It was a quiet week, and she worked hard. By Thursday afternoon, she actually had a prototype. She asked Ruengroj to help her set up the equipment in the conference room: a digital video projector, linked to her computer, and a cylindrical screen, constructed of finely-woven mosquito netting stretched tightly around a frame.
The basic idea was simple. Humans see the world as solid and three-dimensional, but in fact depth, the third dimension, is an illusion constructed by the brain. Various types of information available in a scene allow the visual system to infer the relationships between objects, or parts of a single object. One of the most powerful cues is parallax, the differences in the motion of objects that are nearer versus further away from the viewer.
Katherine had written software to artificially generate parallax cues. She could take a pre-existing or computer-animated video sequence and selectively change the motion of specific parts of the images, so that an observer would see the objects in the video clip as having depth. The free-standing screen would enhance the illusion by making it seem as though the motion was occurring in positive space, rather than in the space ‘behind’ a screen.
The algorithms required to identify sections to be modified, and the mathematics involved in computing the correct motion, were definitely complex. The principle, however, was straightforward.
Roj finished attaching all the cables. The screen sat on the conference room table. Katherine signalled him to dim the lights, then turned on the projector, and adjusted the focus.
A moving image took shape on the table: a female figure, a dancer, undulating in time to unheard music. Her body was gilded, from head to toe. Her hair was gold-plastered against her head. Her eyes were closed. Her long fingernails trailed threads of gold through the air as she raised her arms in a gesture of entreaty.
Katherine had chosen to animate the credits sequence from an old James Bond movie, one of her favourites. She could hear the theme song playing in her head as she and Roj watched the dancer.
The effect was surprisingly convincing. Occasionally Katherine could detect some discontinuity in the movement, a slight jerkiness or an unnaturally swift change. Overall, though, the dancer appeared to be real, solid, her curvaceous figure inviting the eye. One could almost reach out to touch those rounded limbs, to cup those swelling breasts.
The room suddenly went dark, as the video clip ended. “Whew!” said RuengRoj, whistling appreciatively. “That was really something! She seemed so real!”
Katherine realised that the imperfections she had noted were probably not apparent to her co-worker.
“Thanks!” she said. “It still needs a lot of work. Plus there are many problems remaining to be tackled, such as how to deal with different points of view in the same image. Also, Mr Marshall wants to somehow synchronize the images with the mood of the music.” She could not help noticing how her heart beat a bit faster as she said his name. “That will open up a whole new set of issues.”
“Nevertheless, this is a great start,” Roj continued, his enthusiasm unabated. “Mr Harrison will be excited that you’ve done so much in such a short time.”
Katherine was pleased with the praise. Back in her office, she set to work looking for the logic or calculation errors that had produced the few flaws she had noticed. Deep in concentration, she jumped when Edward Harrison knocked on her door frame.
“Katherine! Ruengroj tells me that you already have a working prototype of your projective 3D technology. I’m leaving town tonight, but I would really like a demonstration early next week. Would that be okay?”
“Of course, Edward. Have a good trip.”
“I will,” said her boss heartily. Then he lowered his voice. “By the way, don’t say anything to Marshall about this yet. I want to make sure that we get everything that we deserve, before we turn this over to him.”
“Oh, this is nowhere near ready to be delivered to the customer.” Katherine avoided saying his name. “As I told Ruengroj, there are many issues and problems that I’ve just begun to look at.”
“Even so. Keep it quiet for now.”
“I will,” she replied, slightly irritated. He should be cautioning Roj to be more circumspect, not her.
Kate arrived at DigiThai the next morning full of energy. She was excited by the success of her initial demo, and eager to move forward with the project.
The email message awaiting her scattered these expectations of productivity.
Kate,
If you have plans for this evening, cancel them.
Await my instructions.
G.
Damn him, thought Kate. She sat back in her chair, her heart pounding despite herself. How could he do this to her? Why did she let him?
