Descent Into Darkness (17 page)

CHAPTER XXXII –
Dressing Up, Dressing Down

It seemed to last a lifetime to Katarina and all her tensions slid away in that one illicit embrace. The contrasting women had melted into each other so naturally and so completely that time had stood still. They kissed with a passion unbridled by the detail of position or the discomfort Katarina felt as her arms were sandwiched between her back and the wall.

Compassion and the thrill of danger found an outlet for one, while frustration and release drove the other. The kiss though connected Katarina with hope, lips remained locked together in that darkened corner, hidden from the prying eyes of the ever vigilant cameras.

It was a daring move but in that brief moment Katarina’s spirits rekindled. She was not alone after all and the kiss told her more than words ever could. There really was a light in the darkness. Raven had littered treacherous rocks around her sanity and seemed hell bent on drawing her toward them. She had a guiding light now though, one to help her steer a safe passage.

The kiss was simple, passionate, stolen, but it came without the usual baggage or subterfuge that was symptomatic of the house. It was pure. It was strong. And it caused a fractal crack in Raven’s absolute control.

== ~ ==

Was it what Amber expected? She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t thought, just acted, first sweeping Katarina into the kiss and then holding her there. Being truthful to herself, it wasn’t even something she planned but she didn’t want to let it go.

It was a moment born out of events and opportunity, one gratefully seized with eager hands. It reaffirmed to Amber that yes, the risk was worth it and that she should press on further.

There was tangible electricity and Amber hoped that she was not alone in feeling the sparks. She knew how Katarina would be hurting in body and spirit with the deconstruction of her self esteem and total dislocation from her former reality. She just hoped it was more than a lifeline.

The track of the cameras would soon show them missing though and reluctantly Amber broke off the kiss, both gasping in unison. There was no time to speak. Amber had to hope that the kiss had said enough. She turned and started to move up the stairs, Katarina following without the need for command.

== ~ ==

The room sprawling before them was lit by the soft natural light of late afternoon that streamed through the unguarded skylights. Functional, unusual but stylish.

Rack upon rack of clothing, it had tables with mirrors at one end. Scents of leathers and latex drifted over her, triggering Katarina to think sex. She took a breath, that was their doing and she wouldn’t allow it.

The two women wove their way to the far end and a rack of more mainstream clothing, some of which formal.

Already rifling through the rack, Amber was clearly hunting for something specific. “Yes!” She had found what she was looking for. Carefully withdrawing it from the rail, the Herve Leger dress had Katarina gasp and she looked to Amber with a question etched into her expression.

Presenting it against her as friends would casually do on a shopping spree, Amber’s nod merely served to confuse her more. “That’ll do nicely.” She slung the dress over her arm and stalked off toward a display of shoes.

A finger trailed along the rack before Amber plunged in. She drew out a pair of strappy heels sporting the distinctive red sole that characterised Christian Louboutin. Holding them against the dress, she looked first at the shoes, then to the dress, at Katarina, then back at the garment she held. “They’ll be great too.” Another decisive nod and Amber strode toward the opposite side of the room with the bound girl, full of curiosity, following behind.

== ~ ==

As she sat in the chair, Katarina watched Amber in the mirror while she busied herself fixing Katarina’s hair into an elegantly high bunch, allowing a few strands to curl down to tease a caress to her face.

It was all care and attention and Amber moved on to Katarina’s makeup. She pressed close enough that Katarina could feel her heart beating and with the occasional meeting of eyes, smiles were exchanged between the two.

Skin, cheekbones, lips all received such care but Amber spent most time on Katarina’s eyes, her own darting around to ensure the achievement of perfection she strove for, always blocking Katarina’s view.

She occasionally stepped back to inspect the progress. Head to one side, Amber would admire her work and the woman with whom she’d shared such a sweet kiss, then swoop back in, touching up here and adjusting the look there.

Finally satisfied, Amber stood back, nodding contentedly, careful to restrict Katarina’s view of herself in the mirror. She leant forward, finger drifting along a defined jawline, pausing only to allow the moment to grow in poignancy before whispering, “You look beautiful Katarina.”

Amber backed away, drawing a cover across the mirror before stepping aside. A guiding hand to Katarina’s elbow encouraged her to rise, helping her to balance with her limbs still bound.

“Don’t embarrass me,” Amber breathed, turning Katarina slowly around to begin work on the release of her arms. Turn after turn her bindings eased, her arms singing with joy as the blood gushed back to them while Amber gently massaged muscles to speed their recovery.

When Amber dropped to one knee Katarina could have died at the sight, and had to close her eyes just to cope. Naked, she pictured herself being worshipped by the gorgeous woman in leather and when her ankles were unfettered she felt compelled to adjust her stance.

“I like you there,” Katarina whispered before thinking through the implications. Her words hung heavily in the air. It was bold, it was instinctive and she braced herself for an inevitable backlash.

But the backlash never came. Amber froze as those four simple words laden with unspoken meaning tumbled over her. Unexpected would have been an understatement of epic proportions.

