Elzbeta went to the wardrobe and opened it. “In here you’ll find all your clothes. Mostly loungewear. It should all be fitted to you; try everything on and let me know if you need anything adjusted and I’ll have it taken care of right away. And if you should require any kind of special attire, you can just ring for me and I’ll make arrangements to get it for you.”
“Special attire?”
She smiled. “Anything that you might imagine could entertain your clients, we will produce for you. Costumes, bondagewear, even ordinary street clothes if you think it will serve your purpose. You’ll find that we’ve already provided you with the basics.”
I flipped through the hanging garments and found several negligees, two sets of tailored satin pajamas, and quite a few lace teddies, bras, and one heavily boned red satin merrywidow. The drawers below the hanging section contained panties, stockings, and more bras, along with several pairs of satin slippers. No street clothes, though I could ask for them if I wanted to. All made of the highest quality workmanship of sumptuous materials. I surmised that the total value of what was in that closet was probably close to what my parents made in a year. Even Hannah didn’t have anything that nice.
I had trouble grasping all of this. My captors held me against my will, yet housed me in luxury and gave me boudoir clothes fit for royalty. I was a canary in a gilded cage. The only question was, how would I survive my nest?
I sat down on the bed, sinking deep into the down-filled comforters. The bedding was soft; the mattress firm, a perfect surface for coupling, should I wish to entertain my clients that way. But Elzbeta had referred to other options. I wondered what they were. Then my eyes landed on the unopened cabinet on the opposite side of the room, and then I had some idea.
I grabbed onto one of the bed’s four posts and pulled myself out of the deep recesses of the bedclothes that threatened to swallow me whole. I made a beeline for the second cabinet, twisted the old-style brass key in the lock, and flung the doors open.
Inside were the implements of my fantasies. Whips, canes, paddles, leather gags and restraints, all of them exactly as I’d imagined them in the dreams I’d conjured to pass the time and comfort myself on my captive journey here. A deep chill swept through me; I’d imagined all of these things with no personal experience, no real-world knowledge whatsoever, not ever knowing if what my mind created had any basis in reality. And yet, here they all were---as if someone or something had reached inside the nexus of my thoughts and plucked them out, whole.
I ran my fingertips up and down the length of the longest, strongest whip, and found the leather buttery-soft, just as I’d imagined it would be.
How had I come to be here? Had my fantasies led me here somehow, an otherworldly tether into some predetermined fate? Was this all a strange dream? Could my life as a threatened captive in an unknown place, far from family, friends and my budding career somehow turn out to be a life of bliss? I didn’t want to acknowledge that it was possible; the very notion sickened me somehow. And yet, I was intrigued, even titillated.
Superimposed over the implements of bondage and obedience was a wooden shelf. On it was a single object: a domino mask, very much like the one I’d conjured in my dream in the van. It was parti-colored in metallic black and white, with silver piping and matching silver marabou trim. I took it out, examined it, turned it over and over in my hands. Then without thinking I put it on, tying the black satin ribbons tightly at the base of my skull. I flipped one of the mirrored doors of the cabinet shut and stared at my reflection.
What stared back at me wasn’t my own face, but a stranger’s. A captivating, beautiful stranger, someone I wanted---needed---to get to know better.
I saw Elzbeta’s smile over my shoulder in the mirror. “There’s one last thing before we assign you your first client,” she said. “You’ll need to choose a new name, one that is only spoken or known within these walls. We’re none of us ourselves here, Nancy. Only Bluschencko or I will know who you really are, and we’ll never say your real name out loud here after today.”
“Domino,” I blurted without thinking. “My name is Domino.”
“Very good. You’ll do well here, I think. And one more thing. I want you to forget about what your life was before you came here. It doesn’t matter now. If you try to remember who you used to be, or pine after your old life, it will only make you miserable.” She paused, placed both hands on my shoulders. “I wouldn’t say that you’ll be happy here necessarily, but it is possible to be content, if you’ll just come to accept certain things as being what they are.”
