The bathtub sits empty, porcelain smooth and cool under the bright bathroom light. He stands beside me, his eyes focused, steady, imagining what’s coming yet unsure of the detail. There’s an unspoken anticipation in the air, a quiet energy that fills the room, fuelled by the brightness of the light and the soft strains of classical music that pulse through the space.

As we enter the room from the main hotel suite, I move behind him, the roll of duct tape already in hand. Slowly, I begin wrapping it over his eyes and around his head in a diagonal pattern, the tension of the tape pulling tightly as I add two extra strips to ensure his complete blindness. The sensation of being sealed off from the world adds a layer of vulnerability, amplifying the anticipation. He doesn’t resist, trusting in the ritual.

With his eyes covered, I guide him toward the tub. Each step is slow, deliberate, as he feels his way forward, his senses now sharpened. The ice bath experience begins even before the water touches him—the blindfold, the stillness of the room, the deepening awareness of his own body.

I guide him carefully into the tub, watching as he steps inside, lowering himself down, legs stretched out, his back pressing against the cold surface. The chill hits him immediately, even without water in the tub, sending a subtle shiver through his body, but he doesn’t resist. He adjusts, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, waiting.

Once he’s seated, I move behind him, taking his wrists in my hands, raising them slowly, deliberately, above his head. His fingers flex slightly, feeling the shift, knowing he’s about to be held in place. I reach for the rope, binding his wrists securely to the towel rail above, each loop snug, each knot intentional, limiting his movement yet grounding him in the certainty of restraint.

He breathes slowly, deeply, feeling the rope’s grip, the weight of the bond. His arms remain stretched, his body open, vulnerable, ready.

I stop the gentle classical music, letting the silence fill the space. The soft music from the suite outside the bathroom fades, leaving only the sounds of the unfolding scene—his breath, the faint rustle of movement, the quiet pulse of anticipation. This is the moment of stillness, where everything is heightened, and for this specific DRK experience I want nothing but the natural rhythm and sound of the room and water to surround us.

I turn on the tap, a slow, steady stream of water flowing from the spout, splashing gently against the porcelain at the far end of the tub. The water is cold, untouched by any warmth at all, but it doesn’t rush in. It rises deliberately, slowly, like a tide, inch by inch, climbing up his body. The initial chill creeps over his heels, then licks at his ankles, touching his buttocks. It’s not a shock—it’s a slow, steady encroachment that builds, that spreads, that pulls him deeper into the experience.

The water rises steadily, moving up his legs, past his calves, then his knees. He can feel the cold tightening around him, but he doesn’t resist. His breathing remains steady, controlled, his chest rising and falling in time with the music, a quiet rhythm that anchors him in the moment. He is focused on his surrender to the situation that he is in.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t resist. He simply feels, the cold rising higher, reaching his thighs, pressing into his hips. The silence is thick, punctuated only by the steady sound of the water and the low hum of the music. I let it fill him, the slow, creeping chill, the tension that builds with every inch, every moment.

The water rises further, reaching his stomach, his chest. His muscles tense instinctively, bracing against the cold, but he settles, allowing himself to sink into the sensation, to let the chill become a part of him. This is not just about the cold—it’s about allowing the cold to take over gradually, to recalibrate the senses, to surrender to it with every slow inch, every passing moment.

I reach for the champagne bucket, filled with ice, the cubes glinting under the bright light. The sound of the ice against metal draws his attention, a subtle shift in his breathing as he registers the new element.

I lift a handful of ice, slowly placing each cube on his upper chest, allowing it to rest for a moment before it slides off his body and sinks into the water. The chill from each cube is sharp, but not sudden—it spreads gradually as the ice slips away, adding another layer to his immersion. With every cube, the sensation deepens, and the water seems to become more immersive, each piece of ice adding to the complex, layered cold that surrounds him, further intensifying the experience.

I wait, letting him adjust, letting him feel the full weight of the cold, the sensation of the ice drifting around him, brushing against his skin, sinking against his stomach, his arms, his legs. The water grows colder, the surface thickening with the cubes of ice, his body surrounded by a layer of frigid touch that intensifies with every breath.

The cold intensifies to the point that soon his teeth begin to chatter loudly, the harshness of the ice and water breaking through his composure. It’s a natural reaction to the overwhelming chill, but he doesn’t resist. Instead, he breathes deeply, allowing the sensation to wash over him, letting go of any tension in his body. Slowly, the chattering subsides as he surrenders fully to the experience, embracing the cold rather than fighting it. His breathing slows, and he becomes calm, finding stillness even in the midst of such intensity.

I wait for that calm, and then after a few seconds I pour more ice into the tub, each handful another layer of sensation, the sound of the cubes breaking the silence, filling the room with a quiet intensity that matches the growing tension in his body. His breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling under the water, each breath a reminder of his submission, his surrender to the cold.

Finally, I place my hand on his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that I am here, a silent presence in the brightly lit space. His breathing slows further, his body relaxing, accepting the cold, the water, the ice, the ritual we’ve crafted together.

In this moment, he is fully present, fully engaged, every sense attuned to the cold that surrounds him, the restraint that holds him, the blindfold that blocks out the world. He has not spoken at all, entirely focused on his mind and body’s reaction to the unfolding event.

He is submerged in the DRK state, immersed in the trust we’ve built, bound by the ritual that has brought him here.