1. Into the rabbit hole
"I can't believe we're actually doing this," said Sophie to her friend as the taxi closed in on their destination.
"If you get past the initial impression, it's actually pretty cozy, and the food is fantastic," Tina answered, looking lazily through the cab window at the evening strollers thinning out as the neighbourhoods were getting worse.
"The food. "
"Yeah, kinda like pork, but more delicate. Healthier, too, or so they say."
"I'm going to puke just from thinking about it."
"I thought so, too. But it goes down easier than you'd think. And you can't really be a picky eater, not in this… market."
"Market or not, I can't believe they had the nerve to invite us there. I mean… It's worse than a date in a strip club."
"Nah, it's really quite fancy, besides the obvious part. You'll see. And those guys are fancy, too. You want a high-value man—there's a price for it, and it only goes up nowadays. A pretty face and a blowjob ain't gonna cut it anymore. You gotta be… elastic. And proactive."
"A little economic downturn here, a lot of job automation there, and we are back in the 50s, only worse. Fuck my life."
"It's already fucked. We're unfucking it. Be charming and behave. And learn to swallow. Starting with food. Even… strange… food."
The taxi stopped, and they got out carefully so as not to damage their evening dresses. Rented, both of them, and the deposit had put a serious dent in their shrinking savings.
The whole neighbourhood was unremarkable, for the venue was a secret—if a widely known one—but it seemed that even the taxi's AI wanted to get away from here as quickly as possible. Sophie scanned the street for the entrance. No good. All the gloomy archways and dark windows looked equally suspicious.
"Okay, what now? You know how to get in?"
"Yes, but I think we should wait for the guys outside. It's a weird feeling to go in there… unaccompanied."
"Weird? You mean fucking terrifying? We look like hoes standing here on the street."
"Helps get into character."
"Fuck you."
"Thanks, but I'm already booked for today, and so are you. They should be here any minute now."
Another taxi stopped by, and a tall man in his late forties got out. Slick, grey-flecked hair, a well-tailored suit, an expensive watch on his wrist, and a white, fake smile that bloomed as he approached the women.
"Hi Thomas! You're early."
"Hello, Tina. Just a few minutes." He kissed her cheek. "You look stunning."
"Thank you. I clean up, now and then. This is my friend, Sophie. Sophie, Thomas."
Thomas looked like a serious guy. Tina never told her exactly who she started dating, but from all the vague mentions, an impossible image of James Bond crossed with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company formed in her mind. However, the latter were usually googlable, while he had zero social media presence.
"Nice to meet you. Tina has told me a lot about you."
"All good things, I hope. A pleasure, Sophie. Thanks for joining us tonight."
"Thanks for having me."
"So, shall we go inside and have a drink?"
"Shouldn't we wait for your friend?" asked Tina.
"Oh, I imagine he came in earlier. To check today's selection and save us some time later."
"Amazing. It's always a little… overwhelming, this part."
"It sure is. He'd probably come out soon to look for us, but let's surprise him instead."
Thomas led them through one of the archways, straight into darkness. Even with him leading the way, it really was scary. They saw a strange blue light ahead, which soon turned out to be a blinking neon for a bar. The entrance sank below the pavement level. Neon said 'Last Offramp'.
Thomas offered Tina his arm as she navigated the slick steps, then climbed back up to take Sophie's hand.
"Thank you," Sophie said smoothly. "Nice to meet a man confident enough to handle both of us."
Tina's eyes narrowed, but Sophie smiled sweetly. Be charming and behave, was it?
Thomas chuckled, his voice low. "A challenge, no doubt. But one I'm happy to rise to."
The bar was almost empty. A bored bartender gave them a tired look as they approached. Thomas took a few banknotes from his wallet and put them on the bar.
"La Brume for me and the ladies. Neat, if possible."
The bartender pressed something under the counter, almost too subtly to notice. He took the money, counted it, and handed one of the notes back to Thomas. It was old and worn out, with some scribbles on it.
"There's just whisky and beer here, mate, and it ain't that expensive. Have a seat in the back room. I'll get your drinks in a minute."
The back room was cozy, but neither Thomas nor Tina was sitting down, so Sophie stayed up, too. Soon, the door on the opposite wall opened, and a woman in an elegant black waitress uniform invited them inside.
The elevator was humming, and Sophie felt her heart pounding—last beats of relative normalcy. The rest of the evening will be an exquisite, elegant… nightmare. Before the elevator came to a stop, their guide passed them ballroom masks — golden for the women, black for the men. The elevator doors didn't open by themselves. The woman's finger hovered over the button as she waited for the guests to put on their masks. Cliché, Sophie thought, looking at her masked company, but pretty. The elevator door opened, and she gulped.
It looked like the foyer of a famous theater, perhaps an opera house. All golden and glittery, with marble floors and backlit landscape paintings pretending to be windows, framed by rectangular columns. Sophie looked up. Paintings on the ceiling and crystal chandeliers. Class, not necessarily, but definitely some budget. Though this was a place you'd go to if you had everything already, so she'd rather expect elegant minimalism. But she never really understood rich people and their… taste.
It all didn't seem to make much of an impression on her company. They headed straight for the host station, but as they came near, Sophie slowed down as she glanced into a side corridor they passed. It seemed to lead into the dining room, but this was not what drew her attention. It was the glass walls on both sides of the corridor, and the pink, moving shapes behind them. She barely noticed the man standing in the corridor, but he noticed her and approached quickly. Thomas stopped and said in the same polite tone as always.
"Oh, here you are. Sophie, please meet Greg. Greg is a test pilot and a lion tamer."
"Excuse me?" asked Sophie.
"Actually, he is a stockbroker, but he asked me to invent something more interesting." Greg looked at him with a slight frown, then smiled at Sophie. "Greg, the beautiful lady here is Sophie, and… I believe Tina said you're a graphic designer?"
"Most of the time, yes," she said, deciding not to mention just yet that she was between jobs, or rather, between a job and a wall of rejections.
Greg wasn't as handsome and didn't seem as confident as Thomas, but at least he was younger and had better hair. The smile and his eyes seemed honest, but that he waited for them in front of—yes, she glanced again, that was the selection—was as off-putting as she could imagine. Damn, why did she allow Tina to drag her into this?
Because nothing matters anymore.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. "First time here?"
"The pleasure's all mine. What gave me away?"
"Your eyes are wide as saucers. Not that anyone would complain about seeing them so clearly," he added quickly, the compliment coming out just a little stiff. She smiled politely, thinking how little she cared what someone who had just spent several minutes staring at naked bodies would think about her eyes.
"It's all strange, but I'm adapting."
As the introductions took them a minute, another couple cut in before them and approached the reception desk. The man was broad and tall, wearing a well-fitting suit and a confident half smile, moving like he owned the place. The woman on his arm was more nervous. Pretty in an overdone way, gold jewellery and dark fake tan, and a designer tracksuit that would probably somehow work on the red carpet, but here…
"I apologise, but your outfit does not match our dress code."
