Free The House on Black Lake by Anastasia Blackwell, Maggie Deslaurier, Adam Marsh, David Wilson Page B

decorated with leafy plants, bamboo accents, and lines of ceramic pots filled with liquids. The room smells of a mixture of overripe fruit and intoxicating herbs. An overhead fan whirs along with the sounds of a reed flute and the chirping of exotic birds.
    “Interesting candles; what are they made from?”
    “They are created from a salt shelf in the Himalayas. When a candle is burned inside, it deposits negative ions in the air and creates a homeopathic environment.”
    He gestures to a cot covered with starched sheets and a silky coverlet. “Tuck yourself in and let yourself go. I want you to relax, shut off your mind and open yourself to your inner spirit. Take everything off, underwear and jewelry. Soshi will join you shortly for your wax. You can store your valuables in this armoire.
    “What lovely earrings. Where did you find them?”
    “Mimi, of the boutique Le Petit Jardin, gave them to me as a present.”
    “Unusual. Mme. Debussey normally turns a tidy profit on her merchandise.”
    “They were a gift from an old beau.”
    “Some believe opals to be bad luck, but others believe they have very potent magical properties.
    “Strip down, and prepare to be pampered,” he says, and exits the room.
    I secure my belongings in the French closet, slip under the sheets, and luxuriate in the feeling of naked skin against cool lilac-scented cotton. Pulling the coverlet up to my chin, I adjust the aromatic sleeping mask over my eyes. Relaxing the muscles through the length of my body, I settle deeper into the cushion. Drums beat softly, the wind blows, birds chirp, an ocean breeze, waves on the beach, a lazy afterglow, a drowsy haze of bliss. I float in a blue lagoon, a pool of deep blue water, the laughter of children...
    “Now I get to have my way with you,” a cheerful voice exclaims as the door opens abruptly. Popping my head up from the cot, I lift my mask to see a woman with fierce slanted eyes and a beaming smile, dressed in a white dress with a silver pot in hand. As she moves in closer and roughly pulls the sheet away I notice certain physical attributes, a shadow of excess hair and a hint of an Adam’s apple, that make me question her true gender.
    “Spread your legs wide, we’ll do the right side first. Pull the skin back next to the labia; it hurts less that way,” she says, and takes a scoop of hot wax from her pot.
    “I don’t think I want it all taken off—” I say, and then I feel the hot wax burn my flesh, followed by an abrupt, breathtaking yank.
    “All gone. Now the left. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Up on all fours, doggy style, and we’ll clean up the back. The same routine, pull back on the left cheek, and then the right. Good girl.” She sets down her pot and uses a big powder puff to apply a layer of talc to my waxed skin.
    “Would you like the happy ending?”
    “The what?”
    “Yes... the happy ending.”
    I look back to see she is lubricating her latex-covered fingers with a clear liquid. I have no idea what this procedure entails. Soshi glides her lubed fingertips along my freshly waxed skin. She uses her fingers to massage the tender flesh.
    “That’s it... lift and arch. Relax, let yourself go, enjoy your happy ending.”
    Then, as if awakening from a dream, into... I don’t know what, I flip onto my back and pull the sheet up around me.
    “Stop! What are you doing?”
    “You don’t need to be so modest; I’ve already seen your goodies.” She rolls her eyes, mutters something beneath her breath, picks up her pot and bustles out of the room.
    “She’s all yours,” I hear her say to someone outside the door.
    A beautiful young woman walks in the room and introduces herself as Audra, the chief aesthetician.
    “We make all of our aromatherapy oils and potions here on site. We extract the oils and resins from flowers, herbs, and plants. It is my job to rid you of the toxins and negative energy stored in your body and to renew your natural balance. The senses offer an