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Chapter Ten – Votan.

Evelyn woke up from a chilling breeze that kissed her skin. She lay curled like a fetus at the foot of a large bed. In the room's deep twilight, she saw she was alone. The sheets had been turned back; there was a small dent in the pillow. Someone had slept there; someone who'd left. Zelda?

Evelyn had no idea about the time – the curtains were all drawn. She also had no inkling about where she might be. This wasn't Zelda's place, for sure. Even in the curtains' twilight she could see the room had an ancient class way beyond the brass and gold and marble of Zelda's upstart opulence. She stretched and slid off the bed, her toes curling in a soft rug. She found the bathroom and took a pee. The cool china bowl against her cheeks made her shiver. There was a mirror, it reflected her bruised face. She groaned. Then she walked back into the bedroom and over to the nearest curtain, pulling a gilded rope to make it slide open. An ocean of sunlight hit her eyes.

It took her a while to make the glare subside. Then she looked out into an incredible vista, seeing the last remnants of snow at the summits of mountains. The flanks were clad in deeply green pinewoods. Over them arched a cloudless space of blue.

Where did they bring her? Why wasn't she at Zelda's? Why didn't she remember? Evelyn remembered a shard of light hitting her eyes as she recalled how the door of her closet creaked open. She'd buried her face in the heap of clothes not to see whoever came to get her. Another rapist? More pain?

She recalled a hand on her bare shoulder, and a cloth in her face that smelled chemically. That was about it. The journey had been a hazy, floating affair. The world moved around her in shrouds and murmurs. Someone must have carried her, making her feel like a helpless baby. Long stretches were missing. Maybe she'd been drugged to save her the hassle. Or maybe it was her own exhaustion.

Back in supposed reality, Evelyn stretched her arms once again, lifting her breasts with them. One after the other she pulled at the curtain ropes, bathing the room in fresh new sunshine. It lightened up the blue and yellow of the walls and the floor. When she turned away from the windows, the sun pointed her body's long shadow right to the empty pillow, touching a cream-colored envelope.

Evelyn walked over and saw her name on it. It was written in a spidery handwriting. She sank onto the bed and took the envelope. Then she buried her face into the pillow, smelling a faint scent. In the envelope was a folded, lavender blue piece of paper. It had been penned from top to bottom with the same, large spidery lettering. The handwriting had an almost male quality; it ran smooth and steady.

"Sweet girl,"

it said at the top.

"You've seen me, but you don't know me. You were dropped at the foot of my bed like a foundling, naked like the day you were born. And that is quite appropriate. Because you see, darling, today is the day you're born. You're my newfound child. Congratulation.

When you read this, I shall be at a meeting in Geneva. I told you when you arrived, but I guess you were too drowsy to notice, at the moment. I hope your head is clearer now, and your ugly bruises are feeling better.

Anyway, I shall be gone for the day, but don't worry. There will be enough for you to do. In your room, which the help will show you, you shall find a list of things I want you to do while I'm gone. Further on, please follow the instructions that will be given to you.

Have fun darling pet; don't be shy.

M.

P.S.: ask the help to dress your bruises, so you'll be presentable when I return.

She read the letter twice.

There was no signature but the M under the letter, nor was there a name on the envelope. There also was no information on where they'd brought her. Or why. There were mountains. And where was Geneva? M wasn't for Zelda, was it?

Evelyn stood in the middle of the room, looking out into the sundrenched landscape. Between the windows was a tall mirror that reflected her naked body. Stepping closer, she saw fading bruises on her breasts and belly. The swelling around her eye was a brownish smear. Moving her arms and legs, she still felt an ache in her muscles. Numb pain lingered in her pussy and anus.

She read the letter for a third time when she heard a soft rap on the door. It opened before she could yell she wasn't dressed. On the sill stood an old woman in a shapeless black dress, strewn with a thousand tiny white dots. She carried a tray with a teapot, a cup, small buns and jam, putting it down on the bed. Then she took a small, gilded table and set that up in front of one of the windows. She carried the tray over. Then she smiled at the naked girl and left the room.

The tea was a piping hot herbal concoction, laced with honey. The buns were sweet as well, the jam almost bitter. It made a wonderful combination. My God, she was hungry. In less than five minutes, she wolfed down all the bread. She scooped out the last of the jam, sucking it off her fingers. Finally, she used a wet fingertip to pick up the last crumbs. Stretching her legs under the table, she burped happily while the sun bathed her face. Soaking up the warmth, she wondered why she felt so... carefree. She'd been raped and hurt, drugged and abducted, and yet her head was clear, her body relaxed.

