always had a thing for a man in uniform. That power exchange is heady stuff.”

“Power exchange?”

“It’s a term that refers to the exchange of trust and compliance within a relationship, sexual or otherwise.” Michelle turned toward the computer and began clicking on the mouse. “Using the example of the hot cop and the speeder, the power exchange has many layers. The most obvious is the hot cop will arrest you and throw you in jail if you don’t do what he wants. But the speeder has her own power as well. She can at any time say no and accept her jail time instead of serving his deliciously lecherous desires. She willingly gives the hot cop the ultimate authority over her by consenting to do whatever he wants.”

Tanwen felt something resonate inside of her at Michelle’s words. “So I, that is the speeder, really controls the situation?”

“Yes and no. Your partner has an equal say. There may be some things he will refuse to do no matter how much you try to force him. When you give up that control in a power exchange situation, you have to abide by your decision and trust your partner to take care of you.”

A blush burned Tanwen’s cheeks. “I would never force someone to do something.”

“I know. It isn’t in your personality. The BDSM community has a saying: ‘safe, sane, consensual.’ They know they engage in play that can be potentially harmful or outright dangerous in the wrong situation and, as a whole, safeguard against anyone getting hurt. It may sound terribly ironic, but the BDSM community abhors abuse.” Michelle gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Any asshole with a baseball bat can cause someone pain. That doesn’t make them a good master. That makes them an asshole. Not that you’ll have to worry about that here. You have a wonderful sampling of masters from the D/s community assembled for the convention.”