Liberate Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part One) (10 page)

Just as she is about to get into her taxi, she sees a figure stepping out from behind a car on the other side of the street. He has his hands in his pockets and he is staring at her. She glances behind her as she approaches the taxi. Yes, quite
definitely he is looking at her. Instinctively she knows that this is not the man from the garden. He is older, shorter and stocky, with grey hair. He looks as if he is about to say something, but she doesn’t give him a chance. She jumps into the taxi. As it speeds away, she turns around and looks out the rear window. He is still standing in the middle of the road, his hands in his pockets, frowning.

Two strange men watching her within the last twenty-four hours. She can’t help feeling a little unsettled, wishing Theo were here. She takes her mobile phone out of her bag, rotates it between her hands. Maybe she could call him. Ask him when he’ll be back. She wonders what he would say if she told him about the watchers. Would he tell her she was being paranoid? Certainly the man in the garden could have been a figment of her imagination. Yet the man she saw just now
was
real, and he did look as if he wanted to speak to her. She chastises herself; he is just some sleazeball wanting to chat her up. That’s what Theo would tell her.
Valentina, you are unaware of the impact you have on men
. She laughed when he said this. Told him he was being ridiculous. She was no Marilyn Monroe.

‘Absolutely you’re not, darling. But not every man wants a busty blonde, you know.’

She pops her phone back into her bag and dismisses the thought of the strange men. She has an interesting evening ahead of her. She is already jangling with nerves. What will this Leonardo Sorrentino show her tonight? She needs
to be grounded and calm, not worrying about anything else right now.

The S&M club is in a part of Milan Valentina doesn’t know very well, near Via Garligliano in the Isola district. The part of Milan that used to be like Venice, until Mussolini decided to block up all the canals. It used to be a very rundown, seedy area, but recently it has become quite trendy. Like S&M, she supposes, which is gradually being viewed as more acceptable as well.

Along with her nerves is excitement. Her heart is beating fast, and she can feel her stomach cramping with anticipation. After what she saw on the internet last night, she decided not to look up any more images of S&M. She doesn’t want to be put off any more than she is already. It isn’t that she judges these people. It’s just she can’t see the attraction of pain when it comes to sex. And yet she is intrigued. She wants to understand this dark side to human sexuality. Is it a perverse thing to want to do? Or is it liberating, acting out natural instincts even?

Leonardo Sorrentino is the opposite of what Valentina expected. He is young, for a start. She had this image of an older man, fat and bald and a little obscene. A stereotype, of course. Leonardo is probably only a couple of years older than her. He is dark skinned, like Theo. Even reminds her of her lover a little, with his easy smile, although Leonardo is not as tall as Theo, and his eyes are dark brown rather than blue.
He is dressed in an impeccable and expensive-looking navy suit, and a shirt the colour of violets, which despite its pretty hue looks far from feminine on him. She can smell the Armani as soon as she walks through the innocuous entrance of the private club.

‘Signorina Rosselli, thank you for coming,’ he greets her.

‘Call me Valentina,’ she says, feeling awkward at his formality.

‘Leonardo,’ he smiles back, squeezing her hand in his.

They walk down a long corridor of shiny black marble tiles, with dimmed lighting on the walls. Any minute Valentina is expecting to be led into a den of torture instruments, yet when he finally ushers her into a room at the end of the corridor, she can’t help feeling a little disappointed by its plainness. Soft lighting, a large cream sofa and matching cream rug. Not one whip or chain in sight.

Leonardo invites her to sit. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it on the back of his chair. His purple shirt is made of soft silky cotton, and clings to his well-defined chest. He has just two buttons undone, not too much and not too little. He takes a bottle of white wine from a fridge in the corner of the room.

‘I must tell you how much I liked the series of erotic self-portraits you took in the canal in Venice,’ he says as he pours out their wine.

Valentina stiffens in shock. No beating around the bush with Signor Sorrentino. She imagines him looking over the
images of her exposed body. She has a feeling that he saw
all
of her even if it was in his imagination.

‘How did you get to see them?’ she asks him. ‘They haven’t been published or exhibited anywhere. Not even on the internet.’

