Smoke

by C. P. Mandara

  "The correct answer to that question is ‘yes,' by the way." He began walking around the back of me, sizing me up from top to bottom, and when he saw the state of my ass, he whistled. "My oh my, what do we have here? You been a naughty girl by any chance?" His fingers lightly grazed over some of the wicked red slashes on my ass, and I gasped. From the corner of my eye, I could see him swing his hand back, and my eyes closed automatically, already knowing what was coming. When the palm of his hand connected with my backside, I squealed in pain, and my head wanted to bury itself in the ground. My cheeks were so hot they could have set off fireworks, and my inflamed backside – well that could have powered rocket boosters. It was already throbbing spectacularly and we'd barely even begun.

  Hearing the rumble of another engine, my gaze dragged itself up from the floor, but it didn’t reach much past the curb where another German van had already pulled up. It immediately took the attention away from me, and for that I was grateful.

  "Well, sweetheart, unfortunately for you, I'm a busy guy today. Get your ass up those steps, and one of the attendants will take you to the waiting room where you can prep for your big night. Off with you." He swiped his hand once more at my ass, but his fingers found nothing but air. I was already off and hurtling towards the steps he had mentioned. The aura of panic that surrounded me was not a good sign. I needed to sort myself out.

  When I reached the marble steps before me, I sped quickly to the top, and hoped to hell there was a toilet within one hundred yards of them. My head swung frantically from side to side, taking in as much of my surroundings as I could, while my bare feet skidded on the slick, shiny surface.

  From what I could gather, this place was contained underground, because there were no windows to be seen anywhere. While the area was adequately lit with fancy orange strip lighting, there was no natural daylight to soften the harsh glare. This would have painful enough if I were fully clothed, but facing these kinds of lights naked was a reality that was almost too much to bear. You can do this. Now is not the moment to have seconds thoughts.

  Standing frozen to the spot, not knowing which way to turn, my stomach sank as I realised I didn't have a clue where I was going or what I was supposed to do. My bladder didn't have the time to walk around aimlessly, and honestly, if I didn't find a restroom soon, things were going to get nasty.

  “Hey, are you Black Diamond?”

  My head swung back to the left, trying to locate the sound of the voice, and sure enough, a face had just popped into view. It was black, gorgeous, and featured heavily kohled eyes and a large pair of gold hoop earrings. Unlike me, the lady was not naked, well – not completely. She wore a black latex basque, matching panties, and thigh-high boots. Thankfully, she looked friendly, so I breathed a sigh of relief.

  "That's me," I said, somewhat shakily. My legs were crossed, and the expression on my face must have revealed all because she laughed.

  "Restrooms are this way, Black Diamond. Let's get you ready for your debut, honey." The enthusiasm injected in that sentence, along with a ten thousand watt smile, would have made me relax if that option had been possible without consequences.

  “Thank goodness for that,” I said, running towards her. “I’ve got Niagara Falls held up inside me, and the pressure is going to kill me.”

  She laughed and pointed an immaculately dressed fingernail to my left. “Go have fun, girl. I’ll catch up with you as soon as you’re out. I’m Cassie by the way.”

  I didn't need to be told twice. Dashing into the ladies as if my feet were on fire, I found the nearest cubicle and dived in. This might have been the first occasion where I was glad I didn't have any clothes on to hinder my progress. All I had to do was sit and try not to think about how weird my life had become. Seriously. I think I'd just had a perfectly normal conversation with a woman I didn't know from Adam, while completely naked, and scared half out of my wits. This gig might just be a snap after all. Ahem. Don't get ahead of yourself, Lois.

  Peeing when you're desperate could almost be likened to a tenth of an orgasm, in my opinion. The release isn't quite as dramatic, and the pleasure is nowhere near as acute, but it's a sweet thing. When I walked out to wash my hands, I swear I felt ten pounds lighter. Anyway, now it was time to face my public and see what delights the night had in store for me. I probably wasn't going to like this much – but I was here to divide and conquer. By that, I meant divide Dumortier's head from his body and conquer his empire from the inside out. It was a bit early to tell whether I had a reasonable chance at the job, but due to the friendly welcome, I was feeling optimistic.

