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Somewhere deep inside I know I’ve been drugged, that the knife Five had cut me with was laced with something to relax me, to make me accept the unacceptable, but I can’t seem to even summon up the energy to care. So when One stands, her long black hair whispering over my bare breasts as she leans over me, my skin prickles and I remain still, content to just lie here. She pinches my chin between her thumb and forefinger, then lowers her luscious lips to mine. Her kiss is soft, warm, but it lacks the kindness that Five had shown me. Even in this state, I’m aware of that fact.
“Welcome,” she murmurs. Her thick accent is molten lava, a warning, as she picks up the knife and nicks my skin just above the curve of my left breast. I don’t register the sharp sting. I don’t even feel any blood pooling, and that’s not because I think I’ve imagined the cut, but because I’m floating on a cloud of indifference so unexpected that all I can do is lay here. More heat rolls out from her cut, adding to the intensity of the first.
“Pain and pleasure are the foundations of our existence, Zero,” Konrad explains, the throaty sound rumbling up his chest.
“It’s fundamental to the harmony of this place. Accept their welcome and you’ll be rewarded,” Jakub adds.
I do as he asks,unableat this moment to protest. Somewhere in the back of my head an angry little voice is telling me to fight back, to fight this strange floating kind of sensation, but another part of me, a bigger part, is unwilling to move a muscle. I’m not even sure I could if I tried.
One by one each Number welcomes me, always with a kiss on the lips, a cut to my skin, and a few muttered words. Some are more genuine than others. Six, Three and Seven are kind just like Five. They greet me with gentle kisses, sweet words and the barest of cuts. Four and Eight are indifferent, and Two makes a show at having to climb down from her cage to greet me. She takes a seat at the table with a huff after sliding the knife over the protrusion of my hip bone. I know without looking that it’s deeper than the rest.
Nine, Ten and Eleven go through the motions but lack any kind of empathy as they kiss, cut and greet me. I get the impression that this is all just a game to them. Something to laugh at, to giggle about like children beneath their hands. They lack depth, or maybe they’re just too scarred by being here under the thumb of these men to behave any other way. Not that it matters, I’m beyond the point of caring about anything or anyone right at this moment.
“These are the Numbers,” Jakub says, interrupting my thoughts with his accented words. “You will respect their place here, and their decision to remain. They do not need saving. Understand?”
I nod my head. “I won’t save them…” The words fall out of my mouth and yet they don’t feel like they belong to me at all.
“You will live alongside the Numbers for as long aswedecide,” Leon adds, the threat in his voice unmistakable, though I’m not clear if it’s my life he’s threatening or Jakub and the power struggle they appear to have going on.
“The Numbers have earned their place here. They are valued,” Konrad continues. “You, however, have yet to earn the right to sit at our table, to eat with us. The first rule is simple. Obey our command.”
Obey, there’s that word again. It’s filled with meaning, strained at the seams. They want me to submit to their authority, accept my place here whether it be as a Number, an object of desire, of lust and hate. I should feel more fear. I should be terrified, in fact, but I’m not. Their words, whilst disgusting, do not disturb me like they have done so before. The edge of my fear has been removed, the heart of my hate quietened, allowing me to dive beneath the surface of my emotions into the core of how I truly feel.
Obeying someone’s demands means not thinking about any other option. It means allowing another person to take the lead, to let go of any responsibility to others, to myself. In a weird way it’s a freedom of sorts. A freedom to exist without consequence because the responsibility is firmly on someone else’s shoulders. My whole life I’ve been conscious of everyone else, bombarded by visions I don’t wish to see, of futures that aren’t my own. I’ve been responsible for people’s happiness and it’s a burden that has been exhausting to carry. Would it be so wrong to give up that responsibility? Would it be so bad to give over the power to someone else just for a time? Those thoughts surprise me, the clarity of my new understanding a double-edged sword. I’m aware that the drug could be skewing my views but equally, at this moment, I don’t care.
“Lay still whilst we eat. Let us fill our stomachs with sustenance, whilst we feast on your body with our eyes,” Konrad murmurs.
He reaches for me, his fingertips sliding over my cheek and down my neck until he reaches the first cut made by Five. A trail of heat follows his touch, my body relaxing under his command, my muscles feeling heavy under his scrutiny. I watch as he swipes at my skin and lifts his finger to his mouth sucking on my blood he collected there. I feel his hum of appreciation low in my belly.
“Delicious,” he says. “I wonder if your cunt tastes as good.”
Without warning, my clit pulses at the memory of Jakub’s lips against my delicate flesh. I react instinctively, squeezing my thighs together, the supple leather of the chastity belt tight against my core and providing friction in an already overly sensitive area. The sudden jolt of pleasure batters at the anger I’ve felt ever since they stole me, carving another notch into the thickened wall encasing my resolve to stay strong, to never accept my place here. Konrad has barely touched me and my body is reacting without my consent. Ihatethat. At least, I think I do.
