Cathairsis (Part 2) by Fantasy Weaver

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To those who read the first chapter, thank you for your support. To those who may be wondering, there will be a multitude of different transformations happening in the future of this story. Current chapter estimate: twenty-one. Yes, 21. If all goes according to the outline, that is the number of chapters that I'm projecting. So to those who thought this would be shorter than "By the Chains that Bind Thee", no. It's a beast. And as usual:

I am NOT sorry.

Part two of "Cathairsis: A Photographic Anthology". Please read the previous part for context.

-Fantasy Weaver.


Note

1: Foul language ahead

2: Adult content ahead


XXXXX

Cathairsis: A Photographic Anthology

xox

The Gallery - Prospective Collection in the Barber’s Den

XXXXX


Aden would later wonder why he had ever agreed to step foot in the place Rah took him to now.

In the back of the shop, a locked door led to a lounge of sorts, with couches, a mini fridge and TV. The theme and décor from the barbershop extended to here, with the addition of color-changing LEDs hidden behind furniture for some additional flair. Without any other employees in the shop other than the owner himself, Aden had to wonder why anyone would bother putting such a space back here to begin with, but this was not where Rah intended to take them.

Aden watched as the man produced his lanyard of keys again, picking a rather chunky one from the bunch. There were two other black doors in the room, one to their right, left ajar, and the one in front of them, a silver doorhandle bearing a keyhole. Rah inserted the key, and as the door unlocked, a constant, strident noise echoed from the dark passageway.

"Wait there" Rah told him, entering and going down three steps on a staircase Aden had failed to notice in the gloom. He heard five distinct beeping noises over the incessant ringing, and some kind of noise he couldn’t be bothered to name before all sound ceased.

"What was that?" He couldn’t help but ask.

Rah turned to him, his silhouette shrouded in shadows. "Security alarm being disabled."

The words "What the f***" might have burst from his mouth if Aden didn’t have the tiniest shred of self-control. His own alarms were ringing in his head, warning him that whatever Rah had down there should be terrifying him, and yet he followed behind as cautiously as he could. Rah had shown no true reason to be scared of him as of yet. Yes, perhaps he was eccentric, but so many people are, so what’s the harm? This isn’t even the weirdest person Aden has taken pictures for.

There was no light in the staircase other than the shifting tones from the lounge behind them, so Aden had to watch his step to ensure he didn’t fall on Rah (who was much more confident in his strides). As they descended into the basement, Aden couldn’t help but wonder what all those prodding, mortifying questions had been for.

"Aden?"

"Hm?" The barber had stopped in front of him. They had reached the floor now. There was a strong smell of disinfectant down here, as well as something else, so very distinct. Musky? Or woody? It was earthy under the chemical scent, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

In the darkness, it was hard to make out Rah’s expression, but his voice was quiet, soothing. "Before I turn on the lights, I just want you to know that, under no circumstances, are you in any danger. Nothing will happen in this room, other than us talking and looking around. You have my word."

That inkling of fear crept up on Aden now. Why would Rah say something like that, unless there was a chance that something bad might happen here? "Mister Hem- Rah," he corrected, "What are you going to show me?"

Rah must have heard the undertones of unease that tinted his voice, for when he spoke next, his tone was a calming melody in the darkness. "Aden, do you trust me to keep your safety in mind?"

Again, Aden reminded himself that Rah had not shown hostility or anything that would make him untrustworthy. Against all other instincts, he wanted to trust the man. He swallowed, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, "…Yes."

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a heavy hand came to pat his shoulder. Rah walked past him, behind him as he did. "I promise you have nothing to worry about." Aden stayed glued to the spot the other had left him, mind trying to make sense of the words, but his train of thought cut itself off at Rah’s next request. "Aden…promise me something as well."

In the dark, with only Rah’s voice to cling to, Aden couldn’t stop the shiver that coursed along his spine if he had wanted to. The man hadn’t spoken as though this was a question, rather, he demanded Aden’s compliance. The photographer felt himself shifting nervously on his feet, for no good reason other than he was being told to do something by Rah. "That depends what you want me to promise," he still forced himself to speak, to keep control of the situation to some degree.