She abruptly clicked the Delete button, and returned to her work. I can ignore him, and I will, she resolved. She half-succeeded in this resolution, finding two bugs in her software before she and Malawee left to have a quick lunch.
As they reentered the office suite, Anchana called out to Katherine. “Miss Katherine, this package arrived for you while you were out.” It was a long, narrow box, with the label of a local florist.
It couldn’t be from Gregory, Katherine thought scornfully. He would never consider sending her flowers.
However, she was wrong. The box contained a single long-stemmed rose nestled among green ferns. The petals were just beginning to unfold. The blossom was a creamy white, with a delicate tracery of red veins. Kate had never seen such a curious pattern.
In addition to the rose, there was a heavy brass key, and a sheet of writing parchment, folded in half. Kate’s hands trembled as she unfolded the note.
Montien Hotel, Room 1263. Eight o’clock.
Love,
G.
Only these few words, inscribed with black ink in a strong, open script. Kate was intrigued and troubled. She knew the Montien, a four-star hotel on Suriwong Road, quite close to Patpong. Edward Harrison had taken her there for a drink a few days after she arrived.
It was clear enough what Marshall wanted. Should she comply? Meet a man she hardly knew, in an anonymous hotel room, to participate in who knows what perverted activities?
Images of their previous encounter flooded her. She remembered looking up from her knees, at his blazing eyes and hugely swollen cock. She recalled him laughing at her helpless lust, as she masturbated at his command. She felt the ropes holding her down, holding her open, as he ravaged her sex. It was all the secret, shameful dreams, of rape and ravishment, use and abuse, that she had ever dreamed and denied.
Her nipples were hard and she knew she was damp. She almost wanted to cry at her own weakness. Yet still her excitement grew, as she understood that she could not, would not, say no to him.
Then there was the closing. Love. She did not know how to read this. She could hear him say it, with that characteristic irony in his luscious voice. Surely he was mocking her, once again. Or perhaps he was asking a question, asking her to look within and answer, so what is love, after all, and what did it have to do with the way that their bodies and their minds connected?
The hotel lobby was bright and noisy with tourists. Kate felt conspicuous and embarrassed as she crossed to the elevators, as if she were already naked.
In the elevator, a western man and a Thai girl fondled each other, whispering and giggling. They left at the sixth floor. The ride to the twelfth seemed to take a long time. Everything was hushed, muffled. Her heels made no sound on the thick carpet. Her heart beat in her ears, absurdly loud.
Kate hesitated as she turned the key in the lock. Seized with sudden fear, she nearly turned and ran back down the hallway to the elevator. This was irrevocable. She knew that. In opening this door, she would open her well-ordered life to chaotic and irrational forces that she did not understand.
She remembered Gregory’s words. “You were born to this,” he had said. And “I will teach you.” She swallowed hard and turned the doorknob.
The room was dim, and apparently emp
ty. She closed the door quietly behind her, and looked around.
Spacious, luxurious, undistinguished: she might have been in a hotel anywhere. The only sound was the slight hiss of the air conditioning. A floor-to-ceiling window, with the draperies open, sparkled with the lights of the city. A comfortable-looking oversized arm chair, a teak desk, a vanity with a tall mirror, a king-size bed with carved teak head and foot boards, these were the sum of the room’s furnishings. The diffuse, rosy light came from a brass lamp on the desk. Someone had covered the shade with a scarf of red silk.
Kate noticed, on the desk, a narrow brass vase. It held a single rose, white traced with red, matching her own.
There was no one here now. But someone had been here.
She examined the wooden head and foot boards, but found no ropes affixed there. Then she noticed the items arrayed on the quilted silk bedspread: five circles of leather, decorated with stainless steel. She picked one up, savoured the softness of the leather, ran her fingers around the attached metal ring. One of the circlets was larger; all were adorned with rings, perhaps an inch in diameter, and the larger circlet was decorated with steel studs, as well.