I removed the mask and replaced it back on the shelf. “I just have one question to ask.”
“Yes?”
“What was Bluschencko’s original plan for me? Do you know?”
“I do. But I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Please do. I need to know.”
Elzbeta frowned, and squeezed my shoulders hard. “He wanted you for himself,” she said. “He went to great lengths to bring you here after discovering you. But something about you disappointed him. Trust me, you’re far better off here.”
****
I spent my first night in my new home settling into my room. Elzbeta demanded I surrender the street clothes I arrived in----not that I complained, since after almost four days of travel and captivity, they stank. I had a refreshing shower in my luxurious private bath, and after lounging for a bit on my sumptuous bed in one of my many sets of satin pajamas, I felt rejuvenated.
Yet I was still a prisoner. I felt a bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter, but I was determined to make the best of it. Though my press bag, phone, and other accoutrements were long gone, I found a pad of paper and pen in my nightstand drawer and used it to make some notes about my ordeal, writing them in shorthand to keep them secret from prying eyes. Meanwhile, I tossed around ideas of how to get my copy out. Even if it wasn’t in keeping with the original assignment, I knew that Eric Burgess would jump at the chance to publish a first-hand account of a college-age journalist caught up in the international sex trade. That’s assuming he actually believed it, and didn’t think I was just some nutjob tripping out on really good acid, like a female version of Hunter S. Thompson or something.
There was always Julian. I’d made a point to keep his business card safe on my person even after handing over my clothes. With the prevalence of speed dial and caller ID these days, I didn’t have anyone’s phone number committed to memory anymore, not even my mother’s---so Julian’s business card was the only link I had to the outside world. There was always Hannah, but there was no guarantee she’d made it back to our apartment safely.
After making a few notes, I doodled on the pad, drawing a makeshift layout of what I’d seen of the building so far. I knew it was set far back in dense woods on Bluschencko’s private compound, which had to be heavily guarded on all sides. I had no idea exactly how large it was, but given how long it had taken to drive here from the tarmac it had to be enormous. I knew it was somewhere on the outskirts of Sevastopol, but didn’t know which end, or which direction to take in order to find the city or help. Not that help would be very forthcoming---I had a feeling that like any good crime boss, Bluschencko kept the local authorities on his own payroll. As best as I could figure it, the only way for me to get out of here was for someone to come and rescue me. And according to Elzbeta, the only outsiders allowed on the premises were clients who had paid the high price of admission in advance.
So I had to convince a paying client rescue me. Either that, or convince a rescuer to become a paying client. Neither possibility seemed likely. Still, I had to try.
Elzbeta knocked on my door, startling me. I quickly tucked my notepad and pen under my pillow; if anyone found it, I’d just explain it was my diary. Chances were good nobody here could read shorthand, though I couldn’t well explain away the makeshift map. To be on the safe side, I tossed it into the gas fireplace, where it burned to ashes just before I let Elzbeta in.
/> She’d changed out of her high-end dominatrix outfit into satin pajamas and a plush bathrobe.“It’s dinnertime,” she said. “Come with me, I’ll introduce you to a few of the other girls.”
Elzbeta escorted me to a communal dining room in the center of the building. The layout of the place was like a hotel, with private rooms arranged in a semicircle around a common lobby area, one end of which was set up like a party room at a restaurant with a large, long table surrounded by twelve chairs. Like everything else in the facility, it was elegantly appointed---the furnishings were hewn of priceless tiger mahogany wood, there were exotic animal-skin rugs on the floor, and the walls were hung with sweeping oil paintings, most of them in the postmodern-abstract style. A crystal chandelier was suspended over the table, which was laid with a full dinner service of fine china and silver. Champagnes and fine wines were chilling in buckets scattered across the tabletop, and the first course----caviar and crackers----sat on a large silver serving plate.
