by Evie Blake
‘You will find love again, Igor.’
‘Do you believe that, Belle?’ he asks hopelessly.
She looks inside her heart. There is a perverse part of her that almost envies Igor. At least he has known what it is like to be in love. She says a silent prayer.
‘Yes, I believe that within one lifetime, every single one of us will experience true love. If we lose it and our hearts are open enough despite our loss, we can find it again.’
‘Everyone!’ He smiles ruefully. ‘Even Stalin? Or Mussolini?’
‘Yes, even them.’ She smiles back, gently wiping his face with her maid’s hat. ‘It is the human condition.’
Valentina
WHEN VALENTINA STEPS THROUGH THE DOORWAY INTO what Leonardo calls the Atlantis Room, all appears serene, not at all the den of iniquity she imagined. The walls are painted Prussian blue and the floor is white marble. There is a sturdy black desk in the centre of the room, with a large sea-blue pile rug beneath it that takes up most of the floor space. There are no windows in the room, only one large skylight, which lets in a golden glow as if it is the middle of the day, although Valentina knows it is dark outside. There is a wrought-iron daybed, and sturdy white wooden beams support the ceiling. All in all it is bright and minimalist, like an Ikea showroom.
‘So, Valentina,’ Leonardo says, ‘let me talk you through everything in our Atlantis Room.’ He walks to the desk and sits down upon it facing her, his legs spread a little provocatively. Valentina tries her best not to look at his crotch, glancing up at the skylight.
‘I thought it would be darker in here,’ she comments.
‘Some of our clients don’t like the dark,’ Leonardo says. ‘They want to act out their scenes somewhere that could almost be from their ordinary lives. So this room is what we call a day room, or a light bondage room.’
He pulls out several drawers in the black desk and indicates for her to come over and have a look.
‘Here, for instance, are a number of things a dominant can use with his or her submissive.’
In the first drawer Valentina looks into, she sees a whole bunch of electrical sex toys – mostly vibrators, but a breathtaking array of types: petite pink clitoral massagers, elegant medium-sized vibrators with curves in various places to provide different stimulations, and full-on dual-action vibrators. One of them is so immense it is frightening; how would it feel to have that up inside her? She quivers internally at the thought. Most of the products she recognises as part of the Swedish LELO range, sleek, stylish designs that appeal to her artistic sensibilities. They look like art objects rather than tools of passion. She imagines the squeals of delight if Antonella were here. Her friend would certainly explore the contents of this drawer. She picks up one item, intrigued by its design: a black oval pod that loops into a ring at its tip. Leonardo reaches into the drawer beside her, his hand brushing against her bare arm, making her catch her breath despite herself.
‘It works with this,’ he says, taking out a round golden object. ‘It’s a remote control.’
He presses a button, and the toy in her hand starts to vibrate. Unwillingly she feels herself blushing.
‘It has several different speeds,’ he says, as easily as if he is showing her how to change the channel on a television.
‘Thanks,’ she says, feeling the pod throbbing against her palm.
‘Do you know what it is?’ he asks, his lips curved into a mischievous grin.
‘Well . . . it’s a kind of vibrator?’
‘Yes.’ He nods, trying to keep a straight face. ‘But one for her and him.’ He takes it from her, and pushes the ring end around two of his fingers. ‘This is a ring to go around the penis. It stimulates the man, and helps enlarge him.’
‘Right,’ she says, trying to look dignified, as if this is a conversation one might have with a man you have only just met.
‘And this part, the pod, can be used to stimulate either her clitoris, or, if you swing it around, his balls.’
Valentina can’t help it. She imagines herself and Theo playing with this toy. The thought makes her blush spread to her chest, weave into the sinews of her body, so that her heartbeat is racing. Something primal within her wants to touch Leonardo. It is absurd. She takes a step away from him, and hastily puts the sex toy back into the drawer.
Leonardo, seemingly unaware of her physical reaction to him, pulls out another drawer.
‘Here are toys a dominatrix can use to pleasure her submissive . . . if he is a man.’