The hostess was not impressed.
"That's Balenciaga."
"Naturally, but I'm afraid we require formal attire."
"I literally wore this on the step and repeat."
"It is lovely, Madam… just not for this occasion."
"Well, I do not have any formal attire with me," the air quotes could be heard clearly.
"As a matter of fact… you do. Our dress code allows for the… original state of formality. The attire you were born in, Madam. Think of this place as… the devil's ballroom."
Was this a Master and Margarita reference? Sophie wondered if anyone else had caught it. The guest looked at her partner for help, but he only smiled and said,
"Don't worry; I'm with you. As always."
Easy to say when you are the one wearing a suit. As the guest began to undress, another staff member came in and whispered something to the host. She frowned and said much firmer.
"My apologies, but artificial companions are not allowed on the premises."
That explains her fake look, Sophie thought, observing the woman's flawless, yet unexpressive face and chiseled abdomen. Her partner said,
"I assure you—"
"We're not interacting. Wait for your owner's decision." The hostess' voice was even colder; she refused even to look at him.
The guest stopped undressing and asked,
"You expect me to walk in there naked and without Daniel?"
"He can wait in the dressing room with your clothing. I'm afraid this is the final decision."
"I'm not dining alone. Why do you think I even bought him? Daniel, we are leaving."
"As you wish. We'd be delighted to host you at some other time. Have a nice evening, Madam."
She didn't bother to answer, just turned on her heel and strolled towards the elevator, the handsome robot in tow, his confident look now simply a lack—lack of doubt, fear, thought… just emptiness. Maybe confidence is always like that.
"She did that on purpose," Thomas whispered with a tiny smile, as they waited for the hostess to finish with her tablet and invite them.
"What do you mean?" asked Tina.
"The tracksuit thing. She thought she could cover one blunder with another. Cogsuckers…" he shook his head. "Once you start losing reality's feedback, it all falls apart at the seams."
And what kind of reality's feedback leads us here, of all places? Sophie thought, but said nothing.
The hostess looked up.
"Good evening, and welcome to La Brume. May I have the name of the reservation?" She asked, looking at Thomas with a strange little smile in the corner of her mouth.
"Wayne. Thomas Wayne," he said, returning the smile. Sophie looked at him with a frown. A pseudonym felt very much in place—a joke, not so much.
"Of course. Your table is ready, number seven on the right side of the entrance. Please remember to check the selection before you're seated and tell my colleague at the end of the corridor; it will help us deliver a smoother experience."
Now for the unpleasant part… the first of many.
There were glass boxes inside the walls, on both sides of the corridor, softly lit to better showcase their contents. Two rows, maybe a dozen boxes each, about a third were empty. The rest, though, each had a naked woman inside. Many shapes and colors, all pretty.
Some just sat there, looking bored, some tried to present themselves appealingly, with the concept of appealing ranging from an innocent smile, a sweet pose straight from an arty photoshoot, as much of it as the space allowed, up to straight pressing their assets against the glass. Only a few were as anxious and wide-eyed as Sophie, but not one seemed really afraid. Were they drugged? Sophie felt like in a horror version of Alice in Wonderland. "Curiouser and curiouser!"
"I still feel it is sexist that they only serve women," said Tina, and Sophie looked at her, surprised. Good point, but was this really the most problematic part?
"It's because of the starters, I believe. They couldn't quite replicate the experience."
"I could definitely find a way to replicate the experience," she murmured and brushed against Thomas. He nodded thoughtfully.
"Maybe they should do some product tests. But male customers are not so open-minded, I'm afraid."
Open-minded… try desperate, Sophie thought. There were little notes with descriptions in the corners, and Sophie stopped to read one.
Nella,
Cut: Clean, delicate, mildly sweet
Essence: Clove, citrusy, crisp
Flux: plenty
How the fuck would they even know? And what the hell is an essence?
She looked up at Nella, a petite blonde with blue eyes. She smiled and placed her hand on the glass. Sophie reluctantly put hers on the other side, trying to keep eye contact as she felt her heart sinking and her head spinning. What the hell is happening here?
"Oh yes, I noticed that one, too," said Greg. "But the flux might be a little troublesome for a newbie. Please come and let me show you what I was thinking of."
He led her to the other side and showed her two adjacent boxes. On the left, another blonde, this one curled in the back of the box, seemingly uncomfortable. The other had a dark-haired woman inside, sitting in a relaxed pose. When she met Sophie's gaze, her lips twisted in a mocking smile.
"Could you give me a second?" Sophie asked Greg, feeling her heart pounding faster. She wanted to get away. But… nobody seemed in danger here. Everyone except her was relaxed—even the… meat.
She read the note for the mean-looking girl.
Dahlia,
Cut: buttery, umami-heavy, deeply savory
That's… kind of rude, she thought, looking up. Dahlia did look a little fuller than the previous one, but buttery?
Essence: Strawberries, melon, basil
Flux: mild
Tina approached her, noticing distress.
"Everything all right?"
"How the fuck can it be all right with all those women in there?" Sophie hissed quietly.
"Everyone who's stuck inside is one less competitor out there."
"That's… unbelievably cold."
"It's a cruel world, and it's getting crueler by the minute," Tina said, and raised her hand to tap her fingers on the glass.
"I didn't notice your nails earlier; they are so pretty!" Thomas said, approaching. Pink cherry blossoms against dark branches, with a cream background. It was a real work of art, Sophie had to admit.
"Well, thank you. But that compliment goes to Sophie; she painted them."
"Even more amazing! It must have taken hours. All those details…"
"Oh, just one fun girly evening, you know," Sophia said dismissively, observing the woman inside trying to catch a glimpse of Tina's manicure. Her interest felt even more surreal than everything else.
"Have you made a selection?" asked Greg.
"Let's go with Dahlia here," she heard herself saying with barely masked resignation. At least she already didn't like this one.
2. The starters
Just as Sophie thought she was getting a grip on the situation, they entered the dining room and immediately faced a rotisserie. She almost screamed and ran back into the corridor… but then she noticed that the woman on it was blinking and rolling her eyes with annoyance. The absurdity made Sophie freeze instead, trying to understand what she was seeing.
A vertical spit… if it even was one… rotating inside a half-pipe of red lamps. Like a shawarma post, just larger. The woman sat on a horizontal rod. Her feet were tied to another one below, and her hands to yet one more, high above her mouth, held open by the steel spit. It looked like it was crossing her body, entering from below, but it all didn't make sense, for the woman was clearly alive, and… pissed off? Her chest was heaving. She tried to blink the sweat out of her eyes, her gaze stuck on the ceiling. She was dripping with sweat all over, as the slow turning of her post revealed. But didn't seem burned, as if they just started with the heat… or it was all fake, just warm enough to make her uncomfortable, but not enough to hurt.
It was all meant to be decorative; Sophie understood. The real cooking must have been happening elsewhere. A few guests, both men and women, stood nearby, admiring the display. Now that the panic subsided, she could admit that there was something fascinating about the view. Sophie reached down and pinched herself on the thigh, hard. Don't fucking go there. You're normal. The world isn't, not anymore, but you…
There was a sign above the fake grill, saying 'Thank you for everything, Layla'.
