by DC Brockwell
There were far too many questions for Danny’s battered brain to comprehend. Loads of questions, with no answers. He wished he could clear his head.
Danny heard what sounded like a key in the door; his heart stopping as it opened and a woman in her late thirties – maybe early forties – walked in, flanked by a bullish man wearing shirt and trousers. Trailing them came a sweet-looking petite young Asian girl. Danny’s pulse quickened as the three new arrivals stood observing him in his naked state.
Danny had never been shy. Tied up, he felt very vulnerable.
“Daniel Rose,” said the woman in her late thirties. She stepped forwards and stood in front of his bed. “Finally, we meet.”
Looking at her through the fogginess, some song lyrics suddenly popped into Danny’s head. It couldn’t really be Jolene, could it? His head throbbed as he watched her walk up closer.
Whoever she was, she sure was beautiful. He couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing what appeared to be a bathrobe – a classy velvet number. “You’re not one of my clients!” he exclaimed. “Please untie me. I don’t deserve this; I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Danny,” she said softly, “this isn’t about you doing anything wrong.” She continued walking around the side of his bed before sitting down next to him. “I can call you Danny, can’t I? I heard that’s what you prefer.”
He felt the bed sink as she sat down. “Look, lady,” he said, panicking again, “I don’t know what the fuck this is, please–”
“Shhh.” She placed a finger over his lips. “Oh Danny, you’re not supposed to know what this is.” She smiled, glancing pointedly around the sparse room. “I haven’t told you yet.”
She had a lovely manner about her, disarming. Her smile was glorious and her long red hair topped off the whole package. Danny loved redheads. When she smiled, dimples formed, accentuating her piercing green eyes.
“You’re our guest,” she said, reaching out her right hand to rest on his leg. “Our newest bee.”
When Daniel felt her hand gently stroking his lower calf, he asked, “Can I have my clothes, please?”
“Shhh! Shhh! It’s okay, Danny. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. On the contrary,” she added, raising her eyebrows, “I’ve heard a lot of complimentary things about you.”
Trying to avoid thinking about the woman’s touch, Danny glanced over at the bullish man, standing very straight in his white shirt and black trousers, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. He wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on – or at least, he didn’t seem to be.
The petite Asian girl stood beside the bull tried to look away.
He looked back up at the woman, feeling her steady gaze on him. “Who the fuck are you people? What do you want from me?”
“You see, Danny, we need your expertise,” she replied, stroking his inner thigh.
“Expertise?” He tried to ignore the woman’s fingers on his skin. “What the fuck are you talking about? I think you’ve got the wrong guy; I’m an artist, I can paint you a picture if you want… all you have to do is ask, you don’t need to–”
“Not that kind of expertise,” she said, cutting him off with a smile. “I’ve heard your skills with a brush pale in comparison to your… other areas of expertise.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” His mind was fuzzy. He was still none-the-wiser why he was strapped to this bed.
Her fingers were closing in on his crotch. “I’m talking about your other skills, Danny, you know what I’m talking about.”
Danny closed his eyes briefly, trying to think. His fuzzy head was making him crazy. What was going on? Where was he? And what was this woman on about? “Look, tell me what’s going on!” he shouted. “Who the fuck are you? Why am I tied up? And where the hell is this place? Why can’t I have my clothes?”
The woman stopped stroking him. “All in good time, New Bee,” she replied, smiling. “You can call me Beattie, or Bea, and I own this establishment. My husband and I own it. Behind me is Walter, my number two, and the stunning young lady next to him is Kimiko. She’s here to look after you, so whatever you need, just ask Kimiko.”
The woman called Beattie stood up.
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days, I think.” She stared into the distance for a moment. “No, this is day five.”
Danny looked up at her as she walked over to him, then bent down and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. “Five days?” He couldn’t believe he’d been out of it for so long; it felt as though he’d walked through the park just hours before.
Beattie’s soft expression changed. “You’re going live tomorrow; four of my best clients are just dying to make your acquaintance. Don’t worry though, Kimiko will see to your needs.”
Beattie paused.
“Please impress our customers, Danny, like you would with your own.”
“What do you mean, ‘our customers’?”
With a look of exasperation on her face, she shouted, “What do you think this is? You work for me now! And tomorrow you’re going to service four of my wealthiest customers and you’re going to be as charming and virile as you would be with your own. Do you understand? Do I need to explain this to you some more?”
“You mean fuck them?” He was beginning to understand what was being asked of him. It was too surreal to comprehend, yet here he was, bound naked to a bed in a windowless room.
She tutted, shaking her head. “Yes, I mean you’re going to fuck them! And you will, like your life depends on it, because,” she answered in that same harsh tone, “it really does. And I wish you wouldn’t use that foul language in front of me – I hate it. You’re an intelligent man; intelligent men don’t need to use profanity.”
“So, this is some kind of brothel, a whorehouse?” he said to himself.
“Whorehouse is such a derogatory term. This is an exclusive club, Danny, and you’re my New Bee. And my hope is that you’ll become my Star Bee.”
