The room pulses with sound—a soundtrack that’s carefully chosen, every beat, every note an anchor, an invitation, a descent into relaxation. The music is alive, shifting with a rhythm that feels almost physical, each crescendo wrapping around him, pulling him further into the DRK state. He lies still, his chest rising and falling in time with the music, his body open, vulnerable, yet at peace within the ritual we’ve crafted.
I move silently, holding a candle, feeling the warmth of the wax as it begins to soften, as it prepares to leave its mark. He senses my presence without seeing me, his head turned slightly, his body responding to the heat, the weight of the moment, the silence that hangs heavy between us. Beyond our silent connection, the music grows louder, more intense, filling the room with a resonance that feels almost sacred.
I hold the candle above him, letting the first drop of wax fall onto his chest, a small, deliberate point of warmth that spreads, seeping into his skin. He gasps—a sound that’s lost in the swell of the music, but I see the way his body shifts, the way he accepts the sensation, the way he sinks into it, letting it wash over him, letting it ground him.
The wax forms a single point, a small beginning, a mark that binds him to this moment. I let it cool, solidifying, then add another drop, and another, each one deliberate, each one a step further into the ritual. He breathes slowly, his eyes covered by the duct tape blindfold, his focus on the music, the warmth, the rhythm that holds him in place.
The music changes, a lyrical track from another era, a voice that seems to echo through the room, filling every corner, every shadow. He listens, his body still, his mind opening, surrendering to the melody, to the moment, to the descent that’s taking place. I continue with the wax, forming shapes, each drop a layer of control, a layer of surrender, a layer further down into the DRK state.
I start with the basic form of the letters—first R in the middle, then the D, and finally the K—each one a statement, a mark of his place here, his role, his submission. He feels each letter as it starts to be formed, the warmth seeping into him, the silence between each drop a reminder of the trust, the choice, the depth of the experience he’s embraced. I continue, adding more and more wax to strengthen the definition of each letter. He is unaware that I am creating letters, I can see him trying to picture the design in his mind.
The music crescendos, the sound filling the air, wrapping around him, binding him to the moment, to the state.
As the music fades into another track, I move to his shoulders, beginning the outline of a cross, a shape that holds meaning, a symbol of surrender, of vulnerability, of faith in the trust we share. The wax drips slowly, a line, a point, a shape that takes form, and he feels every mark, every touch, every inch of the descent.
The sound shifts again, a track with deep, resonant strings, intense, building, filling the space with an energy that feels almost primal, almost raw. He breathes deeply, his chest rising under the weight of the wax, his body open, exposed, bound to the symbols, to the sound, to the silence that fills the space between each drop.
I step back for a moment, letting him absorb the music, the warmth, the weight of the wax against his skin. He lies there, his body temporarily marked with my signature, his mind open, his senses alive, every inch of him attuned to the rhythm, the intensity, the descent that holds him.
In this moment, he is fully present, fully aware, fully bound to the DRK state. He lies silent and I let him rest a while.