Kate blushed, though there was no one to see her. She understood the purpose of these artifacts: wrist and ankle restraints, and a slave collar.
Though he had left no instructions, Gregory’s intent was clear.
The bracelet of leather was lined with satin. It was held closed by sturdy snaps. Kate put it on her wrist. She was just curious, to see how it felt.
Oddly, it was comfortable. It fit her well. Kate hugged herself nervously, walked around the room, stared out at the traffic on Suriwong Road, returned to the bed.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she began to remove her clothes. As in her previous encounter with Marshall, she felt that she was moving in a dream. Now he was exercising his will without even being present.
She seemed to be watching herself, as she placed her folded garments on the bed and reached for the other wrist restraint. Now she bent and attached the leather anklets. Finally, she lifted her curls and snapped the collar around her neck.
She was naked, save for the leather adornments. Daring herself, she walked barefoot across the plush carpet to the mirror. What would Gregory see, she wondered, when he arrived? Was this a worthy offering?
Kate stood before the mirror, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips. She was breathing heavily; she could see her chest rise and fall. Her nipples were round and rigid, the size and shape of ripe olives. She imagined Gregory taking one in his mouth, and shivered. The dark leather around her throat made her creamy skin seem even whiter. The studs on the collar were red with reflected light, as if this emblem of submission were encrusted rubies.
She gazed at her face, trying to recognise herself. The expression was strange, desperate, wanton. Her chest hurt from the pounding of her heart.
A slight sound, and she saw the opening door, reflected in the mirror. Gregory stepped in. Kate’s knees went weak.
“Kate,” he said softly. Before she could turn, he was behind her at the mirror, his hands lightly upon her shoulders. He towered over her; her head barely reached his chest. “You look very fetching, little Kate,” he said with that familiar hint of derision. She blushed, ashamed to have been admiring herself, arrayed in this paraphernalia.
Gregory bent and touched the tip of his tongue to the side of her neck, just above the leather. It was scalding hot. Her sex burned in answer.
“I am glad to see you prepared, Kate.” His hands were on her breasts now; he flicked painfully at the nipples with his thumbs. Now he ran his hands down her arms, and grasped her leather-clad wrists in a grip like a vise. He turned her around. “Are you prepared, Kate? Are you?”
Kate hung her head, unable meet his eyes. “Look at me,” Gregory said, almost in a whisper. Even his whisper held authority. She raised her eyes to him.
He was beautiful, like some wild, sleek animal. His long hair was loose tonight, framing those searing blue eyes. His mouth was half-open; Kate could see sharp teeth. Gregory was also clad in leather, tight black leather pants and a vest with studs that matched her collar, over a flowing black shirt.
“Are you ready for the next lesson, Kate?” His voice was serious, no trace of the usual ridicule.
Kate nodded weakly, her mind fogged with desire. “I—I think so.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
Kate searched her heart. “Yes,” she said finally. “I am not sure why I should, but yes.”
“Good girl,” he said, levity entering his voice once again. “In that case, I have something else for you. Put your hands behind your head.”
As Kate obeyed, he reached into his pocket and drew out two items that sparkled in the red light. He held them up so she could see them better.
Kate was horrified. They were spring-loaded clamps, like the ‘alligator clips’ used to attach wires to battery terminals.
“They are quite stiff,” Gregory said, flexing one of them in his strong fingers. “But then, they have to be, to be effective.”
Kate realised that her current position, with forearms raised and hands clasped at the nape of her neck, was intended to expose and elevate her breasts. “Take a deep breath,” said Gregory. As she did, he caught her right nipple in the jaws of one of the clamps.
Kate gasped. Fierce pain shot through her. The clamp was lined with smooth leather, not serrated like an electrical clamp. It did not break the skin. But it squeezed the swollen knob of flesh and sent sharp stabs radiating through her body.