"A goodbye party, local style," Thomas explained, turning around and noticing Sophie gawking at the rotisserie.
"…sure looks like a goodbye," she answered quietly, her mouth suddenly dry. It made no sense. Nothing here made sense.
"Oh, it's got nothing on the shellback ceremonies we had back in the Navy," he said lightheartedly and waved his hand. "Don't worry, they'll put her down soon," he added, and made an inviting gesture towards their table.
Put her down, or put her down? Sophie thought, but she turned her back on the slowly spinning woman and marched towards their table.
The table was shaped like the number eight or an infinity symbol, with two rotating circular surfaces at the central points, now empty. They sat, Greg helping her with the chair just as he should, but the idea of making any impression on her, whether bad or good, was laughable as long as they were here. Like whispering in the middle of a hurricane.
The waitress came and took their orders, with Sophie not even sure exactly what she chose, as her French was getting rusty, and the exact form of preparation didn't really seem important compared to the ingredients. Her table's reaction suggested that she hadn't made any terrible mistake… like the one about agreeing to come here.
They still tried to make small talk, but Greg seemed a little insecure when they touched on the topic of his work, and Sophie didn't want to discuss hers in detail either. She tried to think of a common subject, but she couldn't focus her thoughts.
"I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous. I guess I'm expecting a police raid at any moment. This place is… interesting, but it's not enough of a secret."
Thomas overheard and nodded at her, and when he got her attention, he discreetly pointed to another table with his chin.
"This gentleman over there? The police chief. And I'm sure he would be shocked, shocked! That cooking with human-derived ingredients is happening here."
His amusement-laced calm should be even more disturbing, but somehow it was rubbing off on Sophie. It was like a sightseeing trip to hell, but the devil was your guide, so nothing bad should happen… to her. She played along.
"And then the waiter would come and say, 'Your steak, sir?'"
"Precisely. Don't worry."
Tina looked at them in confusion. She wasn't a fan of old movies. Greg frowned a little at the cross-talk, but he chimed in.
"After the latest rounds of cost reductions, police would have their hands full, anyway. Nice to see where all the saved money is going, though."
But Sophie didn't follow up. Complaining about the politics was as fruitless as it was boring. She smiled politely at Greg and looked around.
On the other side of the room, the rattling of tiny wheels rose above the conversation noise. The starters have arrived.
"I just don't feel comfortable with it," said Sophie, turning the center tray back towards Greg.
The woman lying on it, Dahlia, was immobilised by a subtle netting of golden wires, winding around her body like vines over a statue. Rolling with the aesthetics, tiny gold leaves grew out of the net here and there, flush against her soft skin. The body was forced into a curled, almost fetal position, head and upper back raised, with just the lower part of her back connecting with the mount. Legs rolled up, bent, and set aside, and the arms raised, bending at the elbows, hands hidden behind her head, this part of her pose looked almost as if she was stretching lazily after a good night's sleep. Wrapping her into this must've taken most of the time for the preparation of starters, for the meal itself was pretty raw. It was now staring straight into Greg's face, who seemed a little more enthusiastic about it than Sophie. Still, he turned the tray back towards her, once more making her face the slightly open pussy lips. It all somehow looked elegant and obscene at the same time. Greg said apologetically,
"The custom is that the guest eats first."
"It's the real house specialty, you know. When you try, you'll learn why. They do something to the body chemistry to enhance the taste." Tina wasn't going to let it slide either.
"And it's really a matter of manners, dear. There is a custom here that you offer this to the 'meal', in exchange for what she offers you," Thomas added his two cents, then whispered theatrically, "They might throw us out."
"I get it, but I don't see how it helps… how'd they even focus on it now? And shouldn't they be in the kitchen already? How many hours are we supposed to wait for the main course?"
"What do you mean?"
"I am no chef, but the things we ordered would take at least an hour, assuming the meat is ready, so…"
"They should be finishing already."
"What?"
"What?"
Sophie looked at them, not understanding, and all three stared back, wide-eyed. Finally, Thomas spoke.
"The dishes we ordered are prepared from cloned, lab-grown meat. Our 'meals' here are tissue donors. The rest is just roleplaying," he explained slowly. "What did you think?"
"I thought you knew. You told me you knew where we're going." Tina hissed.
"I… might have misunderstood something I read online. That's… oh my God, what a relief." Sophie laughed.
The others lightened up, too, but then realization hit them.
"You still went through with it", said Greg slowly, looking at Sophie with disbelief. Tina was mortified, too; only Thomas looked like he was trying to stop himself from smiling, and maybe even a little impressed.
"Yeah, you didn't want to come… but you did. You even chose your piece." Tina's voice was half-amazed, half-horrified, but her eyes gave a different hint. They were moving between Sophie and the meal's slit, a clear suggestion on how to change the subject quickly and maybe, hopefully, cover for this gruesome blunder. Sophie composed herself the best she could and said with an almost natural carelessness.
"Guys, don't act so mortified. It was you who invited me here, and it isn't exactly a place for sane people—even if less so than I thought—so no offence, but your pearl-clutching privileges are revoked." She smiled and waved her hand. "Let's just say that peer pressure is a horrible thing. Let me demonstrate by succumbing to it once more." She looked at her meal for the first time without avoiding her face. "And I hope the lovely lady here stops giving me those murderous glances when I'm done. And in exchange, y'all forget about this… misunderstanding. Deal?"
Greg and Thomas looked at each other and smiled. "Deal."
"All right then…" Sophie said and brought her chair closer to the table.
Now she regretted not looking too closely at how other guests were doing it… But it couldn't be that difficult. She reached into her purse for a silk scrunchy and tied her hair—she expected that might come in handy, but not so early in the night, and not with… food. She realized she was playing for time. Goddammit, it was just a pussy, she should know how to deal with one.
They even provided special tools for the tongue-impaired. Should she use them first? What was the etiquette here?
Oh well, she didn't feel like doing any extended, involved foreplay on a strange woman, especially one so unfriendly looking—though now she had a good reason for that frown.
Let's see the tools.
Designed as part of the cutlery set, they had the same familiar-looking handle. A classic flatware pattern, Strasbourg or something like that, she remembered now from the catalogues she browsed, back when she believed she was going to have a big wedding one day. It had to be a joke, to put this kind of handle on a pair of small, silver vibrators and place them next to the spoons and forks. But somehow it worked, at least aesthetically.
She was still buying herself time. The guys were starting to look impatient—time to act.
The straight one, with a larger head, was likely intended for the outside. The smaller one, bending upwards, must be for finding the G-spot. So goddamn fancy. Which went into which hand? A discreet look around didn't help. Some of the neighbouring tables were eating starters, but the room was arranged to provide at least a little privacy.
Okay, she was overthinking this. Let's take the bigger one, flip the switch, and see how she reacts.