The man’s low laughter behind him made Aden annoyed despite himself, more so because the sound elicited goosebumps to raise on the skin of his arms. What was Rah so amused by? "I want you to promise me you won’t freak out, no matter what you see when I open the lights. Alright, Aden?"

The way his name sounded coming from the barber… He gave himself a mental slap. "Fine. I won’t."

"Promise it."

He was almost caught off guard by the change in tone; hard, serious, no longer light and amused. He swallowed once, not knowing why he let himself be influenced, "I promise…"

The man gave no response, not even a sound to indicate he had heard him. The seconds ticked by, until at last, lights flooded the room, one by one, along the walls, the ceiling, around the floor.

At first, his eyes had to adjust to the sudden change, dimly noticing that a majority of the lighting was a deep red, neutral and warm white, with accents of blue dotted scarcely around, but he quickly forgot about that as his eyes finally took in the details of the basement.

His eyes were big, honey-colored saucers in his face. ‘Don’t freak out. You said you wouldn’t freak out. Don’t f*****g say a word, don’t even breathe wrong, don’t give him any looks-’ were the chaotic phrases that repeated like mantras in his unraveling mind.

He was aware of the uneven breath that entered his lungs through his nose, and forced himself to remain composed, to take normal breaths like a normal person. Rah was silent behind him, if not for the footsteps he could hear the man taking, and Aden was almost glad to have his back to him. He understood why Rah had asked all those questions now, had made him promise to remain calm in the face of what lay in this room, but damn…

He couldn’t find his voice. Not now anyway. Rah had made his way in front of him, in the room, among its pieces of…furniture. His dark eyes were looking at him, assessing his reaction. Was he waiting to see how long it would take for him to break his promise and panic? Well, not only did Aden not want to give him the satisfaction, he was also still - and he couldn’t believe this - in a meeting with a potential client for a photography project. Succumbing to terror would be highly unprofessional.

His mouth was a desert, and no manner of swallowing was fixing that. As casually, naturally, as he could, Aden began to move around the space, eyes scanning various details, implements, pieces of equipment he could not fathom the names of.

He understood the need for ambiguity Rah had shown. He also understood why he had been so thoroughly questioned, made to give his word to keep calm in this decidedly unusual environment. Aden found the other’s brown irises keeping watch.

His face betrayed nothing of his inner emotions, but his eyes; Aden wondered if he knew how much they said. He could see, despite his blank exterior, that Rah was nervous, maybe even scared himself.

That had to be normal, all things considered. Aden realized he was being given a very intimate look at a part of Rah not many would be privy to, and for good reason. Does this mean that Rah trusts him enough to let him see it? All the more reason to keep whatever thoughts he had about this place to himself, or at the very least, find something nice to say about it.

What nice thing could he say about a BDSM dungeon, though?

That’s clear what this place was. As Aden traversed the large space, his eyes were drawn to so many different things: along the long wall to his right, hooks, boards and other hanging implements held what he recognized as riding crops for horses, long wooden sticks of various length and color, some flat, rectangular things with handles, and what looked like many-tailed whips.

His eyes ventured to the roof, where he spotted metal support beams, chains…there was a large display case, the kind one might have found books in, resting there in any other situation, but this one held a collection of different-

F***. He didn’t want to say it, let alone think too long about it, but there were so many dicks. Dildos, his mind provided. Big ones. Small ones. Long ones. Different colors and shapes. There were other things too, cone-shaped, rounded at the base with some sort of handle, arranged by size. Some had jewels in the round metallic parts of the handles.

He found himself unconsciously drawn closer to the shelf, peripherally aware of Rah following closely behind him. There was this nagging in the back of his mind, an unfamiliar need to be nosy, to touch and prod these things.

Rah must have read his thoughts, as he described the shelf’s contents in a relaxed manner, "I keep my toys in here. Dildos, butt plugs, vibrators, wands, you name it. It’s there."

Butt plugs. Aden closed his eyes, praying to any god that could hear him to grant him strength. He turned away from the shelf, eyes landing on what he could only describe as those wooden horses he had used in gym class some long time ago, but this probably wasn’t used for something as innocent as exercises. ‘Sex can burn calories too’ some stupid voice in the back of his mind taunted him.