Caviar. Ugh. Well, this was the Ukraine. It was sort of the national dish and all. Maybe I’d have to acquire a taste for it somehow.
Elzbeta pulled out one of the elaborately carved chairs for me and motioned for me to sit down. She served me a plate of caviar and crackers with a side of sliced lemons without asking whether I wanted any. I was famished, so I stifled down my revulsion and swallowed one of the delicate hors d’oeuvres whole. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be; in fact, with the lemon-slice chaser I almost liked it. Almost.
You can learn to like anything, my inner self remarked. And in your current predicament, Delaney, think of how that will come in handy.
Elzbeta poured me a glass of champagne as a few of the other girls slowly filed in, explaining who they were and what they did as they sat down. There was Svetlana, a former gymnast who had been here three years and specialized in sexual suspensions; she had a swing, a teardrop chain, and a horizontal spreader bar in her chamber. She was a submissive, and allowed her clients full domination privileges. There was Midori, a tiny Japanese woman who serviced burn festishists; she allowed her clients to do everything from pouring hot wax and oil onto her naked body to branding and ice torture; her body was covered in a pattern of scald marks and healed burn scars that formed an all-over lacy tattoo of sorts. When I gasped, Midori politely explained in heavily accented English that she enjoyed getting burned as much as her clients enjoyed burning her. “I start burning myself when I sixteen,” she said with a crooked-tooth smile. “Feel very good to me.”
There was also Victoria, who came to dinner dressed in a steel-boned corset and 1880s-style bustle; her attire reminded me of what I’d seen saloon girls wear in old Westerns. Elzbeta explained that her schick was fantasy roleplaying; most of her clients were enamoured of steampunk and Jules Verne. “Victoria is one of the girls who does not use sex to entertain,” Elzbeta said in a low voice, replacing the cork in the champagne bottle. “She stages elaborate fantasy performances that enthrall her clients so much they don’t even lay a hand on her.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do they do, then?”
Elzbeta gave me a knowing smile, but did not answer. Instead she went and sat down in a captain’s chair placed at the end of the large table, took a sip of her own champagne, and clapped her hands for attention. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to our newest colleague, who arrived earlier today. She has chosen the name Domino. I hope you will all make her feel welcome.”
The other women gave me polite nods of acknowledgement and a few muttered greetings, but otherwise didn’t say much and instead concentrated on eating. “You’ll have to excuse these ladies for not being more talkative,” Elzbeta put in. “They’ve been hard at work all day, and have new clients to service tonight after only a few hours’ sleep in between.”
The second course arrived---lake sturgeon with fava beans steeped in a heavy garlic cream sauce---served by an attractive middle-aged woman in a French maid’s uniform. “Will I be expected to work that much, too?” I already knew the answer to my question the moment I asked it, but wanted to hear what Elzbeta had to say.
“Not at first,” she replied. “It takes time to build up a loyal client base. These three girls all have plenty of fans. We have a few more ladies in residence here as well who aren’t dining with us this evening because they’re eating in their rooms; we offer our clients a dine-in option for an extra fee. Our most talented girls make the meal an integral part of their services.”
I mulled that last part over as I bit into a piece of fish. It was tender, juicy and rich in flavor---an oily whitefish with heavy bones that required careful thought to nibble around. I tried to poke around them with my fork, but a few stray bits always managed to slip past my lips; I delicately pulled them out and hid them underneath my spare napkin. None of the other girls did that, though---they just piled the bones up on their plates, and even picked their teeth with their fingernails. So much for table manners. I cringed at what my mother would say at such uncouth behavior---then felt a little pang of homesickness. To think, now that I was here, I might never see my mother again. To my surprise tears welled up in the corners of my eyes at the thought. My mother and I had never been terribly close, but still---she was my mother, and I was still young.
I hadn’t expected my first foray out into the adult world to be anything like this. It saddened me.