Valentina looks inside. She recognises an array of gentleman’s plugs and G-spot massagers. One of them looks uncomfortably large. There is also a collection of gentleman’s rings, some of them quite beautiful. Sleek black onyx, burnished gold, silver studded with tiny diamonds. She wonders idly if Theo would like one.
Finally Leonardo pulls out the last drawer.
‘In here we have some items used in light bondage scenarios,’ he says, looking at her with curious eyes. She guesses he is watching her to see her reaction, and keeps a poker face plastered on her features. She feels silly after her ignorance over the vibrating toy. She doesn’t want to show herself up again. However, there are no surprises when she looks inside. The usual bondage gear: several sets of silver chains, with varying thicknesses of links, silk ties, a rope, blindfolds in different materials, handcuffs, and a ball gag for the mouth.
‘So for instance,’ Leonardo picks up a chain and balances it on his fingertips, walking over to one of the beams, where he swings one end over it and pulls both ends together, ‘one could be chained up like this.’ He loops it round a vertical beam and stands with his back to it. ‘Or the chains could be bound around you like so.’
He catches her eye, and she can’t help imagining being chained to one of these beams. There is a loaded pause before he drops the chain on the floor and picks up the handcuffs, swinging them between his hands before throwing them at her, so that she is forced to catch them.
‘One could be handcuffed to the end of the daybed . . . or to the desk . . . There are all sorts of variations.’
He walks past the black desk, stroking it with his hand as he passes. She can’t help noticing how long and slender his fingers are, and wondering what he can do with them.
‘This room can become an office fantasy. Or,’ he says, opening up a set of doors behind him to reveal a storage space, ‘it could be a doctor’s or dentist’s surgery.’
He wheels out an examination chair for her to see. She looks up at him in disbelief, and he is grinning at her.
‘Please sit,’ he commands.
She hesitates, gripping the handcuffs tightly.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t do anything.’
She shrugs, embarrassed by her coyness, then walks over and climbs into the chair.
‘Sit back,’ Leonardo says. ‘Relax.’ And she can hear the humour in his voice as he presses a button on the side of the chair so that it tips back just like at the dentist’s.
‘Now you see you could be bound up on this thing and all sorts could be done to give you pleasure.’ He pauses. ‘And pain.’
Leonardo grins down at her, and she can see that he is actually having fun showing her all these things. She has an irresistible urge to laugh out loud, which is something she never does. However, she manages to maintain her sangfroid. Looking at all these instruments and gadgets in this brightly lit room makes them seem silly. They are just toys really, she thinks. All these people are doing is playing games. It’s harmless enough, isn’t it?
Yet when she looks up at Leonardo as he leans over her, the scent of him beginning to pervade her, she feels a tremor deep within her pelvis, a sensation halfway between fear and excitement. She is missing Theo. It’s Theo she wants. So why is Leonardo having this effect on her?
‘Any ideas, Valentina?’
She sits up, ignoring his gaze, and swings her legs over.
‘I’ll have a think.’
He takes her hand and helps her off the
chair. His skin is warm and soft, yet not too hot.
‘Well, let me tell you about tomorrow’s protagonists,’ he begins.
‘Oh.’ She lets go of his hand, and fumbles with her bag, looking inside for a notebook, the handcuffs still dangling from one of her wrists.
‘I thought we should start gently. Just in case it’s not for you. You see, we really do need you to reflect our mindset.’ His earlier mischief is gone. He is all earnestness now.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she says, handing him back the cuffs. Their fingers brush again, and the contrast of his warm skin after the cold metal make her shiver a little.
‘Okay then,’ he says, putting the chains and handcuffs back in the drawers. ‘I have two ladies coming here tomorrow night. Rosa and Celia. They are both dancers, and they take it in turns over who dominates and who is submissive. They are both very sensual.’
Valentina writes in her notebook: Rosa. Celia. Dancers. Sensual.
Leonardo opens the door for her.
‘And is that it? Just the two women?’ she asks him.