Sophie stopped herself an inch from the clit. That's not how you do it… she made herself think of the woman as a piece of meat, and it was hard to let it go now. How would she like it… Maybe starting… here, at the top? Close, but not too close. Then perhaps move it along the edge, teasing, and back up again. Sophie took a peek at her meal's face. With her eyes closed, the expression became calm, anger disappeared, and she seemed to work herself into the mood. So that was her entire job, apparently—to cum for the guests.
Sophie had worse.
With a few more ups and downs around the outer lips, Sophie let the vibrating ball move inside, crossing over the opening, which was already starting to glisten, and finally up, right on target. She heard the restrained woman moan, and she pulled the vibrator away, not even sure if it was because she got startled or was purposefully teasing. Slowly, she put it back in, trying to imagine how it must've felt. But that's no use, she thought, as her meal shook and moaned again, a little too intensely to signify pleasure. Every clit is different—or so she had been told. This one seemed larger than her own, more protruding from the hood—perhaps more sensitive, too. So maybe she should put the tool a little further off, move it really slowly, observing the reactions—
"My God, isn't she adorable? That's the cutest thing I've ever seen," Sophie heard Greg say, and realized that the tip of her tongue was out. Squinting, entirely focused, she must have been making the same face she had when trying to paint those tiny cherry blossoms on Tina's nails. She straightened up and blushed, but Thomas came to her rescue, sort of.
"Will you be quiet, Greg, and let the lady focus? Please don't mind us; you're doing great."
Sophie composed herself, looked ahead, and her eyes met the bound woman's gaze. Her eyes were still narrow, but instead of anger, there was now just amused anticipation there, and maybe a hint of a challenge. Sophie smiled back, raised her brow just a little, and nodded, taking it up, as she took the other tool in her left hand and turned it on. The little vibrating ball sank inside effortlessly, making just the tiniest 'plop' sound as it squeezed a few drops of transparent, sticky juice out. The scent reached her, close to what she expected — subtle and tangy — but there were some additional aromas there, like… fruity? "Strawberries, melon, basil", she remembered the tag. So that's what it was all about. That's… interesting. And it all seemed very… clean—no trace of sweat or urine in the air.
Sophie was now so far outside her comfort zone that she was ready to experience it almost without reservations. The worst part right now was her company, smiling politely and watching her every move. For the first time this evening, she felt like she would sooner swap them for someone else, rather than the place they took her to. Moving both the tools around, she was splitting her attention between them, the woman's reactions, and keeping her face calm and dispassionate, smiling with polite interest. She was slowly getting the hang of it, judging by the little sounds the meal was making.
"I think you should start eating now, or you'll miss the best part," Tina said in a stage whisper. Oh well. Sophie sank her head, trying to maintain as much decorum as possible in this situation.
Just the tip of the tongue, for now, starting from the place where the G-spot tool sunk into the opening, and moving up, collecting all that came out.
It wasn't bad, actually. Fresh, slightly sweet and sour, and the fruity taste was there, just a hint. She cupped the clit with her mouth and sucked, a little too harshly, judging by the jerk. It wasn't a dick; she reminded herself. It was something much more delicate. Having a dick in your mouth was like being invaded. Here, she was the protector. A tiny, pink, soft creature had found shelter in her mouth, and she needed to take care of it — cuddle, pet it, and make it feel safe with her tongue. Why am I even thinking this? Just be done with it.
"They say it's an acquired taste, but I enjoyed it the first time already," said Thomas.
"It's very subtle," agreed Tina. "I sometimes wonder if this is not, you know, just the spirit of the place getting into our heads and making us imagine things."
"That's a factor, surely. Another is selection — I heard it's not that easy to get a job here, and they care about your taste as much as about looks…" Thomas's voice was conversational, but there was a hidden strain in it. He must have liked what he saw. Now Tina will have to come up with something to top that.
"I am certainly getting hungry just by looking at it," she said.
Shut the fuck up, will ya? Sophie was glad she didn't see them now — just her meal's flat stomach, and as she raised her gaze, face framed by the boobs, eyes closed now, breathing heavily. So far, so good — that's one more skill for her CV, and with the direction her career was going recently…
Every few swirls, she moved her tongue down to taste the juice—it was a little different each time. There was something about it that made her come back, something subtler than the taste itself. She felt a little dizzy. They do something with the body chemistry, Tina said. Whatever it was, it was unlike any drug she had ever tried, and gradually she was becoming too preoccupied to keep regretting that she had gotten herself into this.
Sophie remembered the G-spot tool when it almost fell out, and she moved it back in, trying to find its target. Mouth-hand coordination. Nothing new, but this was a little more difficult than a blowjob. Or just different?
"And here we go, nice job," said Greg, as the woman started to moan loudly. Oh, the hell with it, let's have the whole experience—I certainly won't let it happen again, thought Sophie and moved her lips lower, to catch the last drops, as the finale rolled out.
But Sophie's meal turned out to be full of surprises.
"Oh dear. Somebody got mislabeled." Greg sounded amused.
"True. That's a gusher, in my book, not a mild." Thomas was more annoyed, as if the mistake insulted him personally. "I'm sorry, dear. They would give you an apron if they knew. I suppose the cleaning is on them, or they will refund the cost of your dress. I'll handle this."
Sophie nodded, unable to speak right now. She was drying her face and neck with paper handkerchiefs, but this would not help with the drenched front of her dress. The scent she had just started to enjoy was now all over her, not pleasant anymore, just embarrassing.
Sophie stared at the woman—this time, she was the angry one. Sweat covered Dahlia's face, and her eyes were still unfocused, but she caught Sophie's glare and rolled her eyes and raised her brows, like she was saying "oh well". Sophie wondered if she had done it on purpose somehow.
"Look at the bright side—you must have been better than anyone before you. If you ever want to practice, you know where to find me," Tina laughed, and added, "Excuse us, gentlemen, I'll take Sophie to the bathroom. She needs to powder her nose."
"Sure, take your time, and don't worry—accidents happen," said Thomas in a way so warm and polite that Sophie could almost forget that he got her into this.
Sophie stood up, pulling the wet fabric away from her skin with her fingers. As she followed Tina to the bathroom, trying not to bring any more attention to herself, she noticed in the corner of her eye the couple at the neighboring table silently clapping. It seemed they weren't mocking her, more like genuinely impressed. She raised her head proudly and straightened her back.
This place was beyond shame—a redeeming quality, sort of.
3. The main course
"I'll never tire of bringing dates here," said Greg, as the women vanished around the corner.
"It is amazing what they'd agree to nowadays. Seems you're an exceptionally fortunate guy tonight," Thomas said. "Though we might need to switch to something less expensive in the future,"
"Problems at work?"
"Sixty percent reductions, as of now. Can't be a regional manager in an empty office. Good that my side gigs are starting to take off, but it will be a long time before they bring in real money."
Greg looked around nervously, leaned in towards Thomas, and said in a quiet voice,
"Well… they actually let me go last month. Looking for something right now, but the market is tough."
