by Evie Blake
Anna flicks her whip skilfully so that it flips gently across the skin of the man, Nicky.
‘We have a guest.’ She addresses him in an icy voice. ‘She is here to witness your punishment, and your humiliation.’
Nicky says nothing in reply, but Valentina can’t help noticing that he has an erection. She wonders whether Theo would find it erotic being tied up by this dominatrix.
Anna drops her whip on the floor and struts over to Nicky. She is holding something in her hand, but Valentina can’t make out what it is. She bends down and licks Nicky’s nipples, while stroking his penis. Then she takes two tiny pincers from her hand and attaches them to his nipples. Valentina sees Nicky wince.
‘Today, Nicky, because we have a visitor, I am going to be very good to you,’ says Anna, kneeling down and rubbing his penis against her one bare breast. Valentina watches as Anna puts Nicky’s penis inside her mouth, stroking his balls with her other hand. She keeps snapping away. It’s the only thing that stops her from fleeing from the room. She feels voyeuristic. Shouldn’t this be private? But then Leonardo wanted her to record what really happens in his world. And it’s not too bad, is it? He may be tied up, but Nicky is now being pleasured rather than hurt. Just as she is thinking this, however, just as she hears Nicky’s breathing getting heavier with anticipation, Anna stops sucking him and pulls back. She wipes her mouth dramatically.
‘Well now, that’s enough of that,’ she says, winking at Valentina. ‘Remember you are my slave, Nicky, not the other way around.’
She picks up the whip again, and before Valentina has time to think, she suddenly lashes out and strikes Nicky. He emits a muffled scream. Oh, she’s not so sure about this. Anna strikes Nicky again, very close to his penis. Valentina feels faint. How can he enjoy that? Yet to her surprise she can see that he is still stimulated. In fact she can hear him panting.
‘That’s right, take your punishment like a man,’ growls Anna.
She strikes Nicky again, and Valentina can see red welts rising on his skin. No, she doesn’t like this, not one bit. She picks up her camera and begins to back out of the room. Anna catches her, though, lunging at her with her free arm and digging her nails into her flesh.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, a wicked gleam in her eyes. ‘Too much for you?’
‘No, it’s just I think I have enough pictures . . . The lighting isn’t great.’
Anna stares at her, and then laughs.
‘I see,’ she says. ‘Who would you rather be, me or him?’ She nods at Nicky, a gleeful look on her face.
Valentina doesn’t answer, trying to pull away from the other woman.
‘Oh yes, you have submissive written all over you. You don’t like to see a man like this, do you? Well, my dear, it’s more fucked up the other way around, don’t you think?’
Valentina falls into the hallway, hugging her camera to her chest. She crouches down on the floor, trying to calm herself. She hates what she witnessed just now. It made her feel ill to see that woman hurting that man. Yet she knows in her heart that what Anna said to her is true. She brings her knees up to her chest, and breathes deeply. She is facing the door of the Dark Room. She stares at it intently. She can see her distorted reflection on its metal surface. She looks like a small child hiding from the big bad wolf. What goes on in there?
‘Valentina, are you all right?’ It is Leonardo. He is standing on the bottom stair, looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.
She pulls herself up, tries to compose herself.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I just felt a little unwell. I needed some air.’ She knows her lies are transparent, yet to her surprise he doesn’t mock her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking apologetic. ‘Maybe it was a bit much for you?’
‘Yes,’ she replies honestly. ‘I think so.’
He offers her his hand.
‘Come on, have a drink. You’ll feel better.’
She doesn’t resist, letting him lead her upstairs into his sterile office. He opens a cabinet behind the desk and produces a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
‘I’ve got a good bottle of Ripasso here,’ he says smoothly. ‘I’ve been looking for someone to share it with.’
Valentina puts her camera down on his desk and sits on the cream couch, still feeling a little foolish. She gratefully takes a glass and has a sip. The wine is rich and plummy. She feels a little better already. Leonardo circles the room, wine glass in hand, before sitting on his desk facing her. They don’t speak for a few minutes.