  Padding out of the toilets in my bare feet, I nearly had a heart attack when I found Cassie waiting for me just outside the door.

  "Feelin' better?" In response, I nodded. There honestly wasn't a lot more I wanted to add to that question.

  "Great. Let's get you ready for your big session." She took me by the hand and gently tugged me forward. "Now I'm just gonna tell you, before you get in there, that it's a madhouse and you're gonna be pushed around a lot. I know you're probably used to it by now, but I feel better if I warn the newbie's first." She held my hand up at waist height and turned to face me. "Just go with the flow, alright? The guys and gals are gonna do what they wanna do, so it's easier to just humour them." She patted my wrist gently. "Let's have a great evening, okay? After tonight is over, I hope you get exactly what you're looking for. I'm sure your Mr. Right is out there."

  I looked at Cassie and smiled. "Me, too," I said, and although we might not have been looking for the same things, it hardly mattered. Dumortier would be my ‘Mr. Right' after I'd put a bullet through his brain.

  “So, here we go.” She motioned towards an orange door that had ‘Slaves’ lit up in bright neon lights and released my hand. From the looks of it, I was about to walk into a circus. Oh, God. Is this really happening? “I can’t go in there because I’m not on the style team, but I’ll be seeing you later. Have fun, honey.” She then winked at me.

  Reaching out for the brass doorknob, I stood up tall, puffed out my shoulders, and pushed it open. "Catch you later," I whispered before all words were suddenly whipped from me.

  Everyone was naked. Although I had been expecting that, I hadn’t thought I’d see men without their clothes on. My eyes honestly didn’t know what to do with themselves – they were going cross-eyed in shock. Some of the ‘appendages’ were truly magnificent – so much so, that I didn’t want any of them anywhere near me. Trying hard not to stare, I wondered what I should do first.

  The place I'd just entered seemed to be a giant hall of bright lights and mirrors. They were everywhere. Naked girls were perched upon white leather bar stools having their hair teased into glamorous shapes and styles, while others were busy getting their make up done. It didn't look like anyone was going for the natural look, either. All lips were covered in bold colours such as red, orange, or pink, all cheeks had blusher, and all eyes were artfully outlined in gold, bronze or black. It looked like someone was going to give me the makeover of a lifetime, whether I wanted them to or not.

  "Hey you, get your ass on over here." There was a spare space at a mirror and the sight of a naked girl running off in another direction. I was quick to note her ass was just as red as mine, although perhaps not quite as bruised. Lucky her. "Now. We haven't got all day!" My eyes bounced back from the jiggling butt of the slave girl to the woman who was issuing instructions. She was brandishing a blusher brush in her hand as if she was about to perform magic, and her next victim looked like it was going to be me.

  I pointed at myself, just to make sure. She rolled her eyes and nodded, and then patted the chair beside her. Okay, so here went nothing.

  “First time here, huh?” As I very gently lowered myself down on the already slightly sweaty seat of the stool, I smiled weakly.

  “First time,” I replied, looking warily at all the pots and potions she had stored on the glass shelf that jutted out below the mirror.

  “You’
ll do fine. You’re a pretty thing, so I’m sure you’ll be snapped up quickly. The good news is that I’m about to make you even prettier. All you need to do is sit still and keep quiet.” That was what I was afraid of.

  Thankfully, only one of us needed to keep quiet, so it didn't take me long to find out that my stylist's name was Rebecca and she had to get through at least twenty girls this evening. There were several stylists in the room, so that meant a lot of girls would be gracing the halls this evening. Looking around briefly, I saw that the competition for attracting Dumortier's attention would be steep. All the girls here looked like an advert for Miss Fucking Universe, and how anyone could pick one over another was beyond me. My face dropped for a moment, as I realised that I was probably destined for failure. If I was one in ten or even one in fifty, I could work with those odds, but one in two hundred? How did you try and stand out with those figures to work with? Reality suddenly came crashing down with brutal force.