Thomas didn't look surprised. He nodded sadly, reached out and patted the younger man on his back, then said,
"You know what? While we're not in the same boat yet, allow me to pick up the tab for today. I know how it is."
Greg looked relieved, but protested anyway.
"I'm not sure if I can allow you to do it."
"It's not my money." Thomas shrugged.
"Is that a good idea?"
"It's for their benefit—the more costs I create, the bigger success they can claim when they reduce it."
"Yeah, but… this place?"
"Oh, it will be something innocent on the bank report. Precisely because it's such a lovely place."
"In this case, can I order champagne?"
"Knock yourself out. Don't you want the house special, though? She looks ready for another round."
He reached out and turned the tray on Greg and Sophie's part of the table, making the woman face Greg… though her face wasn't the part it was all about.
"I'm not sure. The way she looks at me now… maybe we shouldn't be talking business near… food."
"Well, it's still her job… even if now she feels superior… for having it."
"Hey, not cool, man."
"Sorry."
Greg looked at Dahlia again, who now maintained a carefully neutral look, sweat and glistening traces of her juices notwithstanding.
"I wonder if I couldn't just… stick it in her. If it's our last visit anyway."
"Don't make your lovely date jobless as well." His following words had an unexpected trace of steel in them. "Seriously—if you like your dick attached, keep it in your pants. Those people are serious about food safety."
A waiter came in, cleaned Sophie's chair and her part of the table, and got the woman back in order with a wet tissue, wearing a professional smile and no trace of surprise. Greg stroked his beard, and before the waiter was gone, he said,
"Well, let's see then if Sophie left something for me. Please get me an apron."
Thomas gave the tiniest of headshakes. No chance someone like Greg is going to need one. But he only said,
"And one for me, too. Starters here are really something, and the other lady must be getting bored."
"That's not enough." Tina was somehow angrier than Sophie, who was still leaning over the sink, trying to clean the front of the dress without taking it off—a hopeless endeavour.
"Sorry, Madam. We'll take the dress and make sure it's perfectly clean… we have a lot of experience, these things happen regularly… and we will get it back to you friend in two, three hours at most, or send a courier with it to wherever you wish, if you leave by this time… but we do not offer a replacement," the waitress was polite, but firm, and she was obviously expecting Sophie to simply give her the dress without further fuss.
Now they were both looking at Sophie, expecting her to break the stalemate. It was her mess, after all. But before she had time to say anything, another woman walked in. Naked, sweaty, and visibly annoyed, with disheveled hair and face flushed red from the heat, she strolled through the room with the sinks and mirrors, towards the toilet part.
"Excuse me," the waitress said and followed the woman. Sophie turned off the water, and both she and Tina pricked their ears.
"Layla, you're not supposed to be here; it's customers only."
So it was the woman from the rotisserie. Didn't look that bad for someone who got literally spit-roasted by her coworkers.
"Tell that to the genius who purged my fingerprints from the database already. Can't get into the proper one, and I really need to pee after this stupid hazing. Wanna help? Bring me the box with my stuff from the cafeteria."
"Shit. Sure, will do. Are we still on for the party tomorrow?"
"I'm barely alive… but yeah. Leaving the city the day after, last chance to get shitfaced with you guys."
"You may get shitfaced, but we can't drink alcohol."
"That's the funny part."
"Where are you going?"
"Bought a ranch in Wyoming. I'll try to make it self-sustaining. I read a lot about it. There's little hope left for urban life, judging by what all the bigshot customers were talking about those last two years."
"Wow. You must've been saving every penny."
"And what would I be spending it on, sitting here in one box or another? Clothes? Rent? Booze?"
Tina and Sophie looked at each other. A ranch? That's some savings.
The wet front of the dress was getting cold and really unpleasant. Sophie sighed and made up her mind. She took off the dress and looked in the mirror. Not bad. She looked good enough to eat… so she'll blend right in.
"What are you doing?" asked Tina sharply.
"It's the devil's ballroom, remember? I'm gonna wear my… other formal attire."
Tina pursed her lips and looked away, annoyed, but unable to find a proper counter. The waitress came out of the toilet and looked at Sophie.
"Excellent choice, madam. Still, the actual costume we'd allow means complete… you know what, never mind. It's our fault, so I think we can make an exception. Let me take this."
The waitress left with Sophie's dress.
"Let's go. Or do you want to powder your nose, too?" Sophie asked Tina with just a slight hint of challenge. Tina was subtly competing for Thomas's attention throughout the evening, and now she will get one hell of a handicap. It was funny—Sophie didn't even want to steal her boyfriend… but the payback was well deserved. She could see cogs spinning in Tina's head. Should she strip, too? How would she explain that?
In the end, Tina just shrugged and turned towards the exit. Chicken.
Not that Sophie felt too confident, walking through the dining room wearing just the mask, her heels, jewelry, and panties. It was strange; everyone here had a naked woman or two on their table, and yet she still turned heads. It must have been the panties. They looked out of place, somehow underscoring her nudity, and they weren't that comfortable either, drenched and getting cold… though that one wasn't Dahlia's fault, at least not directly. But it was too late to take them off now.
As they approached the table, they noticed the men had already finished their starters too. Dahlia looked low key bored, and the other girl was still breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling with a dazed glaze over her eyes. Sophie frowned. It's not like she wanted to see it, but it felt somehow unfair that she missed it, after the show she made for the guys.
"There you are! Sometimes powdering the nose makes all the difference," said Thomas, smiling, the glance running over her body so quickly that it was almost unnoticeable. Greg grinned too, but he seemed less comfortable than before.
As Sophie sat down, Dahlia waved her foot to get her attention. Sophie looked at her face, and when their eyes connected, the woman glanced at Greg a few times, then subtly shook her head. She waited until Greg turned away, and her lips silently formed the word "trash".
Sophie smiled. Thanks, sis. She had had that hunch already. It seemed like the best thing to come out of this evening was going to be a free meal. And she turned out to be a nice one, after all.
She was still in the same deep trouble, a couple of hundred bucks behind, and no closer to any kind of solution. But at least she was no longer worried about the fate of their food or impressing Greg. Sophie finally let herself relax. Greg was glancing at her nakedness, now and then, but all the stress she went through made her unable to be bothered. If he figures out how to strike another conversation, despite the impression her new outfit made on him, so be it, but for now, she'd rather ignore him. She leaned back in her chair and listened to Tina chatting with Thomas.
"It's so nice to have you back here. I feel so much safer, just knowing you're in the same city."
"I'd rather be seen as the danger lurking around the corner," Thomas joked.
"That's two sides of the same coin. How was your journey, by the way?"
"Typical business trip. I've seen the airports, hotels, and conference rooms of half of Europe, all of them the same. You're stuck in a human-shaped bubble of technology, seeing small pieces of the real world through the glass, understanding nothing, all the important stuff abstracted away from you."
"Sounds like you need a real vacation."
"Oh yes. Just a few more deals to seal, and I am ready to disappear into the wilderness. Want to join me?"
