by Sky Winters
She was in a long, open room with high ceilings and wooden walls of dark oak. Farther down the room she saw racks of women’s underwear; lingerie, bra and panty sets, and leather kink-wear. Across the room were rows of vanity mirrors in front of chairs of soft-looking leather. The room was two-parts dungeon and one-part fashion show backstage.
Where the hell am I? A drip of nervous sweat darted down her forehead. Nora made eye contact with the girls to her immediate left and right, but bound the way they were, all they could do was share terrified expressions.
Nora then heard a loud thunk from the end of the room on her right. The massive, wooden door opened with a sharp, quick creak, and five men poured in, all clad in slim black-and-white suits, sunglasses, and short, cropped hair. They looked like Secret Service agents, but with one minor difference: Their skin was bone white.
The girls turned their heads to the men. Nora did the same, anxiety forming into a tight hot knot in her stomach. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen now.
The men looked over the women as though surveying merchandise. Then one turned to the other, nodded, and the five men split apart, each heading to different girls along the wall. But not Nora.
Nora looked at the man nearest to her, who went to the girl two spaces to Nora’s left. He regarded the woman, then kneeled and flicked off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of shimmering yellow eyes. He took the chin of the fearful, squirming girl into his hand in a gentle scoop and looked into her eyes, his own eyes wide and fixed. He stayed like this for a moment, mouthing something that Nora couldn’t hear. Then, the girl slackened, her body calm.
The man waited a few more seconds to confirm that whatever he had done worked, then reached behind her, unhooked her chains from the wall, and led her to one of the makeup chairs on the other side of the room. The girl went with him without protest, her steps smooth, but unnatural, her face still and calm as a doll’s. She took her place in the chair, her beautiful face illuminated by the bright bulbs of the vanity mirror. The four other girls the remaining men went to all did the same. It was then that Nora noticed that there were as many chairs as there were girls, and that whatever the men had done to the first girls would likely be done to her soon.
The men, after making sure their girls were still in their seats, then went to another set of girls and repeated the process. Again, Nora wasn’t one of them, though the girls to her immediate right and left were. She watched the process repeat itself: the men kneeled, looked deep into the girls’ eyes, said something in a low murmur, then led the now-docile girls to their chairs. Again, the girls were watched for a moment, then the men went off to a new set.
This time, Nora was one of them.
The suited man squatted in front of her, and looked into her eyes. His face was as slim and angled as his suit, and at this distance, his brilliant yellow eyes looked like tiny blazing suns, and Nora could’ve sworn that she saw the colors swirl and roil. He locked eyes with her in this fashion for several heartbeats and spoke.
“You’re going to get up and go over to that chair. You’re going to sit down and wait until we tell you what to do next.”
Then he reached behind her, undid the lock that connected the chains to the wall and then waited.
Judging by the way the other girls complied, Nora assumed that she would’ve felt some strange sort of compulsion to get up. But she felt nothing.
The eyes of the man narrowed in suspicion. “I said, you’re going to get up and go over to that chair. You’re going to sit down and wait until we tell you what to do next.”
Nora then realized that whatever he was trying to do, whatever sort of hypnosis he was trying, wasn’t taking hold. But unless she wanted to arouse suspicion, she knew that she needed to act like it did. So, she stood, making her face appear blank and compliant, walked past the man, and sank into the soft, cool leather of the chair in front of the mirror.
Nora wanted to turn and look around, to see if she could figure out where she was, and to try to figure out what was in store for her, but she knew that such behavior would be noticed. So instead, she regarded herself in the mirror.
Nora’s eyes were big, which was a source of insecurity for her; she always felt that they gave her a constant look of surprise. The irises were the watery green of a freshly-dewed Longford dale. Her nose was small and pointed a bit upward, and her lips were a deep red with a full shape and the subtle turns of cursive handwriting. Her hair, which was the color of a polished copper pot, was tied in a thick French braid, which she now had draped across her left shoulder. Her coat was missing, and today she was wearing a knitted, oatmeal-colored cardigan over a fitted V-neck t-shirt, and a pair of unassuming blue jeans. She was always told by friends and family that she dressed too plain, too drab, and that her slight, lissome frame seemed to always be lost in the folds of heavy fabric that she typically wore. But this was how she liked it. Her hearing always made her feel like she was disconnected from the world at large, and so she liked to dress the part, like someone who wouldn’t be noticed.
Keeping her head still, she looked to her right and left as best she could. As far as she could tell, all of the girls were in their seats.
Then the doors opened again, and a frenzy of feminine chatter filled the room. The pin-point clicking of high heels echoed through the open space. Nora allowed herself to turn just an inch to her right, to see what she could, which was a gaggle of coifed and made-up women in simple, form-fitting clothes; fashionable, but practical. Once the group reached the center of the row of girls, they looked the line up and down, made some counting-off gestures, and split off, one girl to each captive.
The one who came to Nora was tall, slim, and had a severe Slavic face of jutting cheekbones, ice-blue eyes narrowed to a laser point, and platinum-blond hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She looked Nora up and down, mouthing words to herself and making mental notes. Then she turned to the vanity, opened some drawers, and withdrew some items.