  “That’s not a face I can work with, babe. You need to smile. All the men out there like happy faces, take my word for it.” She tucked an errant strand of her immaculately coiffed, blonde hair behind her ear, and gave me a stern pout with her traffic-stopping red lips.

  Plastering a fake grin on my face, I sucked it up while I watched her work. It was bizarrely mesmerising. Moisturiser, toner, foundation, powder… all of this went by in a blur of whirling fingers. My face was prodded this way and that, I was told to close my eyes, purse my lips, twist that way and then twist this way. Then I had to stand up while spray tan was liberally administered to my entire body (and I mean everywhere!). The whole process was excruciatingly slow, but when she'd finished, there was a definite transformation. I'd gone from being ‘Mary, the tax accountant caterpillar' to ‘Ashiana, the pole dancing butterfly' – and I had nothing against tax accountants – but wow, just wow.

  The stunt she had pulled on my face was nothing short of amazing. My eyebrows had been threaded into neat little arcs and then enhanced with a soft, black pencil. My skin was now flawless, and its colour was a smoky bronze. She had highlighted my eyes and cheeks with flecks of Aztec gold, and my lips were now a blatant, deep cerise and seemed to be pouting of their own accord. Gel eyeliner had been carefully applied in a myriad of dark shades around my eyes, drawing attention to my pale grey irises and making them appear a whole lot bigger than they were. Hell, at the moment, I would sleep with me. I made a mental note to get Rebecca's number just in case I had a hot date at some point in the future.

  “There you go, babe. You look divine. All the blokes are gonna want to eat you, which is kinda handy really, as that's what you want them to do. Anyway, your next step involves you taking a running leap to the left and don't let a male slave near you until another sixty seconds has passed. There's no way I'm having my work smudged, you hear me?"

  I heard her, and I nodded.

  “Hey you, you’re next. Get your ass down here.” Rebecca was already motioning for the next victim to come and join her, and here I thought I was special. Oh well.

  Making a beeline for the left door, as instructed, I followed two other girls who were also on their way to their next stop. Having no idea what the ‘male slave’ comment had been about, I felt a little safer knowing they would hopefully be going before me, so I’d at least know what to expect.

  "What comes next?" I whispered to the Amazonian brunette in front of me, who’s sheer beauty and height made me feel extremely inferior in just about every way that counted.

  “The fun part,” she whispered back. She then put her index finger to her lip and said, “Shh. We’re not supposed to talk any more.”

  Great. She'd answered my question, but I was still utterly clueless and no further to discovering what on earth was about to happen. To make things worse, now I couldn't voice my concerns, either. I'd just have to wait and be patient.

  We all came to an abrupt halt outside a door with a bright green button, and the first girl in line, an exotic Middle-Eastern beauty, pressed it. There was a sign above it that said, “Stay in line and wait to be called.” So that’s exactly what we did. After two minutes or so, there was a sharp ‘Next,’ and she entered into to a dim room that I could discover very little about before the door slammed behind her. How very frustrating. I was not good at waiting.

  It took another five minutes before the Amazonian in front was called, and by that time my nerves were shot. The line had grown impressively behind me, and there were now plenty of women fidgeting and playing with their hair. It was a little surreal to be standing in a row of gorgeous naked bodies, but I figured my evening had barely begun, so I'd better get aboard this wild and wacky ride, and embrace it with everything I had. At least I didn't feel self-conscious with so many others around me in the same boat, so there was that at least.

  "Next." When it was my turn to enter the room, my feet didn't want to move forward, and my body felt frozen in panic. Relax, Lois. This is the easy part. While some part of my brain knew that, anything that entered the realm of the unknown was likely to make my blood pressure rocket, so I just needed to deal with it. Opening the door quietly, I finally found the courage to step through it and await my fate.

