These were the last words that I could remember hearing clearly. The hours spent in torment are a blur to me now, the phantasmagorical visions tempered by the hand of time and the healing of the flesh. The experience made an indelible impression upon me, one which will color every moment of my life from that day on.

Each day when I awaken, my first thoughts are of Her - tormentor, torturer, inquisitor. My mind puzzled as I strained to think of how one so beautiful could be so cruel. So deliriously cruel. With such obvious relish for the surrender, the vision, the power.

I had to attend a funeral, something which I abhor - the overdramatic overtures of the mourners, the ritualistic words, the lining up to bid farewell to the dead. And I despise the color black, mainly because it reminds me of this circus, and never, ever wear it. I had neglected to invite along my dearest one, mainly because I felt her lack of dignity at these kinds of events disturbing, and had ordered that she stay away.

Dutifully I followed the hearse from the flower-encrusted church to the cemetery, all in the name of doing what one should, and what would the neighbors think if I didn't attend? Pulling my car into the cemetary parking lot, I felt something - something tangible, something different came over me, but something I could not at this point comprehend. I joined the assembled mourners for the traditional march to the gravesite, trying to blend in as much as possible in my navy suit.

My direct challenge to the color scheme was immediately noticed of course, and I could feel the whispering and pointing in my direction, so palpable it almost made my skin crawl. But I was here to pay my respects, not to impress the assembled throng.

We made our way past elaborate mausoleums and headstones, testaments to excess and guilt, past the unmarked graves and the freshly-dug ones to a small hill where the staff was waiting for our arrival. Slowly, and amid the usual fanfare, the casket was removed from the hearse and placed over the grave. It was then that the hysterics began in earnest. This type of display has never moved me, I have always been able to remove myself from it, staring with a cold, icy glare into its face. I looked down at the casket with these eyes, then looked up to survey the crowd.

And this creature stared back at me. This beautiful creature, shrouded in black lace and velvet, whose brown eyes locked upon mine and wouldn't let go. Slick black hair cut short like they did in the 1920s, eyes heavily rimmed with kohl, tall slim frame swathed in fabric. For a moment I was startled, unable to move. The words of the liturgy swam over me, and the crowd became a blur of muted color. She was on the other side of the casket from me, and my brain strained to think of a way that I could move closer to her without exciting the suspicions of the crowd. And shouldn't I be paying attention to the casket?

It was no use. Impatiently I waited for the service to end, for the burial to commence, so that I might move closer to this gothic goddess. My eyes never moved from her, but when the casket had disappeared into its early grave, she was gone. I searched in vain, but she had disappeared. The crowd began to disperse, and I was clearly a persona non grata at their somber services to follow. It mattered not, as I simply had to find her. I asked the other mourners if they had seen her, knew who she was. But no one else had seen her, perhaps they said, because they were too lost in their grief. Inferring of course that I was not, and that my mind was wandering into inappropriate sexual territory.

I quit the cemetery and began looking for my car. It was not where I had left it, in fact it was gone. A moment of hysteria came over me, and I stomped and let out a scream, so angry that my only way to escape this place was no more. There was a small building on the cemetery grounds that I had noticed earlier, and thinking it perhaps an office, I headed in that direction.

The building was quite old, made of stone, and could have been used for anything. Small openings in the stone served as the only means of light into the structure, and from them I could see candlelight.

Someone was inside.

I knocked.

No reply.

I screamed.

No reply.

I kicked the door.

No reply.

Perhaps I had been mistaken about the building being inhabited.

I turned to leave. The door opened. I looked inside. All I could see was the flickering of hundreds of small white candles, but that was enough to beckon me in. The door closed behind me with a crash.

"Step into the light. I know who you are and I know what it is that you seek".

That female voice. Deep, dark and knowing. I was powerless to resist. Slowly I entered further into the room, fear swirling around me coupled with an intense excitement I had never experienced.

"I know that you do not know who I am, but you needn't fear me. I will not permanently harm you. This is to be a temporary respite from your everyday existence. It shall remain with you forever, and may in fact be something that you will never have to repeat, something that will bring to you great knowledge. You must be made to suffer in return for the suffering that you have brought unto others".

I still could not see from whom this voice emanated, but felt sure that it must be from the woman I had encountered in the cemetery. My hope and fear was confirmed as she stepped into the light.

"In return for this knowledge, there is something that you must provide. I will not tell you what this is, or who it is for, but by the end of our session you will know".

I fell under her spell. Physically, she came up behind me and grabbed me, dragging my quite limp body over to a large table. She laid me down, face up, and restrained my wrists and ankles so quickly that I did not offer any protest. It was only once I realized that I was bound that I began to struggle. She watched my ministrations, then walked over with several leather items.

A blindfold and a gag.