A wooden cross in the shape of an X in a corner of the room, an open chest with various lengths of colored rope, another display wall with leather straps and metals bits of some kind, a black…massage table? With various sections that Aden had no doubt could be moved around to one’s desires.

Rah’s desires.

He didn’t want to dwell on that.

The room was huge. Sections of the floor covered in anti-slip foam, the rest, dark grey faux-wood. Hell, there were even red couches and a coffee table, as thought this was a suitable place to hang out with your friends on a Friday night. But the really odd piece, that somehow should not have fit as well as it did in this place, was along the leftmost wall.

A barbering station, so very similar to the one upstairs in the shop, sat prettily against the wall, illuminated by many warm-toned lights, as though it belonged there. The difference was this one was completely black, and the sink in the workstation had a padded lip to put one’s neck in. More products and tools than Aden could count or name, and a vast collection of combs, scissors and clippers. The chair though…much different to the one in the shop. This one looked more elegant, parts gleaming, the seat real, jet black leather. It would have been beautiful-

If not for the multiple leather cuffs on it.

Aden’s eyes blinked a few times as he kept his distance from it. Not only cuffs. The chair itself was different to a normal barber chair. The seat where one would sit was a shallow U shape, and where the mechanism for a normal barber chair would be on the bottom, this one was situated more towards the back. It’s like something was meant to go under, but Aden could only dare to imagine what.

Rah came up to the chair then. He looked more confident now that Aden had proven he wasn’t going to run away screaming. He walked up to the seat with all the grace of a king in his castle; one tattooed hand came to caress the chair with tender care, and the photographer could not help but look at the other’s face as he did this, saw how lovingly he gazed at the piece of furniture, how heavy his gaze had gotten.

That gaze slowly found his own, unnerved one. He tried to hold those dark abysses.

For a moment, Aden felt his heart thumping hard in his chest. That stare…he wondered…

Was Rah going to ask him to sit in the chair?

The tense moment came abruptly to an end when Rah removed his hand from the seat and simply walked around to stand close to Aden. For some reason, the photographer knew that whatever that stare had been, Rah would not act on it. Why he thought this, even he couldn’t tell.

"About the pictures," Rah said, turning their focus back to why they were here at all, "I want to place them there."

Aden looked where the man pointed. The back wall, that stood directly opposite the staircase when one entered, was mostly blank. It looked like Rah had moved some stuff aside to give access to it. The entire room felt as though things were being re-arranged in it. The only piece that seemed in its rightful place was the barbering station. He followed Rah to the blank navy wall, illuminated from the bottom by a strip of neutral white lights.

Aden turned to regard the man.

There was only one way he would know what this project entailed. "What kind of photos are you looking to hang here?" he asked lowly. He didn’t mention anything about the room nor its contents. If it was relevant - which it had to be - the barber would tell him.

Rah crossed his arms over his chest, leather jacket hugging his arms snuggly. He flipped his hair away from his face, giving a quick unreadable glance at the photographer.

Aden watched him as he strutted about the room, his dark eyes taking in his dungeon in thought. "I’m a barber, you know that already." Aden nodded, trying to keep his focus on the man. "I’m also a dominant, or a master, if you’re more familiar with that term."

He wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. "And?" he pushed.

A ghost of a smile touched those full lips. "As a dom, my specialty lies in my skills as a barber. Every dominant has a certain style that will attract different people to them for different…" those brown eyes became heavy with something Aden wouldn’t name as they gazed passively at him, "…pleasures."

Aden’s face betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. "…Alright."

Rah went on, pacing the space unhurriedly. "Ten portraits. For my ten submissives." He stopped, giving Aden a quick glance to see if he was following. "That is what I want."

The photographer reigned in his emotions, keeping his voice as level as possible as he tried to gather as much information as he could. "In what context?"

"In the barber chair, over there."

The man’s head tilted to indicate the contraption that resembled said chair; Aden would not call it a true barber chair. That seemed far too innocent for it. "That’s all? Just your ten…just ten people, sitting in the chair?"