The old woman returned. She waved Evelyn to follow her. They walked the landing, Evelyn's bare feet making slapping noises on the cool, slick wood. After two doors, the woman opened the next one and let Evelyn into a tiny room; it had only one narrow window. But it looked cozy and snug. It held a bed, a chair and an armoire. Next to the bed was an open door, leading into a bathroom that was as big as the bedroom, maybe bigger. At its center, she saw a vintage bathtub with clawed feet. In a corner stood a glass stall to shower in. On the other wall was a china washing-bowl. Beside it were a bidet and an instrument that caught her attention. A tall metal rod was attached to the tiled wall. From its top hung a rubber bag and a narrow tube.

The bath was already filled with bluish water. It gave off heavily scented steam, spiced with earthy musk and a bitter, chemical undertone. The steam clouded the mirror and the glass of the shower stall. The woman walked over to the window, pushing it open, just a crack. Then she walked up to Evelyn and pulled a pink plastic swimming cap over the girl's head, tucking in her red hair carefully. Before inviting Evelyn to get into the bath, she handed her a pair of goggles that covered most of her upper face, closing it off with a soft rubber lining.

Feeling like an alien creature, Evelyn carefully sank a big toe into the scalding water, yanking it out again with a little cry. The old woman cackled, nodding her on. The heat gripped her foot, then her calf. It stung her skin and almost made her pee. She moaned. Then she added her second leg to the tortured first. Of course, it didn't burn her. But each fragment of an inch she sank deeper was a new shock. Her skin got more sensitive the higher the water rose. She drowned her ass and pussy in the liquid lava, groaning when the water kissed her breasts; shrieking when it engulfed her nipples. "Fuck," she muttered and grimaced. "Fuck, fuck..."

Feeling the condensed steam and her sweat run down her face, she looked around, as her body slid under the blue surface. The woman seemed to have left. Relaxing, as her skin adapted to the heat, she lifted a hand to clear the goggles. She cried out as she noticed that the skin on her hand and arm was a deep, almost purplish pink. After checking her other arm, she rose from the water, looking down on her chest. Her breasts glowed with the same color, as did her belly and thighs. She had to get out.

Moving suddenly, she caused the blue water to gush over the edge of the bath, flowing across the white tiles on the floor. She looked down on her body, dismayed by its angry hue and the itch that spread from her toes to her throat.

The door opened, and the old woman rushed in, waving her arms and uttering foreign gibberish. She grabbed the panicking girl, pushing her back into the water. Evelyn saw she wore yellow plastic gloves and a huge yellow apron. What was in the water?

"Let me out!" Evelyn cried. She didn't care if the woman understood her. Lifting one leg to stride over the tub's edge, she slipped and plunged into the blue water, feeling it rush all over her. When the water cleared her goggles, she saw a gloved hand holding a box in front of her, like a medicine container.

'Hair removal,' she read amongst a lot of tiny print. There were all kinds of warnings to keep it away from her eyes and her hair, and not to swallow it. It made her spit out whatever was in her mouth, almost vomiting. The old woman presented her with a glass of water, shaking her head. Evelyn rinsed twice, then drank down the rest. Hair removal. What the fuck?

She felt herself tremble as she slid back into the warm water, breathing fast and shallow. Questions crowded her mind, but there obviously was no one to answer them; not in a way she would understand, anyway. The urge to run had left her. She felt calmed by a sense of inevitability. What was the use? She'd been immersed already, hadn't she? Looking up, she saw the yellow, plastic ghost of the woman approaching her, clouded by the damp goggles. Something rough slid down her upper arm, scratching at her soft, soaked skin. Some kind of a washing glove; the word 'peeling' entered her mind.

The hand scrubbed all of her body parts that were above the water. Then the woman tugged at her, urging Evelyn to rise. Looking down on her emerging body, she saw that the discoloration had almost vanished. The woman scrubbed her legs. She saw specks of hair pepper the white foam on the water. Reaching for her blushing shin, she felt a wonderful smoothness, heightened by the heat and the slickness of the water. Then the woman pushed at her inner thigh to make her spread her legs, and she felt the rough cloth wrap itself around her crotch. When it left, she stared at a completely bare mound. Her puffy cunt lips looked like a baby's. A tuft of wet, dark hair stuck to the washing glove.