Expertly, she fastened these around me until I could no longer see nor speak. I lay there awaiting my fate, now that there was no way out. Using a grotesquely large knife, she cut through my clothing, leaving it in a heap of rags that dangled over the slab to which I was bound. I feared the knife, its sharp edge ripping my flesh, tearing into my body, but the cold steel did not ever touch my skin. I heard her footsteps, the clicking of her heels, moving away from me.

I waited for what seemed forever. I could feel the glow of the room, even if I could no longer see it. The overpowering scent of vanilla, calming yet unnerving in its intensity. I could feel the heat of the massive columns of wax that slowly dripped their excess to the floor, a heat that was at once erotic and unbearable. Was it coming close to me, moving ever so slowly towards my waiting flesh? Or was I delirious, only imagining the wax to be perilously close, psychosomatically feeling its heat?

Footsteps. Stilettos on stone. Now the heat was definitely near me. I felt her hand glide across my body, preparing it for what tortures awaited me. The sharpness of her nails contrasted with the softness of her skin. Long, thin fingers articulated my nipples, pinching them ever so gently, raising them up to their full state of erection.

I felt a shudder pass through my entire body at the touch of her hands. They were quite cold, as though there were no blood in her veins. They warmed slowly as she completed her task. Yet they were still quite cold as she began to encircle my cock and balls with a long piece of string, separating the balls, tying them quite tightly, so tightly that I let out a muffled scream behind the gag. All of the blood was now quite concentrated in my genitals, and I became more aware of sensation then I had ever been. The slightest movement left me wrought in ecstasy and pain. She wound the string around and around, effectively separating my genitalia from the rest of my body. The heat was becoming intense. It was coming closer. I felt her hands untying the blindfold. Images came to me, a blurry, all-consuming golden light, then the intricacy of her lace-covered form.

She leaped onto the table, sitting on my chest, layers of lace and tulle spread over me and cascading to the floor. In her hand she held one of the large golden candles, a kind that I have seen many times of many altars. Slowly she articulated the words, "Now it is your turn to suffer", and I felt the hot wax burning my nipples, the droplets falling, falling onto my naked skin. At its first touch, my body wrenched violently, but the restraints and the weight of her body worked to keep me plastered to the spot. Each drop produced sensations of the most violent kind at their first touch, then the tightening of my skin as the wax cooled sent a shiver down my spine. Every inch of my body from my neck down was to become entombed in this fiery cascade, and she saved the most intimate torture for last.

Once my body was mostly covered, she reached over to grasp the one red candle in the room. I watched as she swirled the liquid wax at its top, then felt the intense pain of the wax dripping onto my balls, then my cock, until the blood-red coating was thick and tight.

My exquisite inquisitor.

She asked me no questions, merely went about her task. She proceeded to melt the wax from every single candle in the room upon me, the heat searing my flesh, then slowly tightening to excite every single nerve in my body. I was wrapped in a cocoon of wax, its golden vanilla tones drying in their melting paths, save the redness of my cock and balls, leaving my already restrained body totally frozen.

"Cemeteries are peaceful places", she said.

And I lost consciousness.

I awoke to the sounds of chattering, and to the sight of many people hovering over me. Instinctively I reached out to cover my nakedness, only to discover that I was clothed in a garment of the finest velvet, black and flowing about my body.

There was not a droplet of wax to be found.

The people were all of my dearest friends, the people with whom I shared my most intimate secrets. They stared at me in disbelief. Apparently I had been missing for 7 days, an entire week had gone by since the funeral, and it was only by chance that I was discovered here, (or so my acquaintances thought). My attire was questioned, and the overpowering scent of vanilla wafted into the room through the open door.

My dearest one, a woman with whom I had been having relations with for many years, threw her arms around me and lifted me into a sitting position. I held her, still not totally aware of my surroundings or of what had happened to me when I glanced over her shoulder toward the door. As it swung on its rusted hinges in a gust of wind, there stood my Inquisitor, the tiniest upturn of a wicked smile crossing her lips. I knew right there and then that my "discovery" was entirely planned, right down to the tiniest details of when, where, and what I should be clothed in, and who should "find" me. No one else seemed to see her, yet her presence was as human and palpable as anyone in the room.

Her eyes bored deeply into mine, and she mouthed the word, "Remember".

Then she disappeared.

I turned back to the face of the woman who was dearest to me in the world - the one whom I had so recently, and so repeatedly, wronged. Her suffering became quite clear to me, my selfishness, self-centeredness and proclivity to violence had left wounds deep inside of her which I could now see as clearly as the physical indentations I had made previously upon her skin. I saw how my actions had left her feeling powerless, cocooned, and how she had been totally at my mercy for so many years.

My friends stared at my garments; I, who was usually so dignified, controlling, and judgmental, now swathed in what could best be described as a dress of velvet, and for once I was the one who felt judged.

My humility and gentility were born that day, and though torturous, I have much to thank the Lady for.