A small chuckle came from the other. "No, no. If it was just that, I might as well have put them in the shop upstairs. No. I said I saw surrender in the picture you took of me, and that’s what I want for my submissives as well, but in a far more literal sense."

Aden paced the floor now, seeing where this might be going and not all that certain he wanted to go there. "Explain."

A flash of annoyance crossed Rah’s face then. Aden stopped pacing for a moment. Maybe he had said that too harshly. Regardless, Rah continued, "I said my specialty as a dom is barbering. My submissives all have trichophilia to one degree or another - that’s a hair fetish, by the way." Aden began to sputter something, but Rah cut him off to elaborate further, "I offer my submissives an outlet for their fetish, as well as a gradual transformative process for them to experience their desires to the fullest extent during their time with me. Outside the walls of this den, they are whoever they so wish to be, but the moment they step in here, they relinquish control of themselves to me, including the way they look."

"Why are you telling me this? I’m just a photographer, I have no interest in this," Aden argued uneasily, his mind filled with images of people on the very ground he’s standing on, being reduced to something subhuman by Rah. He didn’t want to be part of that.

"I’m saying this," Rah began quietly, taking slow steps towards Aden, "because I want pictures of my subs while in the process of their transformation. I want a portrait of each of them at their most vulnerable," another step, "at their highest peek of submissiveness to me…"

Another step, and this time, Aden also stepped back, his skin prickling with fearful goosebumps.

"…So that when they enter this room, the first thing they are greeted with is a reminder of what I can do to them if they put their trust in me."

Trust. The word had not been said any differently than the rest of the phrase, but it seemed to echo so much louder in the silent room.

The puzzle pieces snapped together at last. "You want me to take a picture of them while you’re giving them a haircut?"

Rah gave him a lopsided smile. "Well it’s…not just a haircut to them. And there might be things happening under the cape if you understand what I’m implying."

Aden was quiet for quite some time. He’d never taken on a project like this before. He’d never even got so far talking about anything similar before. More than one person had tried to get their own sexy shoot with him as the photographer, but he had shut them down quickly. That he had given Rah the time of day at all was odd, coming from him.

Ever since he had taken the man’s picture by mistake, he’s been thinking about him. A fascination for the man out at night, with no one around but the shadow cast by the yellow lamp. That was the only reason he was here at all.

There was an intrigue, for the proposed project, certainly.

However, the one thing that stood out in all of this was what Rah wanted from the portraits. Raw emotion. Undiluted feelings. Real. Powerful. Ephemeral.

…

He couldn’t do that.

He’s a professional.

"No."

The smile on Rah’s lips dissipated. That tanned face became carefully blank.

Aden’s eyes hardened, and he repeated more firmly, "No. I’m not going to do this."

Rah’s face was calm, stoic even.

"Is that your final decision?"

That soft voice remained perfectly impartial.

But Aden couldn’t shake away the odd ache in his chest at seeing the disappointment in those soulful brown eyes.

He bit his bottom lip, walking slowly past the barber in his den. "I’m sorry. I hope you find someone else."

Rah didn’t follow him. Even when Aden climbed the stairs back up to the little lounge, even when he was back in the barbershop, when he grabbed his bags, and even when he had opened the front entrance, Rah wasn’t behind him.

The ache that had engulfed his chest remained even as he made his way back home.

And he couldn’t help but feel like he was making a mistake.

XXXXX

The flash of the camera illuminated his studio briefly as he took a few shots.

"Okay stay still now-"

"No, Sally! Stop doing that!"

Aden cut his sigh off before it could manifest. He leaned back in his stool, waiting patiently for his clients to get their s**t together.

Today he had four back-to-back appointments for group photos. Two of them families with children, one of a group of friends, and another of a couple and their two dogs. Honestly, if he had to chose between all of them, the couple with the dogs were the most cooperative.

"Sally, put your dress down!" The mother of his current group was busy trying to get their daughter to sit still for an individual portrait-style picture, however the little gremlin was proving to be quite the nuisance when no one else was in the scene to keep her from squirming.