“Wait! I can’t just fuck on demand like a performing seal,” he said, watching her fiddle with her robe belt.
“Of course you can,” she replied, stepping up to the bed and looking down at him. “Your life literally depends on it. We give our ‘New Bees’ time to adjust, but after that, if you don’t perform, if you don’t impress our clients, we have ways of punishing you that you won’t much like.” She pointed at the wall. “You see those two vents up there? And those over there?”
Danny looked up at where she was pointing.
“They aren’t air vents. We can knock you out with the push of a button… and we can put you to sleep permanently just as easily. You do not want to test me, Danny!”
She was right over him, an accusatory finger pointed at his face merely an inch from his nose. As quickly as she’d vented her anger, however, she recovered, her face affable and charming again. “Anyway, I’m sure tomorrow will be a success. And I’m rooting for you; you’ve come highly recommended.”
“Who? Who recommended me?”
“One of your former clients actually. She said you’d make an excellent addition to my team. And I do hope she’s right.”
Danny watched as Beattie untied her belt. She opened her robe, revealing a tight and toned body. She was the whole package. “What’re you doing?”
Beattie let the robe fall to the floor. “I have to sample the goods, Danny. What kind of proprietor would I be if I haven’t tried you for myself? You’ll find I take my job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, our in-house doctor has conducted a barrage of tests on you while you were out. I can promise my clients you’re as clean as they come.”
He didn’t know what to make of this news. It was like being in a waking nightmare. The girl, Kimiko, had her head down, as did the guard. And there was nothing Danny could do to stop Beattie mounting him.
“Walter! Kimiko! Leave us now,” demanded Beattie, straddling him. “It’s time to see if you’re as good as I hope…�
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3
After Beattie had tested him, put on her robe and left the room, Kimiko wheeled in a trolley loaded with cleaning materials.
What the hell had just happened? He was supposed to “service” four women the next day. He was expected to just play along, no questions asked? Danny could feel the anger building up in his chest, and knowing he had to expel it, he shouted out, “Fuck you!” He pulled at his ankle, wrist, and neck restraints again – flailing left and right, up and down.
“Please, stop, you make her angry,” pleaded Kimiko, hurrying over to his side. She pointed up to the camera above the air conditioning unit. “She watch from office. It has microphone. Please, stop!”
After thrashing about on his bed in anger for several more seconds, he finally gave in, exhausted. He was covered in perspiration. He took several deep breaths until he felt a little calmer, and seeing how anxious the woman was, he asked, “What was your name? Kom…”
“Kimiko.”
“Please, Kimiko, go through those drawers,” he pleaded, pointing at them as best he could with his restrained hand. “See if my mobile phone’s in there… please!”
“It not in there. Your clothes and phone are gone.”
For the first time, Danny noticed how sweet her voice was. She was so petite, so cute, he couldn’t believe someone like her would be a part of this. “What’s in the drawers?”
Kimiko walked over to her trolley and wheeled it over to him before soaking a sponge in a bowl of hot soapy water. She then wiped him down, starting with his face. “They empty,” she answered as she went about her work, “for now. They can soon be filled with your belongings. Bea leave drawers to show you that you can earn possessions.”
“Earn possessions?”
Kimiko continued washing Danny and he lay back, trying to relax.
“Yes, if you are top bee on B Wing, you get to buy anything you want for a hundred pound,” Kimiko explained. “All bees are graded by customer, out of ten. At end of week, bee with most point get money to buy thing.”
Danny raised his eyebrows. Wait, top bee? “How many bees,” he said, before correcting himself, “sorry – people – are there here?”
“Ten on B Wing, and ten on A Wing. Bea runs B Wing, Alan runs A Wing. There another area for naughty bees. C Wing not really wing but you don’t want go there.”
Danny shuddered. No, he didn’t think he wanted to go to C Wing.
Kimiko answered his questions – not that it gave him any more of an idea as to what was going on. She was helpful and attentive, and in spite of where they’d met, he liked her immediately. After all, she was an innocent, so harmless and pretty, who wouldn’t like her?
If he had any chance of persuading someone to help him escape, it was Kimiko…
4
In her office, Beatrice “Beattie” Harrison watched as Kimiko cleaned Danny, listening to their every word. Even though there was a bank of monitors sat on top of her desk, she could only listen in to one room at a time. As she was confident that she had broken down the other nine bees, she now had to focus on breaking Danny down, to get him to bend to her will.
Sitting back in her swivel chair, she sighed, content. She hadn’t enjoyed testing a bee that much since her first test, all those years ago, back in 2002. She and her husband had bought the ten-acre farmhouse in 2000 and it had taken them a year and a half to renovate the bunker into twenty-five separate rooms, all three metres by three metres.
When she and Alan had been advised to look at the farmhouse by her father, the great William Rothstein, they’d loved the house, despite the amount of work it needed. The clincher though, had been the underground bunker and all the opportunities it offered. William had been insistent on renovating it and turning it into a high-end underground brothel, and Beattie’s husband, Alan, had gone along with the idea; he wasn’t one for arguing with her father. After all, Alan knew what William did for a living, and Alan knew even better how her father dealt with problems.