Evelyn looked from the hand up into the wide, toothless grin of the old woman.

***

That afternoon, Evelyn walked down a boulder-strewn hill, surrounded by an overwhelming landscape. A narrow path led down; sometimes it was steep enough to turn into steps. Her pale, naked body stood out against the dark green brushes. Only her feet and calves were protected by tight leather riding boots. The breeze felt strange and exciting on her hairless skin. It had a smooth, slick quality she'd never known before, making her heart thump in her throat, pumping hot blood through her flushed body.

After she left the bath, the woman handed her two plastic bottles, one with shampoo and the other with a creamy lotion. Then she pointed out the shower stall. Evelyn washed her hair and spilled loads of moisturizer from the second bottle over her body. Glorying in the incredible softness of her skin, her hands touched every smooth inch of it.

The to-do list she was supposed to find in her bedroom was rather cryptic. It wasn't a list at all, as it had only one name and didn't give any instructions. At the top of the virgin sheet was "Votan," written in black spidery letters. She guessed it must be the name of a person she'd not met yet, a man, most likely. What kind of name was it, anyway? Maybe she was supposed to meet him and get acquainted. To do a job, or chores or something.

There was no shred of clothing in the room, so she left it naked, making sure the landing was empty of people. She covered her breasts with her left arm, and her new, hairless pussy with her right hand. At the end of the landing, opposite the door to the big bedroom she'd woken up in, a wide wooden staircase went down to a dark, stone-floored hall. A cool draught made her shiver. Where to go? To the left, an open door showed an immense kitchen. Maybe the old woman was there. She could ask her what the note meant, although the woman didn't have much English – none at all, probably.

When she came in, there was no woman, old or otherwise. A man sat at the large wooden table, drinking a tiny espresso and reading a foreign paper. He was in a suit, but he'd shed his coat. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his hairy lower arms. Was he Votan?

Evelyn blushed, pulling her arm and hand in tighter. He smiled. Then he asked her if all was well. His English had a guttural accent – German, maybe. She nodded and told him her name. Then she asked if the old woman was around, ehm... you know, the woman with the black, dotted dress. He smiled and rose, excusing himself for not offering his name, which was Gustav. The woman was called Gina, he said. She was into the village to do some shopping. But maybe he could help? Evelyn handed him the sheet of paper.

He chuckled when he read the name on it, producing a deep rumble, coming from a musclebound chest. His face and bare lower arms were tanned, his hair was a short, very blond brush, his eyes a pale blue. He reminded her of a movie star and she wracked her brain for his name. Then she shook her head, astounded at the futility of her thoughts.

He asked her to follow him. They went up the stairs again. Then they walked into a huge summer room and through tall glass doors onto a sun-drenched terrace. Walking to the edge, straight into the boundless sky, gave Evelyn a dizzy feeling of vertigo. She reached for the man's shoulder as he pointed down the plunging slope. At the foot she saw the roof of a large, rambling building, almost hidden by trees and rocks.

"They are the stables," he said with his halting accent. "Go down and you'll meet Votan." He nodded with a smile and handed back the note. She looked doubtfully down the slope. The path was strewn with stone rubble and cut into edgy steps. He understood.

"Ah yes, your poor feet. Follow me." He gave her a pair of supple boots. She pulled them on; they fit. The heels were elevated, but she found them quite easy to walk in.

After she reached the top of the path, she looked back once more, thanking the man with a tiny wave of her hand, but he'd already left. Stables, she mused, turning her eyes to the building. The word spread a warm feeling inside her. Carefully she scaled the first flight of steps. From here she had a glorious look on a lake below. It lay lazily in the early afternoon sun, its body stretching to the horizon, covered in sparkling silver sequins.

Evelyn tried to avoid the many branches and shrubs that crowded her path. Some of them carried nasty thorns. Flowers and butterflies were everywhere. The droning of bumblebees brought back memories of more carefree times. She'd worn riding boots then too. As a child, she often went into the countryside to visit relatives who owned horses. A nephew took her riding. At first, she sat on his horse, in front of him. Later she rode her own pony. The rides were part of her fondest memories. They took her back to a time when she was the absolute opposite of who she'd become. A carefree, fairytale time it had been – totally beyond her grasp now, but well inside her aching dreams. She'd loved the pony and soon wasn't seen without it all day. She groomed it, talked with it, cried with it. She fondled its velvet nose and kissed it. It had been so much easier to be with the horse than with most people she knew – all people?