‘I am afraid I have promised I won’t tell you that, Valentina.’

‘Was it Stephano Linardi? Did he give you a copy of my memory stick?’ she demands. She knows she is being too direct, possibly rude. She has always found social graces a challenge. Leonardo arches an eyebrow in reply.

‘He said they were porn, not art,’ she tells him.

‘Well in my opinion they are neither,’ says Leonardo. ‘I would call them erotic narrative. You are telling an erotic story with your images.’

He pauses, takes a sip of his wine.

‘I have seen it in your fashion photography as well, how you choreograph a scene. This is why I would like you to do this project for us. It’s so important to get the right tone.’

‘But why do you want pictures taken in the first place?’

‘Actually it wasn’t my idea,’ Leonardo admits. ‘I have been approached by a third party, who insists that I don’t reveal his identity to anyone. He wishes to publish a book of erotic and tasteful photographs of the S and M scene. There is also the possibility of exhibiting the work.’

How can S&M be tasteful
? The thought passes fleetingly through Valentina’s head.

Interpreting her silence correctly, Leonardo says, ‘I can
assure you that sadomasochism can be quite beautiful and graceful at times, Valentina.’

‘But I have no experience of it,’ Valentina admits, trying to look unembarrassed.

‘That is exactly why I have asked you do it. You are an unbiased observer. Well, I hope unbiased. If you do think that sadomasochism is, well, a sick perversion, I suggest we don’t pursue the project. For your own sake.’

Valentina thinks about it. She takes a sip of her wine, while peeking at Leonardo under lowered lashes. He looks the picture of wholesomeness. She can’t help wondering if he is a dominant or a submissive. It is hard to imagine him doing anything too brutal. Just as with the mystery of Theo’s book of old negatives, she is driven by curiosity more than anything else. She knows she will not walk away from this opportunity.

‘No, of course I don’t think it’s sick. In fact I am fascinated,’ she admits.

Leonardo smiles at her again. He has a broad smile, almost dazzling. She cannot return it, and it makes her feel as if she appears even more surly than usual. He cocks his head on its side in puzzlement at her sour expression, his smile slowly fading.

‘Well, good,’ he says, standing up, speaking more formally again. ‘So first of all let me show you around so that you can start thinking of ideas. Really it’s completely up to you what you want to do. Most of our clients have agreed
to be photographed, so you can choose to be a fly on the wall and simply make a record of what is occurring, or you can construct your own scenes if you like.’ He pauses, smiling at her again, this time more slyly. ‘That could be quite fun for you.’

Valentina still doesn’t return Leonardo’s smile.

‘Maybe,’ she says coolly, but she can feel her body begin to heat up beneath her leather jacket.
Construct her own scenes
? The idea is enticingly erotic. She can apply all her passion for detail and theatricality in this sensual setting. The possibilities make her almost dizzy with excitement.

‘Remember, Valentina,’ Leonardo continues, ‘I don’t want pornography. Any man or woman off the street can do that. I want something artistic. That’s why we’ve picked you. We want eroticism.’

‘I understand,’ Valentina says as she follows Leonardo out of the room and further down the black marble corridor. He leads her to the top of a staircase, also made of black marble, and turns to her.

‘There is no one here at the moment,’ he tells her. ‘It is a little too early in the evening, but I will show you one of the rooms our clients might use. That is if you are ready?’

She nods, following him down the stairs. The lights grow dimmer and dimmer, and she feels a prickle of fear down her spine. She hates going into dark, confined spaces. At the bottom of the staircase is a small oval hallway with three doors leading off it. There is one light casting a murky glow around the space.

‘So, Valentina.’ Leonardo points at the doors one at a time. ‘Behind each of these doors are different levels of experience, so to speak. The wooden door leads you into what I would call our more-pleasure-than-pain room. The leather door is more pain than pleasure.’

Valentina swallows hard. What’s the difference? How much pain still allows some pleasure?

‘And this room,’ he walks up to a steel door, polished and shimmering in the dim hall, ‘this is the Dark Room.’ He presses his hand against it, turning round and staring at her with an expression of triumph. She can see it then instantly. He is a dominant; there is no doubt.