Enough.That little voice inside my head grows louder, refusing to sink beneath this new sensation, this fakery.Fight, it says.Don’t let them control your pleasure too.
It’s enough of a jolt to make me ignore my pulsing clit and focus on the injustice of the situation, the reality. This isn’t about my pleasure. This is about their control.
“Dinner is served,” Renard says somewhere from the other side of the hall as it fills with men and women carrying trays brimming with delicious smelling food. I turn my head, watching them spill into the room. They’re dressed just like Nala had been. The women are wearing black knee length dresses and white pinafores, and the men, black suits with a white shirt and tie. A golden crest of three masks is embroidered on the breast pocket of the mens’ jackets and the lapel of the womens’ dresses. Steam rises up into the air around me as they place plates piled high with sliced meat and vegetables onto the table. I’m vaguely aware of my stomach rumbling, and realise that despite Nala bringing me food earlier today, I didn’t eat any of it. Not a crumb.
I watch with my head tipped to the side as Leon and Konrad are served lamb chops covered in gravy and steaming vegetables dripping in butter and herbs. My stomach contracts with hunger as I watch them eat, and I have the sudden urge to reach out and snatch a potato dripping in gravy from Leon’s plate. He catches my eye, spearing the potato and takes a bite, chewing slowly. My lips part as saliva pools in my mouth.
“Are you hungry, Nought?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I admit, my tongue peeking out from between my parted lips.
Leaning forward, he rests the gravy-soaked potato against my mouth but when I go to take a bite removes it quickly. My tongue darts out, lapping at the gravy left behind on my lip. The meaty taste explodes on my tongue and I almost weep at the loss of something that’s far more meaningful to my sense of survival than hunger. By allowing him to see my weakness, to tease me with something I want, I’ve let him control me. I should’ve grabbed the fork from him and slammed it into the back of his bastard hand.
“Be a good girl then, and you’ll be rewarded.” He smiles, then eats the remainder of the potato, reminding me who has the ultimate control.
Turning my gaze away, I blink up at the gold cage hanging above the table and try to focus on anything but the way I feel and the hunger in my belly. Around me the Numbers and The Masks feast on their dinner, their enjoyment interrupted only by the seemingly pleasant conversation. I don’t pay attention to what they’re saying, unable to grasp hold of anything more than a few words here and there. Right now, my body feels even less of my own than it does when I’m recovering from a vision. It’s both as heavy as the manacles that were wrapped around my wrists and ankles in the dungeons, and as light as one of the dust motes falling from the ceiling above me now.
Time passes, plates are cleared and I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness, bound only to the present moment by a casual touch here and there by the hands of my tormentors. Every now and then, Jakub’s calloused fingers reach for my foot or ankle, the rough skin of his palm passing over mine and sending bolts of unwanted electricity up and down my spine. His touch is certain, meaningful, but controlled, as though he’s going through the motions but refusing to reveal his true intentions. He lies with his touch. Hiding his wants and desires, suppressing them in the moment. The fighter in me wants to kick out, to shove my foot in his food and ruin it, to make him reveal what he’s hiding, but the heavy fog of this drug has reduced me to someone compliant, pliable. Again, it should scare me. I should be frightened, but I don’t even feel that.
Konrad is less restrained than Jakub. He touches me regularly and often. A hand pressing against my stomach, a finger trailing over my hip bone, another sliding under the leather belt at my waist. There’s a sensuality to his touch, but I’m not so under the influence of this drug that I’m fooled into thinking it’s affection. Ultimately, this man wants to inflict pain. That’s where his predilections lie.
Leon, however, his touch is more like a lightning bolt, certain in its intent, ruinous in its motives. There are no lies with his touch, only truth. I feel his thick fingers in my hair, twisting tightly as he leans over me to grasp another slice of meat rather than wait for a servant to dish it up for him. At one point, he grasps my chin and slides his gravy-soaked finger into my mouth, the taste bursting on my tongue, reminding me that I’m only fed because they allow it.
“Are you ready for dessert?” Renard asks after a while.
Everyone at the table stops talking, tension winding tightly in the air. My eyes flicker open. I hadn’t even realised I’d closed them.
“We are,” Jakub responds, an edge to his voice that makes my skin prickle with foreboding. “Leave us!”
One by one the Numbers bid their farewell to The Masks, a solemnness following them out. The staff clear the table around me until all signs of dinner have been removed. They retreat back into the shadowed corners of the hall, departing through doors I can’t see, into corridors that I’ve never walked down, until it’s just me alone once again with The Masks, naked, vulnerable and entirely at their mercy.