"As long as it's not too wild."
"It's only fun when it's wilder than you expected."
Thomas was wasted on Tina, but that was none of her business. She hoped only that the rest of the evening would pass quickly.
To Sophie's relief, the waitress who took their orders arrived with the main courses. They came on a small cart, which seemed slightly odd, before Sophie understood the actual task. The waitress did something with Dahlia's mount, and with a quiet sigh of relief, her body bent back and straightened, forced into a new position by the reshaping of its golden bonds. The stomach presented now an almost flat surface, flanked by curled legs, and soon it was filled with food, strategically placed by the waitresses' quick hands.
"Tournedos de Bœuf Chasseur," she said, making a round gesture over the part of Dahlia's abdomen closer to Sophie, where small cuts of meat spread out into a semi-random, but aesthetically pleasing pattern. "Bavette à l'Échalote", she added, pointing at the part closer to Greg, with a too-perfect-looking steak accompanied by some fries. There were also some vegetables, placed in a way that suggested a hidden meaning, like a riddle to be solved. Yet it still looked incomplete. This mystery, at least, was short-lived, as the waitress placed a few bowls with sauce and a small plate in front of each guest. The plate was there to allow mixing and cutting without harming Dahlia or making too much of a mess. Very well thought through, this French-inspired version of nyotaimori, yet still all of it so profoundly, deeply… pointless. It would be much easier if they just put all of it on the goddamn plate like normal people.
Still, she was hungry. She put one piece of meat on a fork and raised it, unthinkingly, stopping just an inch from her mouth.
It was human meat. The roller coaster of feelings almost made her forget. Although it may be artificially grown, genetically, it was supposed to be Dahlia.
She felt her stomach turning, both from hunger and from disgust. She wasn't off the hook yet this evening.
Slowly, she put the piece in her mouth and started to chew.
buttery, umami-heavy, deeply savory
Sophie put the fork down and hid her face in her hands. It was all that. She went insane, got brainwashed, turned into a flesh-eating zombie… She had no idea. But the meat was delicious. They must've modified it too, like the juices. She imagined a billboard, "authentic human meat *", with the asterisks explained in tiny letters "*- up to two percent human".
It must've been something like that.
"I've seen you here before," said Greg.
Hitting on waitresses—it was already this phase of the date. Good, the less of his attention, the better.
"I work here, sir," she somehow managed to make "sir" sound both polite and like a synonym of "idiot".
"Yes, but you weren't a waitress. I've seen you… on the table."
"Oh, you know how it is in life. Sometimes you serve, sometimes you are being served."
"Was that a promotion or a demotion?"
"Neither," she paused for a while, the need to provide a good service fighting with unwillingness to disclose too much. "We are trading places based on the tissue growth cycles… when there isn't anything to eat, you do other things. It's all a bit complex; our chef would probably explain it best. Actually, the rush hour in the kitchen is ending now. Would you like to meet her? I could ask if she finds some time for you." The last question was aimed at Thomas for some reason.
"That would be lovely, thank you!" he said, politely surprised.
Sophie went back to her course with the honest intention of not giving a single thought to its origin. But the origin kept giving her sideways glances, until Sophie said,
"Yes, you are delicious. Thank you for this meal. This is what you wanted to hear?"
Dahlia bit her lip to hold in the laughter. Sophia looked at her mouth, and she had the strangest of ideas.
"You must be hungry, too. Want to try… yourself?"
The woman looked at her suspiciously, then slowly nodded her head. Sophie put a piece on the fork, dipped it in sauce, and moved it slowly up the naked body. Before she put it in Dahlia's mouth, she leaned over closer. She wanted to see every detail. A person, seemingly unharmed, yet somehow eating… herself.
My mind is fried… she thought, watching. She took another piece and ate it, then gave one more to Dahlia. Sophie wasn't even religious, but somehow it felt… sacrilegious, this part. What did it all even mean?
She realized she was leaning in closer and closer, her eyes just inches from Dahlia's lips. Looking up, she caught Greg's gaze. Puzzled. Fascinated. Almost as confused as she felt.
Sophie sat back in her chair, blushing.
Maybe it was all a gimmick, but this gimmick had thorns.
When they had almost finished eating, a tall woman with short white hair, whose plain jeans and white shirt definitely didn't meet the entrance criteria, approached their table. Maybe fifty years old, she looked like she had tried to stop the passage of time using the magic of the gym, and almost succeeded. She took an unused chair from a neighbouring table and unceremoniously joined them, looking around at their surprised faces. She smiled mysteriously and said,
"I heard you had some questions. I'll go first—how do you like my place?"
4. The dessert
"I guess I just don't understand… why?" It was Sophie's turn to ask a question.
"Oh, I have an explanation for each day of the week. The kink stuff is obvious; I won't lie that I don't enjoy it. Working with a new ingredient and breaking a taboo at the same time… that's a chef's dream. Perhaps I could say something about providing a paradoxical safe space for women… It's absurd how much safer it is in one of those glass cages than outside on the street. But the truth is… do you want to hear it?" the chef asked, looking at Thomas. He nodded. "My business partner and I were simply looking for a future-safe business model. Well, next-ten-years safe."
"And this is what you came up with?" asked Greg incredulously. Chef looked around and shrugged.
"The world itself is getting reduced. Everyone's going to be optimised away and in the end, the last billionaire is going to discuss with his AI agents if they really need him to function."
Everyone except Thomas looked at her, startled. It wasn't a surprising thought, but it was not what any of them really wanted to discuss at a fancy dinner. She continued,
"Still, some human things are more unique than others. No, not intelligence, creativity… we are adults here, we know that's bull." She paused. "It's the capacity for pleasure and for suffering. A robot girlfriend might give you the best of blowjobs, but you won't go down on her, because it's literally pointless, and you will know. However perfect her act, you'll know. And the same goes for pain. Whip a robot, and the only thing that hurts is your arm."
Before they could answer, she finished.
"We are selling genuine pleasure and symbolic suffering here. How good it all tastes… that's a bonus."
"This just sounds like sex work with extra steps," Sophie said.
"Oh, but those steps are making all the difference. Traditional sex work is almost dead, because it was always a lie. And machines are better at lying."
"But how many people are really interested in truth?" Sophie asked.
"I just need enough to establish a trend. I have run three Michelin-starred restaurants in my life. How many of my customers could really tell my cooking apart from Burger King? Not so many, but sufficient to make the rest want to pretend."
Sophie shook her head.
"And we are back to the fakeness. I thought you were selling truth."
"I'm selling truth. If the buyer pays with lies, that's on him. As long as the money is genuine."
After a brief pause, Sophie took a deep breath and asked the question that had formed in her head a while ago.
"And how does one become a part of this business?"
There was a sudden silence, broken only by the sound of a spoon hitting the plate as it fell out of Tina's hand.
The chef cocked her head and looked at Sophie with renewed interest. Finally, she said,
"There are a surprising number of requirements. Not only do you need to look good, but you also need to be confident enough to face a room full of strangers, not hiding behind… anything."