It was torture; Kate bit her lip, trying not to cry out. Somehow, though, by the time the pain reached her sex, it had become something different, equally sharp, but more pleasurable, a kind of hungry aching.
“Hungry,” said Gregory, as if he had read her mind. “You are hungry for more. I can feel it.” He captured her left nipple in the other clamp. The pain grew, magnified tenfold rather than twofold.
Kate was sweating, trying to be still, to be quiet, to please him. The clamps hung off her flesh, heavy, clumsy. Her nipples felt huge, the size of eggs or golf balls. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
Gregory surveyed her, an expression of satisfaction on his face. “Yes. That’s just right,” he said. “They suit you very well.”
He kneeled on one knee before her. “Be still, now,” he said brusquely. With two fingers, he began probing her cunt, first deeply, then sliding his fingertips across her clit.
The heat that grew between her legs changed the sensation in her breasts. The pain flowing from her nipples was met and transformed by the pleasure radiating from her sex. Still excruciating, unbelievably intense, it nevertheless became something that she wanted. She stopped fighting against the pain and allowed it to wash over her, obliterating all her fear and her doubt and her shame. She closed her eyes; the accumulated tears spilled down her cheeks.
Something changed. She realised that Gregory had removed the clamps. Her breasts still throbbed with pain, her nipples screaming and tender. Opening her eyes, she saw that Gregory was still kneeling before her. He placed his lips around one aching red nodule, and sucked gently. There was the heat again, but now it soothed rather than burned, blissful comfort like a warm hearth on a winter day. He switched his attentions to the other nipple, touching her only with his lips and tongue.
She wanted so badly for him to take her in his arms, cuddle her, comfort her, praise her. But she knew he would not, or not at least when she wished it. He was the master, and it was his part to decide when to deliver pleasure, when to mete out pain. As he had told her that first night, she must learn to be patient.
Gregory raised himself back to his full height, grasped her wrists again, and brought her hands down from behind her head. “Better now?” he asked. Kate nodded, still confused by her paradoxical reactions.
“Good. Come over here, then.” Still holding her wrists, he led her toward the window. He fished in the pocket of his vest and bro
ught out a length of ordinary hemp rope. “This should do,” he said archly. He threaded one end of the rope through the ring attached to her wristlet. He tied the other end to a wrought iron ring on the wall, to the right of the window.
In her initial survey of the room, Kate had assumed that this ring was decorative, intended for tying back the curtains. Now she saw her error; the metal circle was far heavier and stronger than what would be required to hold the draperies. With mixed fascination and distaste, she understood that this was Gregory’s special room, customised for his particular purposes by the hotel management. What other special features might he have requested? The room was so quiet; perhaps it had been soundproofed, to muffle the cries and moans of his ‘visitors’.
As the leather-attired giant tied her other wrist to the ring on the opposite wall, Kate wondered about the other women Gregory had lured to this room—And men. So far she had seen no indication that his dominant stance extended only to females. His manipulation of Edward Harrison suggested the contrary—Who were they? How did they behave? How much pain, how much humiliation could they endure? More than she could, no doubt. Suddenly she felt woefully inadequate. She watched Marshall, finishing off a neat bowline and testing its strength. How could she ever satisfy him?
He caught her glance, read the distress in her eyes. “Yes, Kate, I admit I have brought others here, to my comfortable urban dungeon. But that should not concern you.”
She was bound now, arms stretched wide across the window alcove.
“Spread your legs a little more,” he interrupted himself to order. “You will find yourself more stable.”
He stood before her, hands on his hips. “You are mine now, Kate, mine because I chose to make you mine. Mine because you chose to answer my call.” He brushed the hair back from her anxious eyes. “Your role is to obey me, serve me, please me.” He paused, then continued softly. “And you do, Kate, you do please me, even in your innocence and inexperience.”
“If there are others who also serve, what is that to you? You should be grateful to them, for giving your Master pleasure.”
Raw Silk Page 9
