The Bathhouse: Part 7

My puppet-master is playing with me.

Continued from The Bathhouse: Part 6

Created by author with Midjourney

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A deep purple blotch covers the knuckles of his right hand. Like a Rorschach with only one correct answer: the one he’s giving. I wonder if his hand is broken, but he doesn’t seem to be favoring it. Other than his knuckles, there is no visible evidence of what took place between him and Nikolai, which is both gratifying and makes me feel worse for Nikolai. Had he even tried to throw a punch?

He notices me eying his bruise and covers it with his other hand, espresso untouched.

I have no idea where to start.

Vlad clears his throat and I dare a look at his face. His black eyes are large and searching, the irises so dark they are indistinguishable from his pupils. The effect is both feral and alluring, like a wild dog who seems at all moments to be absorbing every detail of his environment.

“I did not know about Nikolai,” he begins. Of this I have no doubts whatsoever.

“I believe you,” I reply, indicating his knuckles, almost laughing at the absurdity, but the smile fades before it’s formed. “But he knew about…us…”

Vlad looks pained.

“Yes,” he says simply. I wait for more, but none is forthcoming.

“And? How?” I prompt, although I already know the answer.

“The rooms. They are not private,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “You deserve to know the truth. There are cameras in the rooms. We record and…sometimes the recordings are shared. Yours should not have been.”

“Why not?”

His expression is contrite, with a hair’s breadth of pride.

“Because you are mine,” he says softly. My breath catches and my cunt tingles. I want to dispute this, perhaps slap him for such insolence, but instead I feel myself opening, my energy orienting to him like the needle of a compass. I avert my eyes and take a sip of my latte, but my inability to deny his assertion is itself a burning proclamation, bold as a proposal in a crowded restaurant. I feel suddenly angry at this vulnerability.

“So you and Nikolai, you hang out at night, swapping videos of the different girls you fucked that day and masturbate together,” I burst out, wanting to provoke him. He looks hurt, but there is a sharpness there as well. A danger. My eyes flash to his bruised knuckles.

“It is not so simple. It is part of our business.”

That, I was not expecting.

“Excuse me?”

“What we did, many people like to see,” he tells me, voice even, but his brow is furrowed. “It can be very lucrative.”

My skull feels tight and my stomach roils. I wonder if I might be sick.

“So, you sold the video?”

He shakes his head.

“Not me,” he replies firmly. “Management.”

Great.

“So basically,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low, “I’m an unpaid prostitute.”

“I should have deleted the video,” he says bitterly.

“Yeah, you should have,” I retort. “Better yet, you should never have recorded it. Or any of them.”

He nods.

“You are right,” he replies, offering no excuse, which takes the steam out of me a bit.

“Well. Yeah,” I say, wanting a fight but not getting one. “Alright, then.”

The corners of his lips quirk at that, briefly. His gaze is soft.

“So,” I press on. “Nikolai. Presuming he’s not a friend of yours.”

Vlad’s eyes darken.

“That is complicated,” he says slowly.

“Complicated how?”

Vlad sighs, and takes a sip of his espresso.

“It is too much to get into now,” he says. “I have known Nikolai a long time. I never thought he would do such a thing.” His eyes close and his mouth twists into a grimace, then he looks at me again, black eyes shining more than usual. “I am so sorry for what he did.” A pause. “He has paid.”

His words settle between us for several moments.

“I saw. I went to the bathhouse to find you. To get some answers. To end this.” Those last three words leave my lips so softly, so unwillingly, I wonder if he heard.

“What is ‘this’?” he asks, folding his napkin and dragging his finger down the edge, forming a sharp crease. I can’t help remembering that finger trailing lazily down my abdomen, pulling his seed to my slit.