Chapter 34: Pre-Party
The memory of the vibrator’s brutal hum still echoed in his bones, a phantom tremor that made his coffee cup rattle in its saucer the next morning. Margot, by contrast, was radiant, humming as she scrubbed a pan at the sink. The domestic normality of it was more unsettling than the previous night’s debauchery.
“Big day today, darling,” she said, without turning around. “The Halloween party. I need you sharp.”
He cleared his throat, the sound rough. “Sharp for what, exactly?”
She turned, leaning back against the counter, a dishcloth draped over her shoulder. “For behaving. For taking instructions. For being the best little attraction we’ve ever had.” Her smile was warm, but her eyes were flint. “This isn’t a party for you. You’re the entertainment.”
A cold dread, familiar now, pooled in his stomach. He pushed his scrambled eggs around the plate.
She served him a light, early dinner—steamed chicken and plain rice. “Hydration is key,” she said, placing a large glass of water beside him. “You’ll need your stamina.” She watched him eat with the focused attention of a coach, her head occasionally tilting as she received a message on her phone. The gold-starred calendar on the wall seemed to mock him, each star a milestone in his own unraveling.
Once he’d finished, she brought out a large, black box and set it on the kitchen table with a soft thud. “Time to get you ready.”
The first item was a full-head latex mask. It was black, featureless except for the eye holes and a small, puckered opening for the mouth. She dusted the inside with talcum powder, the sweet, cloying scent filling his nostrils. “Arms up,” she instructed, and he complied like a child, allowing her to pull the cold, rubbery sheath over his head. The world shrank, the sounds becoming muffled, his own breathing loud and humid in the confined space. She used a soft cloth to shine the surface until it reflected the kitchen’s overhead light in a distorted gleam.
Next came the collar. Thick, black leather, lined with what felt like real fur. It was heavy. She buckled it at the back, the click of the fastener final. Then the cuffs for his wrists and ankles, each one a smaller version of the collar, the fur soft against his skin but the leather unyielding.
He stood in the middle of their warm kitchen, a creature of latex and leather, his identity erased. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic bird in a black cage.
Margot looked him over, her expression one of artistic appraisal. “Perfect. Utterly anonymous.” Then, she began to undress herself. He expected something lavish, something seductive. Instead, she pulled on a pair of faded, baggy gray tracksuit trousers and an oversized hoodie of the same drab color. She zipped it up, hiding her voluptuous figure, and pulled the hood over her vibrant red curls. She looked plain, almost frumpy. A nondescript handler for a strange, shiny pet.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, his voice distorted and small through the mouth hole.
“Because tonight,” she said, picking up a lead which she clipped to the ring on his collar, “I’m not your wife. I’m your keeper. And keepers don’t need to be seen.” She gave the lead a gentle, testing tug. “Now, come on. Julia’s barn is waiting. She has such… inventive plans for you.”
The lead tightened, and he had no choice but to follow, his fur-lined cuffs feeling less like luxury and more like the prelude to a execution.