After she went to high school, the visits had to become less frequent. One day she discovered they'd sold the pony and the other horses. They were moving to the opposite side of the country – far away. She was shocked that they'd not even bothered to tell her – that she would never be able to say goodbye to her sweet friend and confidant.

She never saw him again.

Maybe it was a turning point in her life; maybe she exaggerated. But it certainly contributed a lot to the distrust and reserve she developed in the years to follow. Her father told her to stop 'blubbering' over a silly horse. When she couldn't, there was his calloused hand – once, twice. Evelyn reached for her cheek, reliving the pain over a decennium-sized gap.

The stables stretched out below her now. Maybe they were just that, an empty building. It looked old and quite impressive, done all in wood. The frame was made of massive oak pillars and decked with mossed-over slate.

She came out of the underbrush and walked to the huge barn doors. A boy rose from a stub of wood. His eyes went over the newcomer's naked body, but he didn't seem surprised. From closer up, Evelyn saw he must be younger than she, maybe 18 or even younger – slightly built, almost girlish. He had black, curly hair, rather long, and a face and dark complexion she'd seen before. The old woman. Was he a son? Grandson more likely. He looked like her, but for his eyes; they were a startling light blue, sparkling in his smooth, dark face like sapphires. His cut-off dirty denim shorts left deeply tanned legs bare from his crotch to his calf-high boots. Their green rubber was smeared with dried mud.

He wore a white, dirty tank top shirt, leaving his narrow, brown shoulders bare. Hard little nubs rose where his nipples were. Evelyn smiled.

"Eres Votan?" she asked. She immediately realized it wasn't Italian. But the boy understood.

"Alessandro," he said, pointing at himself. "Sandro." He wiped his dirty hand on his dirty shirt and extended it. Evelyn had to chuckle at the situation. How formal the handshake was in contrast with her being totally naked.

"Evelyn," she said, smiling and pointing at herself The boy grinned too, but he seemed not at all at ease. Then he waved to follow him inside the stables.

The scent of horse sweat, fresh straw, leather and manure struck Evelyn with the force of fond memories. It almost made her cry. It also aroused her, weakening her knees.

There was a row of stables, most of them empty. When they got to the third one, she heard a horse stamp its feet. From the upper half of the door appeared the proud head of a grey stallion. She stepped up to it and caressed the nose. The horse pushed its head against her palm and snorted. A shiver rode her spine.

"He not Votan," the boy said, shaking his head. He took her further. "He Votan!" He pointed to the next stable. There Evelyn met two beautiful liquid brown eyes. They radiated intelligence.

So, Votan was a horse, a light-brown stallion. Evelyn smiled, feeling her lips tremble. Then she took the head in her hands and kissed the warm nose.

"Bon giorno, Votan," she whispered. Sliding back into her childhood, she babbled all kinds of nonsense in the lingo of her youth. She found a bit and reins – no need of a saddle. Then she took the horse out of its stable into the sun. The boy watched her. He said nothing. Evelyn's naked thighs clutched the warm body. Deep emotions shook her. She felt the horse's pulse through her skin.

At the back of the stables was a fine stretch of grass. At first, she let the horse walk. Then she beat her heels into its flanks, making it snort. It sent its ears into attentive points. The warm, pulsing skin between her bare thighs took her breath away. The undulating movement made the back of the galloping horse hump against her naked crotch. Her freshly shaven pussy slid over the slick, throbbing hide. A surge of freedom swept through her. The wind blew her hair back into a straight, fiery flag. Her free breasts shook with the rhythm of the ride. Evelyn screamed until her voice gave out.

Ah, God, to fly with this heavenly creature; to be free like a soaring bird. To feel all cob webs disappear – all nests of age-old dust blow away. She hugged the horse and ran. After crossing the meadow, she turned. Then she crossed it again and back. The horse started to snort and sweat. Flecks of foam flew from its mouth, her mouth. She told it to slow down. She thanked it, adorning it with sweet lover's words. And she stretched her naked body over the horse's back and neck, whispering into its ear. His ear. She patted the proudly arching neck.