Kamil and I were dressed in simple black robes and taken to a sedan where Song drove us silently to the edge of town. The car stopped and she took two blindfolds out of her purse, reaching back to fix them on our heads. Blind, I felt my heart begin to pound. She was driving again, faster, and twisting and turning. I thought I might be sick. Kamil breathed heavily next to me. We're kidnap victims, I thought, except we did this to ourselves. I had no way of truly knowing the time, but i guessed the drive to be about an hour and a half. Song had clicked on the CD player and played Depeche Mode halfway through. After the hour and a half, the car slowed to a stop and she rolled her window down. I heard,
"I'm bringing two from the downtown office. Mr. Serayen sent them."
"ID and papers?"
"Right here, for the girl, and here, this one is the boy."
"They need to take off the blindfolds." a thunderous male voice said.
"Of course." She reached into the back seat and lifted our blindfolds up to our foreheads. It was like breathing again. Light hit me and a huge Viking of a man peered into the car and looked us over, our photo ID cards in his hand for comparison.
"Do they have anything with them?"
"Nothing. Everything is in order."
"Alright, put these on their wrists. You two, hear me? These bracelets track you. If I get a beep that you are off the grounds, I beat both your asses, we clear?"
"Yes, Sir." We both said, scared shitless.
The viking handed Song two thin metal bracelets with a glowing center like a watch-face. Song drove further down the long driveway- a massive cobblestone paved path to a mansion that was part Victorian ornate and part fortress. There were lush gardens. There were high walled stone fences that were surrounded by another layer of carefully protected gates. Rising high above it was something that should not be called a house. It was a living, breathing thing. I had gone to France on a high school French Club trip when I was seventeen and I had seen houses that grand but never in America. It seemed the driveway was a half a mile long. A dry fountain stood in the center of the circular drive in front of the house. It was Venus rising from the half shell- the only bit of kitsch in an otherwise elegant atmosphere.
"Out of the car now, and stand still right here." Song instructed us. "You will not be dealing with me any more unless there is a problem. I trust I will not see either of you again?" It was a question.
We both nodded. She looked annoyed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. She called someone and simply said, "The new arrivals are here." And then she hung up. She turned us both around and fixed those digital bracelets to our wrists.
"If you are caught off of the grounds without permission, you will be beaten. He meant that. The man you saw is Reichen and he is a cruel son of a bitch so don't get on his nerves. You signed the forms so you are stuck here unless you decide to bail out in which case you need to tell your handler you want out. If that happens, you will sign another form to be released. If you are released, you will never again work in any training house in the guild. I suggest you don't be stupid and get yourself blacklisted. Now, I'm going to hand you over to your handlers and you'll both behave yourselves. I'll come around later with your collars."
The huge front doors opened and a young man of about thirty-three stepped out. I was immediately shocked by how gorgeous he was. This was a man you could stand next to any Hollywood movie star and shame them. He was six feet tall and looked like a cross between Brad Pitt and a young Robert Redford. As he came closer I could see the definition of his face. Large, bright cornflower blue eyes, chiseled jaw, full lips in a Cupid's bow, the bottom lip thicker than the top, a light scattering of freckles just beneath his eyes that made him seem younger. He had smile lines at the corners of his mouth. He was smiling, bright and cheerful. I expected a trainer to have a stern face, and be wearing leather pants with a whip chained to his belt. None of that here. He wore olive green carpenter's pants and a v-neck white tee shirt that I could see the definition of his muscles through. His smile was radiant. His hair was wheat blond and a lock of it fell loosely into one eye before he swiped it back with his hand. Exquisite collarbone. Swagger of a walk. I could have worshiped him right then and there.
"Good, good. You got here right on time. I hope you're not too tired because we have a lot of work to do. Have you both eaten today?"
Not sure how to respond, we both nodded yes and added, "Yes, Sir."
"You don't have to call me Sir. I'm not your trainer. I'm your handler. That's a bit different. Mr. Serayen is going to train you himself. But I will be looking after you when he isn't. It's my job to bathe you, feed you, make sure you get a work out, and see to your needs. My name is Micheal Jones, but everybody here calls me Jonesy. You can call me that if you like, or Micheal. Here's how it works. I don't want either of you to be confused, ok? In some ways, I am your master. You have to do what I tell you because it is the best course for your training. But I am also your councilor, your friend and your shrink if you need one. You can speak to me whenever you please, but first you have to ask, 'May I speak?' That's the standard here. With Mr. Serayen though, you don't speak at all unless spoken to. Let's get you both in the house and get your day started. You can ask me any questions you have while I get you scrubbed up. Follow me."
He lead us into that grand house and down a long hallway passed open archways to a ballroom, a library and a solarium. At the end of the hallway was a narrow staircase that went upstairs to a narrow hallway linking together a series of brightly lit rooms. A large room was a bath house in the Turkish style, a hamam with a large heated stone in the center. A very pretty Indian woman appeared and set a stack of heated towels down on a tiled bench.
"This is Priet. She is in her last months of training and in December she is going to the private house of a guy in Japan. She is trained as a bath slave and will be an eighteenth birthday present to the man's son. A hell of a birthday present! The father has quite a collection already. I'm going to miss her when she goes." he smiled that radiant sun touched smile again and to my surprise she melted against him, pressed in a wet kiss and then seemed to shake it off and go back to her duties with a playfully scolding look of 'you naughty boy.' I wanted to do the same to him, but if I did, what would happen? I was too afraid of being kicked out of this place. I had no more time to think about it, as my robe was slipped off by eager hands. My new bracelet was taken and put in a glass box. I glanced at Kamil, who was watching us with a dark look in his eyes. When I was naked again, Micheal took my hands and lead me to the marble slabs at the side of the room. Fixed to the wall were various hoses and fixtures for bathing. He switched on a shower head that spouted forth jets of hot water over my back as he laid me down on my stomach. He took from the wall a long hose, like a metal coiled snake with a little gun for a head and he sprayed me carefully with it until I was soaked. From a simple wooden bucket he took a rough sea sponge and dipped it in the foamy water in the bucket. The water was scented with various oils and florals. The abrasion rubbed me raw and the hot water jets stung my skin, but the feeling of his strong and capable hands on my body was a delicious pleasure mixed with the pain. I could see Kamil laid just the way I was on the marble, with the bath slave working his dark skin with soaps and salts. When I was pink and raw on my back, I was turned over and my front was scrubbed.
