Domino (The Domino Trilogy) (40 page)

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.

Y
ou 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,” Victori
a 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.