‘You look a little better now,’ he says eventually. ‘You were as white as a sheet.’
‘Thank you for the wine,’ she replies, taking another sip. ‘Sorry,’ she adds. ‘I didn’t realise I was such a lightweight.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Not according to Rosa and Celia, anyway.’
Valentina feels herself colouring with embarrassment. Whatever happened to discretion? She wonders which of the two women spilled the beans.
Leonardo smiles at her, his eyes creased in amusement.
‘Celia is an old friend,’ he says in explanation, as if reading her thoughts. ‘How did you find it?’ he adds softly.
Valentina looks into his eyes and it dawns on her that he is not asking her out of prurience, but out of interest, as if he does actually care whether she enjoyed herself or not.
‘It was fun,’ she says, unwittingly echoing Theo’s words from his email.
Leonardo raises an eyebrow as if expecting her to say more.
‘It was very erotic,’ she says slowly. ‘And it took me somewhere . . . inside myself . . .’ She hesitates. ‘It was confusing.’
‘How so?’ Leonardo asks, straining forward as if he wants to catch her every word.
‘Well, I never expected to be so turned on by women. I mean, does that mean I am gay or bisexual now?’
Leonardo sighs, looking her straight in the eye.
‘How I hate all this labelling. Hetereosexual. Homosexual. Bisexual. Asexual. Sadist. Masochist.’ He lists them off on his fingers one by one, pausing for a moment. ‘Narcissist . . .’ The last word lingers nastily in the air between them.
He stands up again and goes to join her on the couch. He is so close to her now that she can see the dark hairs peeking out from the top of his dark green shirt.
‘I believe that it is impossible to define a person’s sexuality by a specific label. Our sexuality is multifaceted, constantly changing and evolving. It can be a source of great joy, and also a place where we re-enact our deepest fears.’
‘So I am not anything, then? Just because I made love with two women’ – saying it out loud seems even more fantastical to Valentina than the actual memory of it – ‘it doesn’t change me?’
‘Well of course it changes you.’ Leonardo leans forward and looks at her earnestly. She can feel his breath on her lips as he talks. ‘Through sex we can actually purge ourselves. Become new again. Sex can be the purest, most innocent communication between two souls, and at the same time the darkest, most abusive interaction between two humans.’
He leans back, nursing his wine between his hands, his eyes shining so that Valentina thinks he looks like some kind of idealistic prophet, rather than the owner of a fetish club.
‘At the end of the day, what we are trying to do here is learn about trust. My clients come here for so many different reasons. Some of them, Valentina, are in love with their spouses, yet they come here to have sex with strangers so that they can return to the marriage bed with new, liberated energy.’
‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’ Valentina exclaims angrily. ‘That’s bullshit. You are just giving people an excuse to cheat on their partners.’
‘What is the best kind of relationship, Valentina?’ Leonardo asks, head cocked on one side. ‘Isn’t it best to be honest with yourself, and admit that no one owns anyone? What kills love is not infidelity, but jealousy.’
It occurs to her that Leonardo’s words could be her own.
Deep down she does agree with him. But she hates lies and deceit.
‘I guess it’s okay if both partners agree, but I don’t think it’s right if someone cheats behind the other person’s back.’
‘Of course not, Valentina. I believe in honesty as well.’
He gets up again to refill their wine glasses.
‘So,’ he says slowly, ‘back to tonight. Did you manage to take any photographs of Anna and Nicky?’
She shakes her head apologetically.
‘One or two . . . but I just found the whole thing . . .’ She struggles to come up with the right word. She doesn’t want to be judgemental. ‘Not very sexy . . . I couldn’t find the eroticism in the scene.’
‘Obviously you are not a dominatrix. Sorry for the label.’ He grins at her, and she relaxes slightly. He is not going to make her go back inside. Thank God. ‘Otherwise you would have found what Anna was doing extremely sexy.’
‘I am afraid I didn’t, not at all. It’s hard for me to create erotic pictures when—’
‘You find the subject matter unattractive,’ he interrupts, looking pensive now. ‘I can absolutely understand that.’