She looks away from Leonardo and stares at the metal door.

‘What happens in the Dark Room?’ Her voice is almost a whisper.

Leonardo takes a step towards her. He is so close, his Armani aftershave is almost overpowering.

‘In the Dark Room you are scared, Valentina, because as the name implies, there is no light. You can see nothing, not even your hand in front of your face.’

‘Why would anyone want to go in there?’ Her voice lowers.

Leonardo flashes her a flirtatious look.

‘It is precisely because of your fear that you are able to heighten your sexual experience to a degree you will never have anywhere else.’

Valentina doesn’t move. She knows this man wants her to
react. To laugh, perhaps. Or exclaim. Even run away up the stairs. She won’t do it.

‘I see,’ she says calmly. ‘But I suppose it will be no use to me if it is all in the dark. I won’t be taking any pictures in there.’

Leonardo nods, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

‘Quite right. There is no need for you to go into the Dark Room . . . unless, of course, you want—’

Valentina cuts him short.

‘Can you show me the other rooms, please. I’m afraid I have to go soon.’

Leonardo’s smile widens. He knows she is lying. Already he has worked her out. She is scared of the Dark Room.

‘Very well,’ he says, strolling over to open the wooden door. ‘This is what we call our Atlantis Room. You will see why, I hope, once you have experienced it for real.’

Valentina pauses on the threshold. She looks at Leonardo’s hand, his elegantly manicured fingers, as he slowly turns the handle. Her heart begins to race. She has a feeling that once she steps into the Atlantis Room, her life will never be the same again. It is a choice she is making on her own, without the consent of her lover, and yet as she moves forward, she hears Theo’s soft American accent in her head.
That’s my girl, my intrepid Valentina
.

THERE IS A KNOCK ON HER DOOR. BELLE CHECKS HERSELF
in the mirror. She brushes down her dress, her hands gliding over the slinky black material. It is one of her maid’s uniforms, which Belle adjusted herself. Something she enjoyed doing, sitting on her little balcony in the Venetian sunshine, sewing and listening to her neighbour playing Bach on his harpsichord. She is not allowed to do this sort of work at home, but she loves to make things and it gave her great satisfaction adjusting Pina’s uniform for the needs of her client. The little black dress now hangs just below her bottom, and above the line of her black stockings, which are of course decorated with white lacy garters. She has a crisp white apron on over the dress, and a little white maid’s hat crowns her black bob. The Russian knocks again. My, he is impatient today, Belle thinks, picking up her feather duster and opening the door.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’ She bows her head respectfully as the Russian strides purposefully into the room.

‘Good afternoon, Katya,’ he says, looking stern. ‘And what took you so long to answer the door?’

‘I am sorry, sir, I came as fast as I could.’

‘Well that’s not good enough, Katya,’ he replies, fixing her with a steely glare, making Belle’s heart race a little. ‘You will have to be reprimanded.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Because I did not do as you said.’

‘That’s right, Katya. Last time I told you to answer the door promptly after my first knock. Today I have had to knock
twice
.’

The Russian holds his arms out for her to take off his coat. He smells of tobacco, and sandalwood. It is an intoxicating mixture. He hands her his hat and gloves and she places them neatly on the sideboard. He has a small riding crop in his right hand, which he slaps gently against the palm of his left hand. The sight of it makes her stomach clench.

She leads him into her bedroom and he walks behind her, using the riding crop to lift the hem of her dress so that he can see her bottom.

‘I am pleased to see that you have followed my directive, and dispensed with underwear.’

He speaks so formally, Belle thinks, like the bureaucrat he is. She can feel him trailing the tip of his riding crop down her bottom, and flipping it gently against her legs so that she squeals with fright and excitement.

‘Contain yourself, please, Katya. You must submit to your punishment with humility.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replies, casting her eyes down demurely.

He sits on her bed and puts the riding crop down beside him. Then he crooks his finger and beckons for her to come closer.

She is standing right in front of him now. She can feel her nipples pushing in anticipation against the cheap artificial silk of her maid’s uniform. The Russian’s voice drops an octave.