Here she was, confidently handling a woman whom she had seen humiliated and broken. Yet as that quartet of words was spoken, she had felt a thrill which reached deep inside to pluck at the very core of her soul and she felt the waves of it resonating outward. ‘I like you there,’ Amber silently repeated to herself. It was all she could do to will her fingers to resume their attentions to the tightened knots.

== ~ ==

A gentle touch smoothed its way around Katarina’s ankles whose flesh was disfigured by the deep gouges of the bindings. She could run now. Unbound, she was one on one for the first time since she had been taken and yet the tenderness she felt rooted her to the spot. Raven’s revenge on Amber’s carelessness would be brutal at best and Katarina couldn’t allow that. So she stood there. As the kneeling woman soothed away the bite of pain with the softest of touches, Katarina was unbound, but stayed.

“Lift.” The word broke through the thick silence. Her chest heaving, Katarina felt the caress of soft material as the dress was drawn up her legs. Obligingly, she wriggled to smooth its passage over the flare of her hips and felt it close around her chest after her arms were guided through and the zip drawn.

It was tight but comfortably so. In another life she would have worn this to wow. Curiosity was already burning and Katarina was dying to see how she looked even before stepping into the skyscraper heels with filigree straps. The daily staking out had kept her muscles long and lean and of late she had been left naked, allowing the sun to brush an enviable tan to her skin.

Wrapping around and around, the straps embraced Katarina’s delicately boned ankle. She wanted to wrap her arms in the same way and shivered as blonde hair brushed lightly against her knee. Safely buckled Katarina stood there, ankles constantly adjusting to get used to her new height.

Amber rose into Katarina’s distant stare. Their eyes met momentarily before Katarina was turned and steered to a full-length mirror by leather gloved hands resting on her waist.

The image ripped the breath from within her. So used now to seeing herself bound, clad in all manner of fetish-inspired clothing with hair limp and skin dull with fatigue, the image before Katarina was truly stunning.

Tall, lean and yet curved in all those places that drove men wild, she was the image of sophisticated beauty itself. Sculpted legs ended in the twin spikes of stupendous heels. That dress. That superb dress. It clung and yet shaped in the way all women dreamt of and yet what really caught her attention lay higher.

Her hairstyle utterly flattered her features. She had expected her makeup to be heavy and slutty and while it was certainly dramatic, it was expensively so.

Katarina simply stared. “Thank you,” she managed, the only words she was capable of.

“Don’t thank me yet.” The cautionary reply came as the chill of metal closed around Katarina’s neck. The snick of a lock, it was there to stay. Katarina looked at her reflection.

‘
PRETTY WHORE.
’
The words were engraved in finely scrolled lettering. Instantly, Katarina was spun back to dark reality. This was a world she had been thrown into unwillingly and the stark contrast with her otherwise classic look was like a punch in the stomach.

All the training, all the conditioning, none could overwhelm the revulsion Katarina now saw in the words that cheapened her, boring into her soul.

“Just remember one thing,” warned Amber. “Stay close to Raven.”

She turned and now numb, Katarina followed on behind. Had Amber, sweet Amber, built her up only to knock her back down? Unbeknown to Katarina though, the blonde woman struggled to hold back her tears having seen the look in Katarina’s eyes.

CHAPTER XXXIII – An Unbearable Likeness

P
reparations continued apace throughout the manor and in one particular dressing room, Raven was putting near final touches to a look she knew would ensure she was the centre of attention. With barely an hour to go until the first guest was expected, she was just about ready and, satisfied, slid onto her chaise longue, curling her legs beneath.

The finishing touches could wait until the last moments. Right now she needed to relax and reaching for the remote, punched it to surf through channels before finding the nondescript movie channel she occasionally allowed herself to settle on.

In all reality though she hadn’t relaxed in years and, as a man’s face appeared on the screen, she recoiled in horror, tensing as the familiarity of the image spun her mind back to more difficult times in her life.

It wasn’t him, yet it triggered a memory she’d sought to bury deeply, permanently. No, he was probably slumped in some destitute squat working out where his next fix was coming from. Either that or dead. She wished he was still alive but her motivation wasn’t compassionate.

He always struggled to scrape together enough to buy his next hit. She knew how drugs tore him apart. She hoped he was still suffering life; it was the very least he deserved.

Raven’s thoughts cartwheeled on as the movie continued without her. It was still so vivid in her head that it could have happened yesterday. Sixteen and a half years had passed though, or was it seventeen? She couldn’t be sure.

The memories continued to flash in front of her - the cold of the winter without shelter, the violence around her as she fought to survive and the hope she’d pinned on that dishevelled man.

“Some hope,” she murmured, feeling again the scorn she’d poured over herself when she realised it had all been lies. She was still so young then, still new to the wider world and still hurting from how suddenly she’d fled her former life. Strangely compelling, he’d taken her under his wing and in that month together they’d spoken of a better future.