‘Yes, I think that will be enough, for the first time. They have very beautiful bodies,’ he whispers into her ear as she walks by. ‘I am sure you can create something extremely erotic and visually pleasing with those two girls.’
Valentina feels a wave of relief. Women’s naked bodies. That is something she is used to. She needs to build up to her first photograph of a full-frontal man, especially in a bondage scenario.
They are back out in the dim corridor now. Valentina glances at the steel door of the Dark Room. Its presence taunting her.
‘Neither of those girls is interested in the Dark Room, Valentina,’ Leonardo says, noticing her look in its direction. ‘Although sometimes they might be tempted behind this door,’ he adds, tapping the green leather door. ‘Our very own Velvet Underworld. I am hoping that you will use this space as well for some of your pictures. Would you like to see?’
‘Of course,’ Valentina says as nonchalantly as she can, although she is dying to see behind the leather door.
The Velvet Underworld is all that Valentina expected from a bondage den. It is the opposite of the Atlantis Room, decorated like a nineteenth-century bordello with flock wallpaper and velvet couches. In the centre of the room is an enormous four-poster bed hung with purple drapes. The walls are covered with gilt-framed mirrors, as is the ceiling. Valentina can see a dozen reflections of herself as she walks into the room. She looks austere and judgemental in her sombre clothes, against this background of colour and opulence.
‘I have to admit, this is the more popular of our two rooms,’ says Leonardo, sitting down on the bed and fluffing up one of the pillows. ‘The sadomasochists of Milan still like a little luxury,’ he jokes, spreading his legs like he did in the Atlantis Room and leaning back against the pillow. Is he deliberately trying to wind her up? ‘There are in fact a lot of toys and implements in this room,’ he continues. ‘Would you like to explore it for yourself?’
‘Okay.’ She turns her back on him and his provocative crotch, and circles the room. The first thing she notices is a large wooden cross attached to the far wall, with leather straps for arms and legs. There is a harness of some sort suspended from the ceiling, and a hammock like the one she saw on the internet. In the corner of the room is a selection of whips hanging off the wall. She goes over to them and fingers the leather strap of the largest one, squeezing the hard tip between her fingers.
Mio dio, that must hurt!
She finds it hard to get her head around the idea of being whipped. Why would any woman want to be beaten? Yet she forces herself not to make assumptions. She needs to understand why. That’s the reason she is here, isn’t it?
‘I am afraid we are running a little short of time,’ Leonardo says, looking at his watch. ‘I have this room booked in about ten minutes and I need to make preparations.’
Valentina turns to him as he lounges on the bed. She can’t help wondering if he is one of the people using this room tonight. Her lips have suddenly gone dry, and she tries to moisten them surreptitiously with her tongue.
‘You can have another look in here tomorrow or some other time, okay?’ he says, getting up off the bed.
She has seen enough for tonight anyway. Her head is full of images from the Atlantis Room and the Velvet Underworld. Amid all the shock, and curiosity, she is also feeling stimulated, and yes, she is getting some ideas for her shoot tomorrow. Blue. Dancers. Naked beauty. All those pretty vibrators. She can work with that. Her pictures will be explicit, of course, but it will be women, and that makes her feel a little safer.
Leonardo accompanies her up the staircase and to the front hall again.
‘So you’ll be back tomorrow night?’ he asks, giving her a long look.
‘Of course,’ she says, blinking at him in the brighter light of the reception area.
‘I haven’t scared you off?’ he asks, smiling at her almost shyly now.
‘No, not at all,’ she says, kissing him lightly on both cheeks in parting. His Armani pervades her senses again, and as she pulls back she notices something else. To her surprise, Leonardo is wearing a small gold earring in one of his lobes. The image doesn’t seem to fit with his sleek businesslike appearance, as incongruous as a love heart tattoo on his arm would be.
‘Well, thank you, Valentina,’ he says as she makes her way out.
‘What for? It’s you who’s hired me . . .’
‘Yes, but you didn’t have to accept.’ He smiles at her as he clicks the door shut, and she is left in darkness on the doorstep, the image of his charming hazel eyes still imprinted upon her irises.
