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They were roughly done, and I couldn’t read all of it, butHORATIVS TERTIVSwas stamped in the metal, at the top of a list of three roman names. Could this mean what I thought it did?
Probably not. I was definitely hallucinating.
* * *
The transfer from helicopter to plane had been similar to when I’d flown to the island—I was blinded by wraparound glasses and concealed under a hooded coat. Dressed in faded jeans and T-shirt, and cuffed by one hand to the seat, I found myself wearing a blindfold in the plane. I’d hoped to watch the coastline creep up on us so I could try to identify the country. Spain, France, Italy, or perhaps Greece? Those were the likeliest countries to be near the doctor’s island. He still didn’t trust me enough to let me see, but I’d thought something had changed.
Wouldn’t I be paranoid about trusting people if I knew how to live and not age? I would.
If I brought up that subject, would I live another day?
I promise not to kill you and eat your heart.
Promises were said to be cheap.
I trusted him though, still, didn’t I? Even if he didn’t quite trust me.
At some stage, the engine sounds changed, or something else did quite subtly, because the cuff was released and Cassius helped me stand, before I was stripped of every shred of my clothes.
Standing naked in the aisle of a plane when you’re blindfolded was a kink I was fairly sure I did not have. I shivered and tried to hug myself, but a dress or shirt was pulled over my head, my arms pointed in the right direction for the armholes, and the dress was tugged downward. I felt the tulle of the skirt and wondered if this was what it seemed to be. Someone fumbled between my legs and clipped together the lower part of the attached bodysuit. I could tell the material there was gossamer thin and probably see-through.
I plucked at the neckline before being shuffled back to my seat and strapped in. The skirt flared up, due to the stiffness of the material.
“Is this a ballerina outfit?” I asked whoever was near me.
No one answered.
I stewed for a minute, feeling the angle of the plane alter as we descended. I tried again. “Cassius, are you there?”
Nothing.
“You are being horrible humans, and I hate you both.” I slumped into the seat, would’ve folded my arms if the cuff hadn’t been reapplied. “Wankers,” I muttered, hopefully inaudibly.
Someone, probably Cassius, sniggered.
So it was to be the silent treatment for the meantime? So be it. I could withstand that without blinking, so to speak.
There was a final transfer to a second helicopter then a short flight. It wasn’t until we landed, and a new leather collar was fastened around my neck, with leash then attached, that the blindfold was removed. Cassius held the other end, while the doctor was a few yards ahead.
With a tug on the leash, I was encouraged to follow. I wore no shoes, just this little ballerina costume. The panties part of them was a mere strap at the back and riding up something awful. Every few steps I had to resist plucking the thong part from between my ass cheeks. The glare of overhead lights showed me the color was probably classic white. The skirt was tulle and the bodice silk. It was pretty and supremely short, and I had to wonder what the doctor planned to do with me.
He was being terribly aloof, and even Cassius was silent.
“What’s to happen, tonight…here?” We were passing between low white walls that guarded this paved pathway that wound toward a wide, two-story mansion. The towers on either end gave the building the appearance of a modern facsimile of a castle, rendered white and stark, with rows of square glass windows stalking the front. Limousines were driving up to the curved and tapering stairway leading to the front doorway, dropping off guests, then driving away.
Even from a distance, I could tell the guests were dressed in an array of clothes that veered between latex and leather gear, suits, sexually provocative and barely-there clothing, to roleplay costumes.
As we neared the circular driveway, the doctor, who wore a black, retro-styled suit and carried a gentlemen’s cane, fished in his coat pocket. He held up one finger, and everyone halted. As he walked back to us, he removed a collapsible mask from his pocket and casually undid the buckle at the back.
“Stay.” It was the one, bare-boned word he said to me, before he wrapped the mask around my face, positioned it, and fastened it.
I’d glimpsed the pale front, and it resembled a Mexican day-of-the-dead mask, with a painted skull design and sutures crisscrossing over the bright red lips.
“Guard her, Cassius. I have people to consult with.” He swung the cane and tapped it on the ground, signaled we were to follow.
“This is going to be fucking painful,” Cassius muttered.
Why did I get the impression he meant the uneventful kind of painful? And yet, the CNC Fraternity was where Emme had seen women with their eyes sutured shut, and kinky stage shows, and more.