The father was off to the side wrangling twin brothers away from the camera equipment and various cables (no doubt Aden’s earlier glare after one of the boys nearly toppled his tripod had made the man realize he wasn’t being careful with his kids). It was taking agonizingly longer than hoped to get all the photos taken, mostly due to the infant daughter of three and her rowdy six-year-old brothers.

He didn’t like children on most days, but family portraits were a dime a dozen and easy money. So, putting up with the darling crotch-goblins was necessary if he wanted food in his fridge. His aversion to children was nothing new; as soon as he had been ten, he knew he didn’t want the things, and that feeling only grew exponentially as he got older. F***, when he had come out to his parents as gay, the first thing his father said to him was "Makes sense why you don’t want kids now."

He wasn’t a kid-punter by any means. Children are small, rambunctious adults in teeny-tiny bodies and need to be treated with patience, even by him, and being overly mean to them isn’t any better. But damn if his patience doesn’t get tested with them.

"Okay Sally, stay right there…" the mother was saying now, quickly getting out of the way of his lens as Aden snapped a flurry of pictures.

He did a quick once over of the photos, finally letting the relieved sigh escape his lips. "We’re good. You can take her off the stand."

When the last group of the day finally left the studio, all the fatigue seemed to manifest at once in his body. Aden couldn’t wait to get home to his little one-story house in its clean yard and have a beer on his patio.

He did the usual round of unplugging and closing down his electronic devices in his studio before leaving, letting his mind wander as he did so mechanically. The last week had been…was uninspiring the right word? He enjoyed photography so much, loved setting a scene or, when the mood took him, to go out and do some landscape scenes outside the city. But these past few days had brought nothing but monotony.

When he got home that night, and sat out on the lounge chair on his patio with the aforementioned beer can, he couldn’t help but feel unfulfilled. Bored. He was BORED.

‘What gives?’ he thought as he drank the cold brew. Was he ill? He didn’t feel ill. His pictures weren’t bad. He made enough money. He was happy enough…

Was he?

When did taking pictures start being boring to him? Granted, he always had more fun when he went to do photography outside of work, doing things other than portraits, family photos, pregnancy shoots and wedding photography, other than group photos, other than product photography, setting the scene to fit his vision…

When he went out and found an abandoned brick wall, splattered in graffiti, he sat and took so many shots of it, when he went back to see it in different lighting, he had fun. When he stumbled upon a field with swaying goldenrods in the wind, he could sit for hours in the grass and study the different angles of the plant. When he found random strangers, sitting with their backs to him, wearing colors that harmonise so well together in a perfect picture, he would reduce his battery to nothing so long as they didn’t move and approved of his work.

Things outside his normal line of work made photography fun for him. He still enjoyed giving beautiful, thought-out memories to people, but recently…

Dark brown eyes entered his mindscape.

He sipped his beer, banishing the image.

XXXXX

Crickets chirped in the blowing grass where Aden sat, his back to a long-abandoned barn that might have once housed a cow or chickens.

It was night, close to eleven, probably. The moon was full and the summer breeze just light enough to gently ruffle his long brown hair. In the distance, passing cars were the only things that made any sound other than the melodies of the crickets. In the wheat and flowers around him, tiny specks of light, indicative of fireflies, flitted about without care.

Aden was looking up at the stars, or what he could see of them. As close as he was to the city, light pollution made it harder to grasp the full extent of the nightly firmament.

He had long since stopped trying to take any photos in the dark. Now he simply sat, Nikon camera laying unused by his side, green flannel button up opened to reveal his bare chest to the cool night air. Another week of disappointment where his work was concerned.

It was all the same. Even his little road trips like this were getting to be a yawn-fest.

He rubbed his face agitatedly, a drawn-out sigh emitting from his nose. What was wrong with him? Why was he in this slump? ‘Get it together, Verity’ he scolded himself. Yet no amount of pep-talking himself would help. Nothing had sparked him recently. His recent projects weren’t anything to write home about. Even his free time was filled with nothing but the usual.

Behind his lids, he could see the picture he had deleted from his site. For some reason, when he had gone to purge it from his laptop completely, he had found himself unable to let go of it. Unable to let Rah’s image be turned to residual information, never to be restored into its original form.

