Distance

The door was the first thing he tried. Cushioned and gold rimmed with no knob, it held firm as an iron gate to all attempts to open. There were no windows in the room, just the opulence of unrecognisable paintings and velvet patterned wallpaper. A door-less arch led to a small bathroom, white and pristine. A bed, too wide for him alone.

The scent in the air had been with him since he awoke and hadn't lost its potency. Sweet, like flowers, a variety he hadn't the knowledge to place. The perfume of a woman he might have once walked by, feminine and full of allure.

The only true unease he felt was for the evidential fact that he wasn't panicking. Here he was, in a room he didn't recognise, obviously not free to leave, and with no memory. Still, he stepped calmly across the wooden floor, barefoot but satisfyingly warm, exploring his surroundings with dulled curiosity. Examining two distant figures in some classical painting, he idly questioned if this was a cell. Had he been kidnapped? This wasn't a basement or cellar, no bare light bulbs or cold concrete floors or binding.

Despite the protests of the logical parts of his thinking, he was comfortable here. Sitting down on the bed, he waited for the anxiety to crest and overpower the intoxicating atmosphere. He was still waiting when he realised he was now lying back, his arms spread and fingers caressing the sheets. Staring dreamily at the ceiling, the only alarm came from the sudden sound behind him. A voice from somewhere in the wall.

'Is there any body there?'

He sprang from the bed, feeling the first jolt of adrenaline since he awoke. He turned to the wall, pausing to discern where the voice had came from. No holes or speakers or vents he could see. He stepped closer and, gazing vaguely into the floral texture of the wallpaper, offered a reply. 'I'm here.'

He had heard a woman's voice; somewhat muffled, but clear enough. High and cautious, but not infused with any noticeable distress. This changed following his brief reply.

There was a pause before he heard the voice again. This time, it was intoned with obvious concern.

'Where have you taken me?'

He wasn't prepared for the question. He'd thus far thought of himself as a victim of some kind, even if his senses hadn't quite been on the same wavelength. His thoughts stumbled to object to the idea of being this woman's jailer. His memory may have been a blank, but he knew he wasn't that.

'I woke up in this room. I don't understand what's happening. I don't think I can get out.'

Another pause, longer this time.

'I don't understand what's happening either. I woke up here, and...' Faintly, he was sure he heard her breath, deep with exasperation. 'It's like a room in a mansion. The door won't budge. This is fucked up. Isn't it?'

'Yeah.' He once again took in his environment. A long, deep breath and he said, 'I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I feel like I should be tearing the door down, shouting, something. My head's kind of in a haze.'

The pauses were becoming an accepted part of the conversation. His thoughts weren't gathering easily and he wondered if the same thing was happening behind the wall.

'We've got to do something. I mean, haven't we?' She sounded unsure. It was clearly a question rather than a statement.

'Yeah.' He was locked again in a daze, now with his face almost pressed against the wall, closely examining the velvet fibres. He blinked hard and deliberate. 'Yes. Yes! I'll try the door again. Are there any windows or vents on your side? Anything?'

'No. Maybe?' Her voice drifted away. She said something further, but he couldn't make out what.

The door showed no signs of relenting as he pushed, then pounded with his shoulder. The force was impeccably cushioned; he could do this all day and neither the door nor him would suffer. There wasn't anything to grip, to pull. Scanning the room, he searched for a suitable tool to help pry it open. The room - his cell - wasn't a place of function. It was comfort. Decadence. The bathroom may have housed something useful, something makeshift. He was beneath the open arch when he heard a click. The sound of a lock, unlocked.

She hunted for an escape, fingering the frames of paintings and halting, breathless, to test the air for a draft, a noise, some kink in the atmosphere. On hands and knees, she peered underneath the bed. It was immaculately clean, not even a trace of dust, and nothing to see but the other side of the room. She had expected to find a letter, maybe a cassette or videotape or whatever it is serial killers use these days to inform their victims that they are, in fact, fucked.