Makeup? Nora looked at the small cases lined along the edge of the vanity. What’s going on here?
The woman looked the items up and down one last time and went to work. She started by undoing Nora’s thick, simple braid and pinning it up above her head. Then, she applied the makeup in quick, precise movements—a little blush here, some eyeliner there, a little smokiness there. Nora stayed as still as death during the process, giving no indication that she wasn’t under the hypnotic spell that the rest of the girls were in. The woman was in front of the mirror, and Nora couldn’t see what kind of look she was giving her.
After a few minutes, she was done with the makeup, and set to work on Nora’s hair.
That was fast. Nora allowed a light-hearted thought to well up through the pool of anxiety in her stomach. I wouldn’t mind taking some notes from her; it would save a little time in my morning routine.
The woman went at Nora’s hair with stabbing motions, sticking pins here and tying braids there. Her face was lowered in concentration, and Nora could see that, like the men in the suits, her eyes were that same brilliant burnt orange.
“What you got over there, divchyna?” said Nora’s girl in a voice tinged in a Slavic accent to the makeup girl next to her, her own eyes not leaving Nora’s hair for a second.
“Another cow from one of those shitholes in the middle.”
I take offense to that, thought Nora, still not armored against the “flyover state” jokes.
“This one here is pretty; doesn’t look like she is from here.”
There was a pause while, Nora presumed, the other makeup girl gave Nora a look-over.
“Tak, yes, I see what you mean. Beautiful skin. And I am wondering if that hair is a natural color.”
“I think so,” said Nora’s girl. “I can spot a shitty red dye-job from a mile off.”
“Fair skin, red hair. I bet we get a nice little bag of coins for her.”
Bag of coins? What is she talking about? Where am I?
Afte
r a few minutes, the work was done, and the girl stepped back and around Nora, standing behind her in the chair to get a look from a few feet away. Nora could finally see what she had done. Her eyes had a slight wisp of smokiness, which set off their brilliant green; her fair skin was brushed with just enough blush to give her the appearance of being in a state of coquettish surprise, and her red hair was done up in twin braids that were twisted up and behind her head in an intricate pattern that reminded Nora of some kind of rolled and curled pastry. The look seemed to Nora like an innocent peasant girl with the smoky, sexy eyes of a girl in the city. Definitely not Nora’s style, but she liked how attractive she felt. She had always considered herself to be plain and unremarkable, but now she felt a little different about how she looked.
“You done over there? I think I am done with mine,” said Nora’s girl, looking her own work over in approval.
“Ohhh, very nice,” said the other girl, impressed. “Innocent but a little slutty. But the good kind of slutty,” she added after a beat.
“I am good at my job. What can I say?”
“Okay, I think it’s time to get these little chickies all dressed up and ready to go.”
Wait, what? Nora was still nervous, still scared, but also completely confused.
“Everyone to your feet!” shouted one of the women from a position toward the front of the room.
The girls complied, all standing in unison, their chains clinking and clanging together. Nora stood, too, though she was worried that the lag in her motions would be noticed by someone.
A moment passed, all of them standing stone-still and silent. Then Nora could hear the unfastening of chains farther down in the row. She gave silent thanks that these heavy metal things would soon be off her aching limbs. Sure enough, one of the suited men was moving down the line, undoing the chains with a quick turn of a key.
When the suited man got to Nora, he repeated the process, and the chains fell from Nora’s wrists and ankles, landing on the ground with a metallic thunk. She wanted badly to rub the now-free skin, but she could see that none of the girls were reacting to their chains being removed, so she didn’t either.
After a few more minutes, the man finished removing the chains from the line of girls.
“Now, undress!”
Chapter 4
What? Are they serious?
Nora realized that they were. The girls to her right and left complied without a single bit of protest, first stepping out of their shoes, then shimmying out of their jeans and skirts, followed by whatever tops they were wearing, until they stood in nothing but their underwear.
Though her internal sense of modesty screamed objections, Nora knew that she had no choice but to do the same, and now, if she didn’t want to get spotted. She kicked off her black Toms flats, slid out of her nondescript slim-cut jeans with quick wiggles of her hips, took off her cardigan, then pulled the men’s Hanes V-neck off and over her head. She spent a moment looking in the mirror at her slim frame clad in nothing but a black bra and sky blue boy shorts, feeling that she was too slight, that her breasts were too small, that her arms and legs were too stick-like. These were the same self-criticisms that she subjected herself to whenever she stood in front of the mirror, even in a context like this.
“And the rest!”
Nora felt a wave of hot anxiety wash over her. As she unfastened her bra and stepped out of her underwear, she was glad for the blush on her face. It would cover up the real blushing she could feel spreading across her cheeks.
As she stood completely unclothed in front of the mirror, she fought the strong urge to cross her arm in front of her breasts and put her hand over her sex, so that, at the very least, her small pink nipples and red tuft of public hair could be obscured. But she knew better, and stood as still as she could, her arms against the sides of her hips.