Leonardo rings the top of his wine glass with his index fingertip. Valentina can’t help looking at his long, elegant finger, wondering how it might feel on her skin. What is she thinking? This is a purely professional relationship. Is this what being parted from Theo is doing to her? Driving her crazy with frustration?
‘Maybe I should explain what sadomasochism actually is? Would that help?’
Valentina nods, trying to banish all lustful thoughts from her head, which is hard given the subject matter.
‘It’s not as bad as you might think, being the dominant party. I do believe that if the dominants among us didn’t find an outlet for their natural instincts in this contained environment, some of us could be aggressive, and abusive, in our everyday lives.’ He pauses, looking at her intently. She can’t help imagining Leonardo the dominant, angry, ripping his shirt off, devouring her right here on the cream couch . . . She blushes at the thought, and looks down into her wine glass. ‘It’s almost like a form of therapy, Valentina. And it is very honest and brave to admit to these instincts.’
She takes a sip of her wine, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.
‘But what about submissives? Isn’t that a destructive emotion, particularly for women?’ She drops her eyes, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. Why on earth did she wear this provocative hot pants suit? It makes her feel so sexy.
‘Not at all. Many women want to be submissive because in fact it appeals to their vanity. They are the centre of attention. It is quite egocentric, actually.’ Leonardo speaks passionately. This is something he knows a lot about, Valentina thinks. She finds it attractive. The idea that he is some kind of sex teacher. ‘When your dominator does things to you, it becomes purifying,’ he continues. She raises her eyes, looking at him in surprise. ‘Being a submissive is about trust. A submissive woman often taps into a hidden, secret side of herself.’
Valentina arches her eyebrows at him sceptically, yet she decides to say nothing.
‘What attracts you, Valentina? To dominate or be submissive?’
She looks him square in the face.
‘Neither.’
‘Come now, Valentina. I have been honest with you. We are talking now about choice. Not having something forced upon you, but choosing to have things done to you, or choosing to do them to someone else with their consent.’
Valentina takes another sip of her red wine. Already the first glass has affected her, and maybe that’s why she throws caution to the wind and decides to answer Leonardo honestly.
‘I suppose I would choose submission,’ she says, averting her eyes.
Leonardo is silent for a second.
‘So,’ he says eventually. In that one word she can hear that his voice has dropped an octave. ‘I like to dominate. If you were to take pictures of me with, say, Celia, I think you would find that very erotic.’
She is not sure whether it is a question or a statement. She looks up at him, and he is staring at her with obsidian eyes, not a shard of brown left. She feels her stomach clench. She would much rather it were Theo sitting here suggesting this, and yet she can’t help feeling incredibly attracted to Leonardo. There is a part of her that is craving for this man to touch her. He reminds her of Theo, with his easy sexual grace, and yet he is different. He doesn’t want her to be his girlfriend, he doesn’t want to possess one iota of her, and yet she can tell by the way he is looking at her that he wants to sleep with her. If she were to do something, she thinks, right now on this cream couch – let him unzip her hot pant suit and straddle her; let him have sex with her – would she tell Theo? Yes, of course she would; she would tell him so that he could see once and for all she was not relationship material.
‘Let me think about it,’ she says, trying to sound professional, indifferent, yet at the same time feeling her pulse speed up. Celia the submissive and Leonardo the dominator, together in the Velvet Underworld. And where would she fit in? A witness to their drama . . . or a participant?
It is a relief to be back outside, cycling through the night streets of Milan, listening to Lou Reed on her iPod. Part of her wishes she hadn’t agreed to this photographic assignment. Has she bitten off more than she can chew? Yet another part of her is finding the whole experience revelatory. Her nighttime fantasies now have the possibility of becoming real.
She listens to Lou Reed, encouraging her to walk on the wild side.
And what about Theo? If she were to take pictures of Leonardo and Celia together, would he judge her for it? Because she knows deep down it wouldn’t be just pictures she would be taking.