Already defeated, she climbed onto the bed and tucked her knees to her chest. If there was a way out, the man on the other side of the wall would surely find it. For a moment, she simply closed her eyes and inhaled more of the scent that permeated the air. Her head rested back against the cool metal of the headboard; befittingly ornate, probably made of a precious metal and worth more than her car, if she had owned a car, or had an apartment, or family...

She thought of men. And the gym. The fragrance reminded her of strength and virility. Men sweating and exerting themselves to look better, be better. Wanting to be admired, hungered for... touched.

Her eyes opened only for the sharp, metallic click which came from the door. She braced herself for further sounds and the possibility of it creaking open to reveal something she didn't want to see. They, it, whatever - she had nowhere to hide and nothing to defend herself with if her assailant made an appearance. Seconds passed and she realised she could have been under the bed by now, but did she really want to be? Cowering and no safer than if she stood with arms aloft, offering herself freely.

'Hey!'

It was him. She hurried back to the adjoining wall and called back, cautiously moderating her tone. 'I think the door just unlocked.'

'Over here too. Stay there, I'm going to see what's happening.' He sounded like he had a plan.

Strength and virility.

She waited silently, preparing herself for the door to open and the room to be shared by a fellow captive; some guy, as lost and confused as she was. Or something altogether different. She winced and found herself stepping back, deeper into the room.

Nothing happened and no one entered. Hesitantly, she crept back towards the upholstered door, believing with every moment that her gathering anxiety, muted but very real, would be vindicated in an explosion of events out of her control.

She noticed a thin shaft of light in the frame, dim and new. There was enough space for her fingers to gain some friction and, tugging warily, the door glided open, revealing an indistinct light source softly illuminating the floor ahead. To her left, a patch of darkness and then more floor, on which someone stood, peering ahead.

Bare feet and black trousers, pressed and just the right length. A white shirt that looked professionally fitted, and neat brown hair. He hadn't seemed to have noticed her for a moment (had she been that quiet?), but then he turned his head and caught her gripping the door frame, body still half in the room behind.

His eyes widened and he appeared surprised to see her. His lips parted, paused there, and then he asked, 'Where are we?'

She felt assured that, at least at this very moment, she wasn't going to meet her abductor. She untethered herself from the door and allowed her own bare feet to touch the hard, dark ground. The man's face came in to focus, everyday-handsome and clean shaved. His eyes remained wide.

'You're not...' she said, her tone making it a question, quite unambiguous in meaning.

'I'm not them.' He stated this with reassurance, but then became more defensive. 'Look, I'm kind of freaking out here. This doesn't make any sense.' His head turned away once again to face forward, and he continued, 'There are steps ahead, I think, but it's so hard to make out. I can't even see the floor around me.'

It took her a moment to realise what he meant. The ground at her feet was faint, black, but she could see where she stood. A metre or so to either side, though, may as well have been deep space. She was sure there had to be firm ground, but dared not test the theory, even if the reward would have been to be closer to him, to be safer, things just better.

The area ahead burst with light. Shielding her eyes, as did he, she resolved herself to see what waited ahead, again anticipating a sinister appearance. Her thoughts were of her room, her comforting cell that had a bed that she could indeed hide under, regardless of practicality. Expecting fear, her mind instead gaped with bewilderment. In front of them both, beyond a few steps, was an illuminated platform. A stage, she thought for a moment, suddenly reminiscent of high school plays and theatres, but no lush high curtains and no microphone stand.

Her mind drifted through the burgeoning details of her thoughts, of performers and productions, an audience and staff hidden in the wings, of grinning and eager compères. Masters of ceremonies.

It came loud and resonant, and she suddenly felt very small. A voice, female, firm and commanding. What she heard didn't immediately process, unanticipated as it was.

'Welcome. The two of you will now step in to the light. You will both undress and we will begin.'

He hoped, at least, that she wasn't quite as suspicious of him any more. Parted on their separate walkways, he wanted so much to be by her side, to hold her and be held, but suspected all too keenly that to the girl, vigilantly moored to her room, he wasn't beyond reproach.