Another series of steps could be heard from down the line. It was a quick rapping of a few sets of feet, then stopping, then moving, and then stopping once more. As the noises grew closer, Nora could see that it was a tight cluster of women, two of the makeup girls with one woman, someone new, in between the two. Even from this far away, Nora understood that the taller woman was in an authority position. She stood with poise and grace, and the other girls surrounded and moved around her like little planets, their wide eyes scouring the taller woman’s face for her reaction to whatever she was judging.
The little procession moved then stopped, moved then stopped, until they were at the girl to the right of Nora. The girl was a slight, delicate thing, with eyes wide and innocent like Nora’s, and a body of comparable tone; though her breasts were even smaller than Nora’s, and her hips were narrow, like a boy’s.
“Christ, look at this girl,” said the tall woman in a rich voice, her words heavy with Slavic intonation. “Tiny tits, blond hair, eyes like scared deer; the Ukrainians will gobble her up like cow with steak necklace thrown into shark tank.”
A moment passed, and Nora could see that the woman was scanning the girl’s body with the keen, inspecting eyes of a salesman judging the value of merchandise.
“Put her in skimpy little red set; show off muscle tone. And tell her to up the coy routine; suits her.”
And with that, the girls raised the girl to her feet, pointed to the section of the room with the racks of clothing, and the seated girl walked with deliberate, obliging steps in that direction.
The woman then moved over to Nora, and began the same process of looking over her body, inch by inch. Now that the woman was closer, Nora could see the features of the woman’s face. She appeared to be in her late forties. Her eyes were a limpid pale blue, her nose was pointed and had a strange texture to it, almost like it were sculpted out of clay. Her mouth was a thin line painted into a glossy red, and her hair was a blond color of such vibrancy that it was like turning a corner and being blasted with a summer sun heretofore hidden behind buildings. She was dressed in slim black pants and a black, button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which exposed a tattoo of a rose that traveled up along the length of her right forearm.
Nora felt herself withering under the glare of the woman, the effort of trying to appear hypnotized beginning to wear on her. She felt a drop of sweat form near her ear before moving down her neck in erratic angles. Nora hoped the woman didn’t notice.
“My, what a pretty one, this girl,” the woman said, her features cold. “Winsome little face, slim body, but still with breasts. And that hair. Oh, and look at that little ass of hers.”
A moment passed.
“I turn to you, girls. Alla, what you think we dress this little tart up in?”
One of the blonde makeup girls at the woman’s flank stepped forward, her face nervous. “Well, Miss Serko, I think, for her, something simple,” said Alla, in an American accent, “to show off her body. Red thong, and maybe a, I think, see-through bra.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Serko. If she was impressed by this answer, she didn’t show it. “Alyona, your turn.”
“Something classic. She’s got body like a little boy, like other girl. Put her in a corset, maybe squeeze some curves out of her.”
A moment passed.
“Both stupid answers. First is stupid because this girl wholesome; you don’t put wholesome girl in whore’s get-up. Second is stupid because she does have body. Look at her. Alyona, you think any girl without your cottage-cheese ass is pile of sticks and hair.”
Both girls looked down, the one on the left pivoting her foot on the tips of her mirror-polished black heels.
Geez, some boss, Nora thought, letting a thought slip past the immense effort she was putting forth to stay still. Now that she was under the eyes of the women, she couldn’t let her eyes move a millimeter.
“This girl need something sexy, but classy. Put her in the black high-waisted panties. Black bra. Nothing see-through,” she said, pointing a finger at the first girl. “I can see that this one is going to get a high price. But you give too much away on t
he stage and the men aren’t wondering what they’re not seeing, no?”
The two girls nodded in eager agreement.
Stage?
“Okay, get her over there and let’s finish up with the rest of these little tarts.”
With that, the two girls moved to Nora’s flanks, placed their palms upward under her forearms, and pressed. Nora understood right away that she was being compelled to stand, so she did.
“Go to the clothing racks. Put on number… ah, shit; what is number?” said the girl with the accent.
“Forty-seven!” Miss Serko’s voice brimmed with impatience. “We do this every year, and you girls don’t even have the wardrobe memorized. You two are lucky your lords are who they are, you know.”
“Yes, Miss Serko,” the girls said, speaking at the same time.
One of the girls nudged Nora off in the direction of the racks. Nora committed the number to her memory, understanding that coming back to Miss Serko for a reminder wasn’t an option.
Once at the racks, she found the outfit. It was what Miss Serko described: A matching black bra and panty set, very simple, and with a little bit of see-through fabric running up the hip of the panties. Nora stepped into them and took her place in the line of girls that had formed at the door.
After a time, all the girls were waiting in line, all wearing some manner of lingerie. Miss Serko and the girls passed the line, giving the girls a final, hurried once-over.
“Get them out there,” said Miss Serko in a frustrated voice. “They’re starting now!”
And with that, one of the girls moved over to the door with hurried steps and swung it open. Nora couldn’t see beyond, but it seemed to lead into a long, dark hallway.
The girl at the front tapped the shoulder of the girl first in line, and the line began to move. The girls all walked at the same pace, which Nora matched. Knowing that whatever purpose she was here for was about to happen, her stomach began to tremble with anxiety, and she could feel a line of perspiration form at the top of her brow.