Sophie slowly stood up and took off her mask. She stretched her shoulders, as if shaking off something that she had carried on her back all evening, and looked around. Some people at neighbouring tables were looking in her direction, noticing that something unusual was happening. The chef ran her hand up Sophie's hip, to the strap of her panties, pulled it away, then let it snap back.
"Do you want me—"
"No talking. We don't use gags here, but a meal never speaks, unless it is told to do so."
Sophie froze for a second, then put the thumbs under the straps and slowly started to pull them down. The chef's hand on her thigh stopped her. It pushed, turning her around, to face the room… and turn her back on the table.
She slipped off the panties, bending over, presenting her intimate parts to her former table company. But when she tried to straighten, the chef placed her hand on Sophie's back and pushed.
"You can't show discomfort. Not physical, not psychological. You are there to be craved, not pitied. However inconvenient it is… or however indignant you feel. Your dignity is in your value, and your value is… immeasurable. Though the accounting will measure it."
She pushed until Sophie folded in two, her legs strained from the position and the high heels. She cradled them with her arms to ease the tension of her pose, silently thanking herself for all the yoga sessions.
"The flexibility is another thing, but we seem to have this checkbox marked already."
"Uh, you sure you want to do this in front of us?" asked Greg.
"Your role is crucial here. But if you feel uncomfortable, we can do this at another table," said the chef.
"No, it's… okay."
"Waitress! Bring me a fresh set of cutlery. Add a few sampling spoons."
Sophie stood there, bent over, blood flowing down into her head and her cheeks, both sets, burning with embarrassment. The waitress was taking forever. Her legs started to shake.
"That's some bullshit," she heard Tina's disgruntled whisper. She started to agree, but… in for a penny, in for a pound.
"Patience in discomfort—this is another thing. Some of us say it's like meditation. A transformative experience."
The waitress finally came back.
"And the final trial… the taste. You can see that there's already a bit of a sample here, but let's get the essence flowing."
Sophie almost jumped when the vibrator touched her lips. She squeezed her legs harder, trying to suppress the moan.
"Pleasure, you can show. Even should. But it can't stop you from doing your job."
It moved around carefully, not unlike what she had done to Dahlia an hour ago. Dahlia… she was still there upon the table. Sophie wondered if she could see this from her vantage point, and if she was laughing silently at their reversal. Then, the ball found her clit. Waves of pleasure ran down her body, almost making her falter. Was the chef really going to make her come, standing here like this? Was that another test? The vibrator teased her, and she swayed gently, moving against the tool. Turning her head aside, she bit on her fist, sticking out from behind her knees.
"Oh, you are so close, I can see that. Good, let's mark this checkbox already. Anorgasmia would disqualify you, I'm afraid. But I think we have enough proof, so let's not risk another… accident."
The tool disappeared, and Sophie barely held herself back from squealing in frustration.
Then she felt a cold touch inside, not too deep. The sampling spoon. She saw one on the table but didn't know back then what it was. Turns out she didn't have to go down on Dahlia if she didn't want to.
Still, no regrets.
"All right. Thomas?"
"Yes, please."
Another dip.
"I'm sorry, I forgot your name, Monsieur. Would you like to try?"
"Of course."
Once more. Each time a different spoon, no chance to warm it up.
"And you, Madame?"
"I'll pass."
"It sure is a bit awkward. Please bear with me for a few more minutes. Still, I'd like another opinion. Maybe… Dahlia?"
Her previous meal's voice was hoarse from the long silence, but Sophie could hear the amusement.
"Sure, I'd love to."
Another cold dip.
"Now, on the count of three, show me a number from one to five on your fingers. More is better. One… two… three."
There were a few seconds of silence, and Sophie got nervous.
It was the most ridiculous test of her entire life. Still, the result meant a lot to her, somehow.
"That's… a lot of enthusiasm. To be completely honest, mine is the only opinion that counts… but I happen to agree with all of you. And it will be even better when we add our magic to it. All right, Sophie, you may come back up. And speak."
She rose slowly, her back hurting all the way from the strain, then she let herself fall into the chair. Their part of the dining room was still silent, people at the nearby tables craning their heads towards theirs, even the meals. Oh dear. What had she just done…
Well, she landed a job interview, her first one in months. And she crushed it.
It wasn't her dream job… but the market was what it was.
"So… what does it all mean?" she asked, when her breath settled and the redness disappeared from her face.
"It means I am ready to make you an offer. Are you ready to hear it?"
Sophie nodded, and the chef leaned over, bringing her mouth to her ear. The number she whispered was an impressive one. Not absurd, but Sophie never made that much money.
"Seriously? What's the catch? Beyond… all this?"
"The catch is that you need to make the call now. You stay with us… or you leave and never return."
"Why?"
"I am not a patient person. And I don't want to deal with your doubts and your lawyers. This is a high-trust job. The trust starts now… or there is no trust."
Sophie took a deep breath and nodded.
"All right. Welcome aboard. It's still early enough so that we can arrange for all the formalities to happen today. And the rites of passage… We have a lot of company culture for such a small operation. I'll go set things up and do the paperwork. Please wait here with your friends."
"Rites of passage?"
"Oh, you've seen the ones for departing employees already? The initiation is similar. Don't worry, it's only supposed to look scary."
Well… shit.
"I can't believe you did this," said Tina when the chef left their table.
"That makes two of us." Sophie nodded, trying to dismiss her concern. She was sipping champagne, spread carelessly on her chair, not bothering to cover herself or to act like… anything in particular, anymore. Half of it was tiredness, half a message for her friend—our old fears and concerns aren't mine anymore. I'm moving on. It was selfish, but maybe they just had one conversation too many about how she should behave. And the rise she was getting out of her Tina tasted better than the bubbly stuff.
"Three," added Greg, unasked. He seemed to be a little disappointed, perhaps that they wouldn't finish their date as he imagined. But the job interview he just witnessed must have made up for a lot of it. The looks he had been giving her changed, too. No longer stealing a peek, just straight-up watching, much less reserved, but also somehow… less interested. She was already becoming like Dahlia. But that was the plan, wasn't it?
Thomas said nothing, just shook his head, smiling. He was the only one who stayed the same.
Tina pressed on.
"No, seriously. I took you here to meet someone and have a pleasant evening, and now you are not only pulling this weird shit, but leaving me alone… today, and… in this whole—"
"My apologies, but life is unpredictable. I haven't planned any of this. But I'm sure you guys can still have fun tonight, even without me," Sophie smiled meanly. No reason to be jealous anymore; you can have them both now.
The table went silent for a while before Thomas said,
"It was quite unexpected, even so, congratulations are in order." He added with concern that sounded honest, "Please try to eat something more while you can. If I understand it all correctly, the rest of your evening might be a little tiring."