Someone

had taken them to this place, locked them up; dressed them too, he suspected. For all she knew, it was him. He could reasonably have had the same doubts about her, but he hadn't seriously entertained the thought.

Somewhere deep within, he felt compelled to meet the voice's demands. He wondered whether his partner in captivity shared the compulsion and thought that maybe she did as she refrained from retreating to her room and slamming the door. Not that, he was sure, it would have helped much.

He offered a sideways glance, a plea for assurance or solidarity in a frown, and she met his eyes, a look of helplessness in her own. No further commands boomed from the darkness. Time passed as their gazes remained locked, neither speaking a word. Finally, she turned her head to face the light and took a tentative step towards what awaited.

He followed suit; doing anything else was unthinkable. Was it chivalry? Did he feel he could protect this girl, up there before whoever it was that wanted them compliant and undressed? He wanted to believe it to be the case, but truthfully he knew only that above all else he simply had to be up there, to do as he was told.

The thought of possibly being closer to her gave him a pang of guilty excitement. He took a steadying breath and sensed little of the feminine scent that had kept his mind in a haze back in his room. He wondered how she smelled and felt a growing craving to discover if it was similar.

Whatever was happening inside him felt as strange as the external events. He asked himself why he was climbing the steps, allowing himself to be bathed in ominous light, and not screaming for help. Why wasn't he dashing into the darkness and allowing an appropriate panic to swallow him? Doing anything but standing there now, almost on some invisible mark, in line with this girl, but as distant as ever.

He didn't think that dress was her own, any more than this shirt and trousers were his. He reasoned that if he had been a formal dresser in his previous life he would have been far more comfortable in these clothes that felt cloyingly moulded for his body. Her hair, also, looked too perfect. He had little concept of what an abduction entailed, but figured it left its victims in a messier state. Cut and bruised, perhaps; at the very least with hair that didn't look fresh from a salon.

'You will both undress,' repeated the disembodied voice, cool and patient, 'and we will begin.'

Almost synchronised, both his and her hands reached for their respective clothing. He unbuttoned his shirt from the top and she reached behind her back, fumbling for a zip or a clasp, peeking over her shoulder with a blank expression.

He noticed her sigh, her breath quivering slightly, as she eased the upper part of her dress over her breasts, held firm in a lacy crimson bra. Her skin was pale, save for the blush on her chest that had now reached her cheeks, partially obscured by her curly walnut brown hair. He had removed his shirt, idly discarding it on the floor, and tugged at the vest tucked under his waist. His flat stomach, not especially toned but fit, a line of soft hair trailing to his navel, became exposed and the girl's eyes flashed towards him before quickly returning to her midriff.

Him now topless and she with her dress crumpled under her feet, he came close to breaking the silence. This was madness. They had no idea what this all meant and what would come after their clothes were removed. Still, they complied. He thought maybe they could turn and escape back to one of their rooms. That may have been the meagre extent of the plan, but at least they wouldn't be here, doing

this

. The lingering thought of them back in one of their rooms together coincided with him reaching for his fly. He noticed and there again was the guilt, but it didn't stop the function of his hands.

She had shifted the dress aside with one bare foot and stood motionless with her hands resting on her thighs. Her chin was buried against her chest and her eyes were fixed downward. She blinked at even intervals, at least a dozen times from what he could tell from his glances, and then with impressive sobriety she hooked her fingers into the waist of her panties and neatly drew them down the white skin of her legs, and then off.

He self-consciously finished removing his trousers, hoping he looked as composed as she did. He didn't want to keep looking at her, knowing she could feel his eyes on her body. It was a violation at a time when they were both being eminently violated by unseen forces. Regardless, he continued to dare glances. Her pubic hair was light and neat; groomed as surely as the rest of her, he thought. His cock grew and pulsed rhythmically as blood flowed in to it, the tip pushing against his cotton shorts, fighting to rise.