"I’m such an idiot…" he sighed into the quiet scene around him, with no one to hear but the bugs.

That was it, wasn’t it? Rah was the problem. Rah, and his eccentric, unfathomably kinky project which Aden had denied without hesitation. Was that it? He couldn’t find passion in the things he had no problem doing before because he felt…

Guilty?

He had no reason to be. He had told Rah that he doesn’t do porn shoots. And what did he suggest? A porn shoot.

Well…was it really? Ah, no, no, no! Rah had mentioned illicit things happening under the barber’s cape during the shoots, so obviously, yes, it was just like porn.

He bent forward, bringing his elbows to his propped-up knees, head hanging limply in the space between.

Ten portraits. ‘Ten submissives’, his mind supplied. Why him? Because he was able to capture a feeling of surrender with a mistakenly-taken photo? Surely Rah must know better people much more qualified, and much more willing, than him to sit in that dungeon of his and watch people get treated to some deranged spectacle.

He cringed at his own words. Rah wasn’t deranged. It felt wrong to attribute such a derogative term to him. The barber had been very welcoming, had not engaged him in anything in that room, and even when Aden had been CERTAIN Rah wanted to see him sit in that monstrosity of a barber chair, he had never even mentioned it as a joke. He had stayed firmly away from him, hadn’t even touched him other than that encouraging pat on his shoulder before flipping the lights on.

Rah never came off as deranged. In fact, if his eyes had said anything, the man had been scared of what Aden had to say, and perhaps even glad when he didn’t freak out, as promised.

The way he had explained his curious, well, let’s call it "lifestyle", Rah had been clear and concise, without giving too much unwanted detail other than the necessary to understand what he wanted in the portraits. He gave context. In an educated, non-threatening way.

And even when Aden had found himself unable to take the project on, Rah had never even said anything to make him reconsider.

Perhaps that was the most impressive thing of all. After showing a part of his private life to a complete stranger, Rah had not even asked to be discreet about it.

He had not needed to, Aden realized, as his head looked back up to the stars. Not once had Aden found himself wanting to expose the man, or ridicule him in any way for his unorthodox tastes.

Another sigh. Why was he thinking about this now? It’s like he’s actually considering taking on the project.

He blinked.

"Well, s**t…"

XXXXX

Two weeks. It would be a wonder if Rah even graced him with a response.

After his epiphany by the abandoned barn, Aden somehow found the courage to reach out to Rah through the last email they had shared before their meeting. He didn’t know what the man would make of him after so much time had already passed. He could have already found someone else by now, could be in the middle of taking those portraits he so desired with someone else’s help.

His message had been simple: "Hey, I’m sorry that I said I wouldn’t be approving your project, but I’ve reconsidered. Are you still looking for a photographer?"

It was short, to the point, and didn’t sound too desperate. At least, Aden hoped it didn’t.

He put the email to back of his mind as he went to work, the day flying by in a blur of camera clicks, flash photography and hundreds of photos in need of editing. His phone informed him around lunchtime of a new email, but nerves kept him from ever reading it. It was there, lingering like the proverbial elephant, an awareness of its existence permeating every corner of Aden’s mind as he went about his day.

Even when he got home and set about making himself a panini and some beet salad, he hadn’t bothered to check. The stress was eating him alive, and yet he couldn’t find the courage needed to simply open the reply.

He procrastinated, his mind conjuring up every response that Rah might send. Would he laugh at him? Would he be mad that he dared reach out after his outright refusal? Would he ignore him? Was the email even from him? What if it was, and Rah wrote down every reason why Aden should stay away from him, or maybe he would threaten to kidnap him to some guarded location where he would never be heard of again-

Yeah. No.

He was being ridiculous and immature. Aden scratched his head, messing up his already tangled hair further. The only solution to this was to read the email.

He sat outside on his lounger, phone level with his eyes, and finally, he allowed himself to read Rah’s reply.

"I would be delighted to have you over again, so we can discuss the project. Properly, this time.

Thank you for reconsidering.

Is tomorrow in my shop at 3pm good for you?"

Aden dropped his cell to his chest, an odd, fluttery sensation blooming in his abdomen.

XXXXX

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

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