It is well after midnight by the time she gets home. She wheels her bike into the courtyard of her apartment block. She doesn’t notice the figure leaning by her front door until she has her keys out.
‘Signorina Rosselli?’
She starts with fright, immediately on the offensive, pushing her keys through her fingers ready to attack.
‘Who are you?’
The man steps out of the shadows and the street lights illuminate his face. He looks to be in his late forties, with a head of thick curly grey hair, and a tired face. He is the same man who watched her take off in the taxi the other day.
‘I am sorry to frighten you,’ he says. ‘My name is Inspector Garelli.’ He shows her his badge. ‘I know it’s very late, Signorina Rosselli, but I need to ask you a couple of questions about your partner, Signor Theo Steen.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no . . . it’s just routine,’ he says. ‘Can I come in?’
Valentina doesn’t think twice. There is no way she is going to let this pushy police officer into her flat at this time of night.
‘No, it’s too late. I’m tired. Call me tomorrow.’ She doesn’t care if she sounds rude. Something tells her not to let this man into her apartment.
‘Oh, okay.’ He is surprised, yet he accepts what she is saying. So he doesn’t have a warrant. ‘I just want to ask you where Signor Steen is.’
‘I have no idea,’ Valentina says sharply.
‘Of course you do, Signorina Rosselli. What boyfriend goes off without telling his girlfriend where he is going?’
‘He is not my boyfriend, Inspector Garelli,’ Valentina snarls, before storming into her apartment and slamming the door in his face. She leans against the door, catching her breath. Inspector Garelli has made her mad. Her body is taut with frustration. Damn Theo. She doesn’t want to be pulled into his private life. She doesn’t want to care. She connects her iPod to the speakers, and turns Lou Reed on full blast. And she dances. One minute she is Celia, the submissive. The next she is Anna, the dominatrix. She becomes herself in love. And then she fights it and becomes herself against love. Hot as ice, and cold as fire.
Belle
SHE WAITS A DAY, TWO DAYS, THREE, A WEEK. YET HER sailor doesn’t come
to her. She spends as much time as she can in her apartment, sitting on her tiny balcony watching the narrow canal below. A whistle, the splash of an oar in the water, a sailor’s cap sends her heart into a spin, but it is never him. Santos Devine has disappeared into the twisting canals of Venice, obviously preoccupied with trading his silk or whatever other adventure he is busy with that is more interesting, more enticing than her. She tries her best not to care, to forget him. Yet it is impossible. Every night as she falls asleep she sees his roguish face. She knows that he is bad for her. Not considerate like the Doctor, big hearted like Igor or kind like Signor R. She knows that for Santos Devine she is probably just one more pretty girl in yet another port. Yet still she hopes that maybe he sees something in her that he has looked for all his life, like she sees in him.
She tries to distract herself with her clients, but it is not the same. She considers going to Ponte di Rialto again at nighttime and picking up a stranger, maybe two, like the time with the Scottish captain and his Caribbean first mate. Yet when she sets off she is hunting for Santos’s face among the men she meets, and when she makes do with someone else, it never ends to her satisfaction. She is left even more frustrated than before, wandering home wearily in the small hours and facing further anger from her husband. He tells her he cannot control her, and it is true. Up until now she always waited until he went away to undertake her secret adventures, but recently he is not travelling so much and she has to get out. He threatens her. Tells her he will lock her up. She screams back that he cannot cage her like a bird. As he lashes into her, her maid, Pina, stands by trembling in horror.
This morning she has enraged her husband yet again. She risked staying out all night, confident that he would have fallen into a whisky-induced slumber by midnight. As she creeps across the landing, her shoes in her hand, Signor Brzezinski comes up the stairs behind her, charging like an angry bull. He must have been sitting up waiting for her all night, for he is still in his dinner jacket and unshaven. She braces herself as he brings his hand up and slaps the top of her head, sending her flying. She cries out in pain. She scrambles to her feet, but he hits her again, this time punching her in the chest and winding her. She totters backwards and collapses again. He says nothing, just spits at her in disgust before storming into his bedroom.