He willed himself not to touch it, even as it swelled and stiffened, creating a long conspicuous bulge. His eyes rose from her crotch and found that she was also looking at him, her expression plaintive and flushed. Some unspoken agreement passed between them and they removed the last of their clothes.

'You will now turn to face one another.'

They both obeyed. He felt that the most respectful thing he could do now was to simply look her in the eyes. He did and she returned his gaze. His erection pointed brazenly at her naked body; her nipples hard and skin goose bumped.

'Step forward.'

The distance between them closed. The light on the floor showed an unobstructed path, no impassable void now. She sighed again, deeply, her breath trembling. The tip of his dick moistened and a small translucent droplet rode down the warm skin of his shaft.

Now only a few metres apart, he realised a scent had returned to his nose. Not the implacable flowers of his room, but another perfume, this timed infused with something raw, something human and real. She stood, offering little but her stare and a nervous bite of her lip, but something intangible gifted so much more. He realised he wanted, with quite some lucidity, to step ever forward and feel the warmth of her skin interlace with his, his engorged dick pressed against her soft flat belly, his arms enveloping her body and his face buried in her hair and inhaling until his lungs were fit to burst and her breasts and her pussy and he wanted her.

All her strength and willpower had been diverted to the cause of simply standing there. To catch and control her breath and somehow ease her restless heart. She wondered how she hadn't yet collapsed and been reduced to a helpless wreck on the starkly lit floor, breathing hard and laboured and looking up at this man: naked, skin warm and pink in tone, his face handsome and kind and his cock thick and reaching across to her.

She fought the urge to devote her entire being to self-preservation. She knew she felt for him, stood there under this encompassing spotlight, surely as vulnerable and addled as her. Perhaps worse, she thought. His body betrayed him, independently joining this lurid charade and exposing all his inner workings. She herself had no less of that familiar automatic response. She held her legs close together, her thighs pressed tightly, hoping to disguise what was happening within.

Her pussy was wet and hot. She tried not to add to the stimulation with movement, she feared that the mere rubbing of her thighs or any possible friction on her lips would give her away to him. She would drip, or she might gasp and her longing would be laid bare.

There was no barrier between them now. She forgot the voice of their director, that watchful master who controlled them both without the need for strings. This object of her involuntary affections, this man, he could pace ahead and take her, lay her down and have his way. He could sweetly burden her with his weight, push apart her legs and deny her of her tenuous secret. He would kiss her deeply, she decided. She wouldn't reciprocate at first, she would tell herself she had any choice or control, but her lips would mutiny and leap without care into the waves of lust. She would grip his hair, tug and pull and push his face deeper, and then she would gasp sharply...

He would be inside her. She would take every inch of him, more than she felt she could hold. Her urge would be to bite his lip and, perhaps, draw blood; no permission asked and none given. This, she knew, would only harden his resolve. His thrusts would come harder, faster and with an impossible heat. He would pin her with his body and she would feel some wonderful torture, try to imbue him with a taste with her nails digging into his back, squeeze the life from him inside of her.

They would look deep within one another and dispel the fear and confusion with some unspoken magic.

'You will now dress.'

Both of them took the new order with some alarm. Their brows furrowed in unison before they gingerly reached for their piles of discarded clothes. She stepped into her underwear, letting her legs part for a moment and no longer attempting to hide anything. Soon, they were both stood as they had been before, in their stranger's clothes, now slightly less refined, but they were somehow changed.

'Return to your chambers.'

They did as they were told. As they stepped down on to their lonely dark walkways, the light behind them shuttered soundlessly in an instant. The soft illumination ahead, of their comfortable, safe little rooms, offered her no consolation. She had known that, in very real terms, it had been a cell. She was a prisoner and that was her cage. But now the decorations and affluence gave little in the way of an opposing context. It was a lonely, cold place. A kidnapper's basement. A psycho killer's playroom. She stepped mournfully inside, pushed the door shut behind her and felt her heart cry.