Valentina makes her way towards the metro, mulling over her encounter with Leonardo, reliving her impressions of the two bondage rooms he showed her inside his club. In one way they did not come up to her expectations, and in another way they confounded them. For some reason she actually finds the Atlantis Room the more erotic of the two spaces. And then there is the Dark Room. Would she ever have the courage to go inside?
She tries to stay focused on the job in hand. This is a big and exciting photographic assignment. Her first proper exploration into the world of erotic photography. How fitting that only yesterday, Theo should have given her that present of the book with the old pornographic negatives. It feels as if it is some kind of sign, confirming that what she has just agreed to do – creating a book of S&M photography, no less – is going to be a positive move for her career. She quickens her pace at the thought of Theo and his gift. He could be home tonight. Sometimes he only goes away overnight. She finds herself hoping he is. He can explain his present to her, and afterwards . . . Well, her tour of Leonardo’s club has given her plenty of ideas for what she and Theo might do in their own bedroom. The last thing on her mind is to answer the question he left her with yesterday morning. Somehow her encounter with Leonardo has lightened her mood. Tonight, deciding whether she wants to be Theo’s girlfriend is just not as important as being his lover.
Belle
SHE WANTS DARKNESS. SO TONIGHT BELLE GOES BACK TO Ponte di Rialto, where her career as a Venetian prostitute first took off. She cannot bear to be in the light, for her clients to see the marks upon her body. This morning Signor Brzezinski did not hit her with his fists, as usual, but decided to use the back of her hairbrush instead and beat her hard upon her backside. In the same place her Russian had spanked her, and yet this time it was not fun. He hit her again and again relentlessly until she was forced to beg him to stop. And what was her offence? She laughed at him. And spoke Polish. Signor Brzezinski was standing in the centre of her bedroom, hand on his hip, declaring what a great leader Mussolini was, that finally he was bringing Italy back to her former glory as an empire. It occurred to Louise that her husband looked a little like the Italian dictator himself – short, bald, big head and thick lips, overemphatic expressions, pontificating. Too Italian to actually be Italian. He looked ridiculous: a stout Polish man in a red silk dressing go
wn, which was too long for him and trailed on the rug, spouting his rough Italian as if he had marbles in his mouth.
She laughed, and even spoke to him in Polish, forgetting for a moment that she should be careful.
‘But we are Polish! What do you care about Mussolini and Italy?’
Signor Brzezinski moved swiftly across the bedroom and gave her a hard slap across the face.
‘Don’t ever talk to me in Polish again.’
She challenged him further. What did she have to lose? She recognised the narrowing of his eyes and what would come next.
‘But it is where we are from. You cannot wipe out who you are.’
He grabbed her hand and yanked her up from the bed. She swallowed her screams. If she called out, it only made him worse.
‘I belong to this city,’ he hissed in her face. ‘And you belong to me since the day your father gave you to me.’
He grabbed her hairbrush from her dressing table. She saw its silver back glinting in the morning light, making her catch her breath. So hard and cold and painful, she thought. He pushed her down on the floor, so that her mouth was filled with felt from the rug, and sat astride her, immobilising her completely. The first time he hit her across her thighs. She gritted her teeth. She would not plead with him.
‘You are never to speak Polish in this house again,’ he snarled, pulling up her silk nightdress and whacking her hard on her behind.
Louise squeezed her eyes shut, tried to remove herself from the brutal, stinging slaps of the hairbrush against her naked backside.
What has happened to her husband? He hasn’t always been like this. As Belle walks through the dark, silent city, the canal quietly lapping at her side, she has a memory of when they first moved into their house in Venice. It would be fourteen years ago now. Her mother was with them then. Signor Brzezinski was so kind to Louise’s mother. She remembers them sitting on the balcony, marvelling at the green hues of the canal, and for the first time since they had buried her father, her mother managed a wan smile. Signor Brzezinski joined them, a bottle of champagne in one hand and three flutes held by the stems in the other. He sat between the two women and made a toast.