  Chapter Seven

  At first, I couldn’t see a thing. The room was so dark it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light. Blinking stupidly, I just managed to notice a man sitting to my right. His hair was combed over with so much gel it clumped in startlingly neat lines, and he wore a tan an Egyptian would be proud of. In an odd sort of way, he was quite good-looking.

  “What’s your name?”

  His voice was curt, and he held a gold ballpoint pen that hovered above a large ledger.

  "Black Diamond," I replied, desperately wanting to cover up my nakedness. If someone was smiling at me, I could be naked, but when they looked stern and unpleasant, it was another story entirely.

  “Do you have any medical conditions that we should be aware of?”

  “None, Sir.”

  “No allergies to latex or anything like that? It’s never a fun evening if one of the slaves keel over before we’ve hardly begun. Put's a dampener on things, you understand.”

  I was probably going to be allergic to Alain Dumortier, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. “No allergies, and no conditions that I’m aware of, Sir.”

  “Excellent. Makes life easier.”

  His pen floated up and down the ledger until it landed on me. “Who’s your trainer?”

  "Master Sandburne, Sir." James had instructed me to call all men of importance ‘Sir,' and the women would be referred to as ‘Mistress.' He'd also said if in doubt, use that form of address and hope for the best, so I did.

  “Yes. We have you here. I’m not familiar with Sandburne, so we’ll just have to hope he did a good job with you. How many years were you under his instruction?”

  “I’ve had a year’s training, Sir.”

  “Just a year?” He tilted his head and then assessed me from top to bottom. “Well, it’s a good job you’re quite attractive, then. We normally don’t take anyone with less than two years experience. I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for. Tears and screams won’t get you out of this place. Once you sign up, you’re here for the duration.”

  Oh, Lord. Even the staff were trying to discourage me now. Maybe it was an omen. Perhaps I should pull out. A thousand more maybe's flitted through my head with black, butterfly wings, but I didn't miss a beat as I replied, "I know exactly what I'm in for, Sir."

  “Excellent. Your master must have been very persuasive on the telephone to get you a spot here. Most of the girls are very experienced in the lifestyle before they make their debut. Anyway, you will now be referred to as number thirty-eight until instructed otherwise. Remember it, slave, because if you forget it, there will be consequences. Think you can do that?"

  I nodded. Repeating the number over and over in my head, I promised myself that I would not forget it. My poor backside wouldn’t
let me.

  “Good.” He then scribbled the number thirty-eight on the top of my right hand in black marker pen. “Your warm-up partner is number ten, and he’s in the green tent. Go and have fun, but not too much fun.” He pointed to a door behind him.

  What the hell did that mean? I guess I was about to find out. Exiting the dim room quickly, I marched forward into the unknown. It was a sobering thought, but for the next few weeks, my life as ‘Lois' was over. Even though that wasn't my real name, it was still a name, and I was still a person. Now I was a number. It felt like I'd been downgraded from a human being to chattel, which was exactly what had happened if I stopped to think about it.

  My eyes had just about adjusted to the dim light by the time the questions had finished, which was good because the massive room beyond was just as dark. I could make out several different Bedouin-style tents in the distance, and everyone seemed to be flowing towards them. They were lit up with nothing more than the soft, flickering amber glow of candles and there was lots of activity inside them. Made in various shades of luxurious velvet, with glittering tassels gently swaying to and fro on the entrance, they looked like they should belong in a desert, with a couple of camel's tethered up beside them. As I neared closer, I could see there was no furniture inside them, but lots of soft throws and rugs littered the floor in every direction. When I spotted a seething hoard of naked bodies wriggling around on them, I nearly took a step back in the opposite direction and made a run for it. Was this the ‘fun' the Amazonian had mentioned? It certainly looked like it. I guessed the owners would want us revved up for this auction, and this was probably as good a way as any to go about it.