He would never be described as good looking with lank hair and grey tinged skin but he had something about him. In another world, he would have risen to a leadership role and it was that presence that drew her, seemingly offering the stability and experience she needed to get by.

Fruit picking in the coming summer would allow them to scrape some cash together, that would be a start, he promised. From there they could perhaps get a small apartment, get back on track, back to some form of normal. It conjured warm images of new starts, new opportunities and she’d allowed herself to hope. She’d shared her past with him, told him why she found herself on the streets and how she’d managed to save what little cash she had to at least tide her over the winter.

She’d missed the warning flash of his overly keen interest, lost in thoughts of some form of new life. She’d told him to give him the same hope he had given her, reassuring him that it would at least keep them fed.

And so slowly she had opened up and he had listened, encouraged her and held her in his arms. Her hopes, her dream of a new start were personified in him. But in her eagerness to invest her hope in him, she’d given him a glimpse of something he could not turn away from and to try to give him faith, she had taken him to the decaying building where she kept hidden the little she had.

That night, he’d taken his pleasure of her quickly, snatching what he needed before rolling away. His numbness hurt but his own hidden past sometimes haunted him so she said nothing. Their shared moment was still a comfort and a shared memory to bind them together. That hurt was nothing though next to the fierce pain of the next morning.

She woke up without him at her side, his meagre possessions gone. She denied it to herself but instantly knew. The frantic search of the broken warehouse was fruitless and when she reached the place where she had hidden her few possessions and money, all she found was the charred corner of a much treasured picture of her late father.

The coldness and solitude struck her with such force she could barely stand. Briefly, she’d given him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was in trouble and needed to get out but as she sifted through the remains, the broken shards of a discarded crack pipe resting beside a small patch of burnt ground told her all she needed to know.

She had been used in a way that made even her attack seem insignificant. She had allowed herself to place her remaining shreds of hope and dignity in the hands of another, and seen them coldly crushed.

Oh how she’d cried, rocking back and forth as she held the few remnants of her possessions in unsteady hands. A gust of wind had whisked through the broken panes of the window beside her, blowing the scrap away into the dark.

She couldn’t follow it, couldn’t even reach for it. Her spirit was broken and it was from that moment that her heart started its inexorable blackening.

She withdrew inward, away from the emotional hurt of the world. Jacqueline was no more and from that point the name Raven was taken as testimony to the inky blackness inside. It was the last time she cried as Raven developed and grew in strength. No pity, no warmth, no hope and no trust; she knew she was thoroughly alone and that simple realisation reshaped her world.

Prostitution allowed her to scrape by, making use of the only thing of value she still owned. Although it kept her fed and alive, the thirst grew for retribution on the world. Each fumbling touch she was compelled to endure to gratify her client of the hour repelled her more and more.

A chance discussion with a female client of no name had hinted at a different direction, one where she could find an outlet. It saw her start to add sadism to paid sex.

It didn’t arrest her descent but it rewarded her with the simple satisfaction of revenge. Revenge on the world, revenge on a society that had simply failed her and revenge on each man that foolishly presented himself. Each pathetic soul that came to her for their own gratification left having satisfied hers. That was what drove her now and finding a drain down which to pour her bile, she grew.

The reputation of Mistress Raven started there and the recognition of her own particularly brutal brand of sadism sped quickly along the tendrils of the grapevine, eventually reaching Michael Immelmann.

The offer from him was just plain obscene. More money than she needed, it would ensure she had no need to fear a return to the streets. But it was the prospect of other rewards that really caught her attention and stirred her withered soul.

Power. It was a drug in itself and this man had it in spades. She’d wielded power over individuals during paid sessions and even over audiences who had latterly come to see her work. His power was of a different magnitude though. She wanted to taste it, needed to see the world above hers and so she took Immelmann’s call.

Raven winced as the next triggered memory forced its way to her attention. She felt again the sting of his hand, tasted again the thick cloying blood in her mouth and remembered when Immelmann had first struck her.

Her own reaction had surprised her as much as the blow. There was no disgust at his strike, no bitter sadness. She’d pushed him hard and felt a strange satisfaction licking away the excess blood that bubbled on her crimson lips. Somehow, on some level, it was what she needed and she had spat in his face in response, pushing him back, pushing him for more.

Right there, she knew she had him where she needed him, balls metaphorically and physically clutched in her hand. It was now only a matter of time and patience, sprinkled with no small enjoyment. She would get her revenge on him and on men with their shallow, testosterone-driven needs. As each blow struck her, the sweetness of that thought broadened her smile and so she taunted him over his inadequacies, further fuelling his rage.

That time was now approaching. His guard had lowered and, in abducting the girl, he had played into her manipulative hands, the talons of which were now firmly hooked unseen around his throat. She knew too much now, was too involved in his secret world, held a power of her own to control and command. He’d shown her his weakness and Raven could only smile the smile of imminent victory as she possessively tapped the signed document with her fingers.