William Rothstein was a revered name up and down the country; he had appeared in all the national newspapers and news channels over the years, and never for anything good.
He was often referred to as a gangster by the press. Beattie didn’t think of him like that; he was her dad, he loved her. And while it was true that in his younger years he’d earned an obscene amount of money through less than savoury means – prostitution, drugs, extortion, to name a few – now he was a legitimate businessman, a property developer. She was sure he had profitable “sidelines”, not that he ever spoke of them to her. In fact, he never spoke about any of his other business dealings with her. She had, however, known (or at least suspected) what he did for a living from a young age.
Over the years, she had – more or less – come to terms with it.
It was through her father’s property developing skills that they’d managed to renovate the bunker without alerting the authorities, and the first thing they’d had to do was erect a barn around the hatch leading down a flight of thirty steps to the future brothel. Once they’d covered the hatch they’d started work on the renovation, using only known and trusted construction workers. They’d all been paid for their work under the table and off the books, and they’d been paid handsomely to keep the project to themselves.
While the construction of the bunker was ongoing, she’d been busy with renovating the main house. It had twelve bedrooms in total, a huge lounge and separate dining room, two studies, a library, five bathrooms and a large professional kitchen; most restaurants didn’t have a kitchen as big as hers. It had taken her five years to furnish, paint, and decorate the house to her standard and it had been an enjoyable experience for her.
She and Alan still shared a bedroom, although their relationship was more or less platonic these days; their marriage merely a façade, used to make them look respectable to outside eyes. They hadn’t slept together in over two years; at first she’d thought it was because they had sex on tap, day and night, but later she realised they didn’t love each other the way they once had. They were still good friends, however, and they kept up the pretence for the sake of the business.
She thought back to 2002. She’d been twenty-seven when they started the business and at first they only had two bees, a male and a female. They’d decided that Alan would look after the females and she would look after the males, a system that worked well for them. Her father had found their customers through his contacts; there was no shortage of men prepared to pay to have sex – or anything else they wanted for an extra charge. When they’d started out, Beattie and Alan charged five hundred an hour, and with six customers a day that meant they could make three thousand per bee. Now they had twenty bees servicing six customers each, earning them in excess of sixty thousand a day, in cash.
Every evening, at nine o’clock, a courier would come and collect the money, neatly stack it in a suitcase, and then drive it back to her father, who handled the rest. She didn’t know how her father laundered the money; if truth be known, she didn’t want to know. She and Alan then received their share – twenty percent – in clean transfers into their joint account. To make it appear legitimate, she and Alan were on the payroll of her father’s property development company; her husband was a vice president to her interior designer.
If there was one thing she loved more than anything else, it was money, which was a shame because she never thought they had enough, even though they had over two million in their joint account. She knew what they were doing was wrong, immoral, and – above all – highly illegal, but the love of money overpowered any feeling of conscience or guilt she may have had to start with. Her bees were simply a way of making her more money; she didn’t care about them. Well, no more than she cared about the starving masses in Africa, or refugees fleeing war-torn countries.
They were there to do a job – it was as simple as that – and God help them if they failed!
In spite of her and her husband’s relationship not being based
on love, she loved her life – and more specifically, her lifestyle. She was a member of an elite country club, where she played tennis with her girlfriends once a week; she regularly sailed with her yacht club; and she went horse riding whenever she wanted – there was a fully licenced stable on their farm, which they rented out to horse owners who couldn’t afford a stable of their own. She had pretty much everything she’d ever wanted.
And the only reason she could afford this lavish lifestyle was because they had the twenty bees busily servicing their clients. Secretly servicing their clients. She had to admit, it turned her on to think that nobody – except their customers – knew what was going on below their farm; it was like leading a double life.
“How’s it going, honey?” Alan was leaning against the door frame, having snuck in while she was reminiscing.
“I must have nodded off,” she replied, pulling the robe belt tighter around her waist. “What time is it?”
“Half five. How did your bee test go? Is he going to make the grade?”
She stood and faced her husband. “I should say so.”
“That good, huh?”
If Beattie didn’t know any better, she’d say he was jealous, which was strange because Alan didn’t do jealousy; it wasn’t in his genetic make-up. “Why, honey, are you jealous?” she asked, teasing him with an elbow to the rib.
“Don’t be daft.”
“He’ll work out fine. He just needs a bit of time to adjust to his new environment.” Her smile widened. “I’ve got a good feeling about Danny. In fact, we might be able to charge a little extra for him once he’s properly settled in.”
She watched as Alan nodded and turned to leave. “How’s your day been?” she asked. “Are they all behaving themselves?” Alan often came into her office for these little chats. She never asked him about his sexual exploits with his All-Stars, what he called his bees, and he never offered her his experience – not that she really cared, if the truth be told. She was happy to remain professional when talking about his side of the business.