Elzbeta picked up on my mood. “Your first night is always the hardest,” she said, and the other girls murmured in agreement. “I know this isn’t necessarily the life you would have chosen for yourself, but try to find a way to make it your own. Every girl here has left her own personal stamp on the place. And the most successful ones do eventually leave. Some return to their families, though many choose not to.”
I continued to eat in silence. The tears disappeared as quickly as they came. What had started out as a feeling of deep sadness shifted to something I’d probably have to call acceptance. I’d skipped all the other stages of grief----denial, anger, bargaining----and had gone right on to a swift recovery. What other choice did I have? Elzbeta was right---it didn’t pay to pine over my old life, it would just make me a nervous wreck. I buried all those thoughts and concentrated on the present. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still thinking about escape. I just had to find a way to make it fit into my new purpose here----as Domino.
“Have you thought about what sort of fantasies you’d like to offer our clients, Domino?” Elzbeta asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I dropped my fork, startled again at just how adept Elzbeta was at reading me. I wondered if that particular ability was part of what she offered her own customers. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I have some idea of what I’d like to do, but I’m really very inexperienced and I’m not at all sure it will work.”
“Your inexperience can be an advantage,” Elzbeta replied, and Victoria nodded.
“Playing the part of a virgin can be a huge turn-on,” Victoria said between sips of wine. “Just ask any one of my clients.”
“But I’m not a virgin!” I protested. “Though, um---“ I trailed off. I didn’t want to admit to the assembled company I’d been a virgin up until a few days ago---even if recent events made it seem like my night at the Ritz with Rostovich had happened in another lifetime.
“You don’t have to explain, dear,” Elzbeta said, sounding almost motherly. “We’ve all been exactly where you are, Domino. The key to being successful here is to take something unique and deeply personal about yourself, and make it part of the fantasy. It’s that kind of authenticity our clients pay top dollar for.”
I picked at my plate for a while, but didn’t eat much more. I’d lost my appetite, though I was beginning to get some ideas of how to bring Domino alive. “Could I get a steel-boned corset, like the one Victoria has, only without any fabric between the bones?” I asked. “And a wide-brimmed Victorian hat with a black widow’s veil? And highbutton boots, and lemon verbena perfume, and a set of opera glasses?”
Elzbeta smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll have them in your room within a few hours. Our suppliers are fast. Anything else?”
“Chains,” I replied. “Heavy metal chains, with a padlock. The kind Houdini would have used.”
Elzbeta’s eyebrows raised slightly, but she made no comment. “All right. Once everything has arrived, I’ll stop by. Meantime, you might want to make a plan for how you’ll use them. I’ll need you to give me a verbal description once they arrive so we can publicize your services to our client base. I suspect you’ll get some orders rather quickly, so you’ll need to be prepared. Clean your plate, and then go directly to bed for some rest. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
FIFTEEN
I got my first client the very next day.
My new accoutrements arrived only three hours after I requested them. Elzbeta deposited them in my boudoir while I was still asleep, leaving me a note to ring her whenever I woke up to give her my service description. After waking from a two-hour nap, I took in the sight of my requested items, arranged in a semicircle on and around an occasional table at the foot of my bed.
There was a Victorian-style corset, wrought of polished steel, but the frame only---without any fabric between the bones, just like I’d asked for. I tried it on over my pajamas and found it fit me like a glove---almost as if someone had cast a mold of my body. It pushed my small breasts skyward, cupping them in tiny steel cages that would reveal the dark circles of my areolae when I wore it for customers. There was a black widow’s hat, wide and curved like an ocean’s wave, trimmed with velvet and towering ostrich feathers. There were a pair of highbutton Victorian leather boots, made of fine kid leather, knee-high and with sculptured heels. Lemon verbena perfume, made from the finest essential oils, in a cut-crystal decanter. Antique opera glasses, made of polished brass, with a long brass holding stick. All beautiful, magnificent things that went well beyond my wildest imaginings. But the best part were the chains and locks.
Domino (The Domino Trilogy) Page 29