When they approached the rotisserie, all of Sophie's confidence was gone. People were gathering. The waiting staff, a few from the kitchen, and even a couple of meals were present—judging by their nakedness—released already or on a break in the middle of preparations. Curious guests stood further away. Someone started to tap a rhythm with their heel, and soon more people joined. A chant rose from the ranks.
"One - of - us. One - of - us. One - of - us… "
Freaks. Crazy people, the lot of them. But the encouraging smiles she saw everywhere around seemed genuine. Was she crazy enough to join them?
Too late for doubts.
Without the person in between, the trick became obvious. The lower part of the spit ended just above the parallel bar… and there was also a transparent plate upon the bar, small enough to hide, but big enough to provide a little more comfortable seat. But the "just above" part was… debatable. It was still a lot of pipe to hide somewhere. At least they made the ending round and smooth. The upper part was similar, with something that looked like a drinking valve sticking out of it. It was all moved high up now, but would probably come down, to adjust to the height of the… user.
It should be doable. To climb the parallel bars like a ladder, backwards, and slide upon the stake. Then stare at the ceiling with an open mouth like a hungry hatchling, and let them finish the setup. The easiest thing in the world.
She couldn't make herself do it. She wasn't sure if she was afraid of tripping or if the whole thing felt overwhelming. The chants of the crowd sounded off, inhuman. The smiles weren't sympathetic anymore. She felt pressure from all sides, and she realized she was naked in a strange, evil place, with no real friends, expected to do the unthinkable, and for what? Some money someday, maybe?
She looked around, trying to find something familiar. The chef had a skeptical look on her face, and she realized it wasn't company culture or hazing—it was her last test. Tina was straight-up hostile, not for the first time, but it felt more final this time, as if something had broken for good. Thomas… Thomas caught her look and quickly stepped in, standing between her and the crowd, leaned in and whispered in her ear,
"It's good. Everything's good. Breathe."
She fought the urge to hide in his arms… arms of a rich, perverted asshole she barely knew, who had played her friend aimlessly for weeks already… and listened to him instead. Soon, her breath settled, her shoulders squared, and she looked up to meet his eyes again. He whispered,
"Do you want to get out? You still can."
Did she? Oh sure. But where to? Her tiny room and her huge debts? Best-case scenario, that her tired imagination brought up only now, to his place? To be a toy, not much different from the ones here, soon to be discarded…
"No, just… help me up."
He nodded and placed his hands on her waist, then cocked his head, thinking, and changed his mind and slid them lower. Cupped her buttocks with one hand each and picked her up, making her gasp with surprise and almost fall backwards, if she hadn't thrown her arms around his neck for support. His face was serious, but there was a smile in the corners of his eyes as he took a step forward and carefully moved her bottom around, aiming. Rich, bored asshole, playing a new game. She felt the cool touch of the tip on her opening, and she froze. He asked,
"Ready?"
Above his arm, she saw the chef, watching them with one eyebrow raised. She gulped and said,
"Yes."
He let her down slowly, not breaking eye contact, as her eyes became wider. The stake didn't hurt, not right after that job interview, but it kept sinking and sinking, and it just wouldn't end. Something is wrong, she thought, and squeezed his neck, as a quiet, frightened groan escaped her. He stopped, his hands raised her just a little.
"All good?"
There was no smile in his eyes now, just concern. His hands were steady, and it felt like he could hold her like this forever… but she had to make a choice. Up or down? Her face was now just inches from his; she could feel the warmth of his breath and the smell of armagnac over his cologne.
How much more of the stake was there, below her? She was too overwhelmed to assess the length properly, especially in unfamiliar surroundings with no reference point; she just assumed it would work. This is a high-trust job.
They wouldn't let her get hurt, would they? She had value. Immeasurable… though the accounting will measure it.
The trust starts now.
"Yes. I got scared. Let's go on."
Down, very slowly. An inch. The stretch would soon start to hurt. Second inch.
A cold touch on her buttocks. She let the air out with a sigh, realizing she had been holding her breath. Thomas asked,
"Everything all right?"
Nothing was all right. But such was her life. This part didn't change.
"Yes. Thank you."
His touch lingered a few seconds longer than needed, then he stepped back. The chef approached them with a few pieces of rope.
"Since you're so helpful today, mister… Wayne, tie down her feet; I'll do the top side."
When the rotisserie finished its first turn, she saw all three of her companions still watching her from near the entrance.
"Well, that was one strange evening. I think I need a drink," said Tina.
"I know a nice place just around the corner. What do you think, Thomas?" Greg offered.
"Absolutely. Losing our companion is a tragedy, but the night is still young. Head out; I'll meet you there. I'd like to have a few words with the chef before we leave."
"To make sure she'll be okay?" Tina asked. "That's very… nice." Her voice didn't sound nice. Somehow, she was still jealous. Not of Thomas, surely? He literally just had Sophie in his hands, and gave her to La Brume… Could she even be envious of the job? Sophie would trade places right now without hesitation. It was not as bad as it looked from the outside, but spending a few hours here was unimaginable.
She looked at Sophie one last time and shook her head in distaste. Sophie turned, losing sight of them, and when she was back around, there was only Thomas standing there, looking towards the chef, who approached with a question.
"So, how did it go in Europe?"
"Budapest looks good… with some facilitation payments. Zurich will be okay. London, though, will be difficult. I'm thinking about inviting some stakeholders here for them to see how it looks."
Sophie's jaw would have fallen if it wasn't already stretched around the pole.
"Good. It was about time you started working for your forty percent… besides picking strays."
Could a rotisserie perform a record scratch? It definitely should.
The evening finally started to make sense now. But strays? If not for the pole, she'd have some words for the chef.
"Picking the right kind of strays isn't that easy."
"The world is full of desperate women."
And would they all just glide through your recruitment? Somehow, Sophie didn't think so.
"Druggies, VR junkies, disease-ridden fleabags. By all means, try to make an appealing meal out of that. To find someone who's desperate already, but not yet… ruined; that takes skill. They look normal. Dress well. Hold their heads high. Joke, smile, and judge. Their hunger is… subtle."
The bastard had seen right through her. Why didn't he take Tina, too? Wasn't she good enough? Or just… too cowardly to volunteer?
"Is it wise to say all this to her face?"
"Oh, she's way too smart to balk now."
"And you're still grooming her."
He held his hand so that his fingers grazed Sophie's back. As the spit rotated, her side, and then her breast moved right into it. The fingers slid over it, brushing her nipple, while he was saying,
"Absolutely. But not as a piece of meat. She came here fully expecting to eat an actual human, just for a chance to improve her standing, and then she willingly got onto this pole. This kind of… hunger… is rare… and precious. We are going places, and we need people like her."
The other breast slid under his fingers before he let his hand fall. There was understanding in the chef's voice, but also a hint of resentment.
"I'm not teaching her how to cook."
"No, she's gonna start… from the bottom. Please make me a reservation when her initial samples are ready. "
When she turned again, there was only Thomas, standing further away, hands in his pockets. His head was tilted to the side, and he said,
"I'm so looking forward to having you for dinner, my dear. We will discuss your career opportunities. Sophie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."