Chapter Text
“All unknowns, at first, at least, to me, until I, like Columbus, “discovered” them. Is voyeurism a form of imperialism?”
-Ann Rower, “Lee and Elaine”
Amsterdam, August, Friday, 11:03PM
“You just need to get out of your fucking comfort zone, Eve.”
In retrospect, Eve should have known that Bill meant something completely different than what she, herself, had in mind. Her idea of getting out of her comfort zone was showing a little more skin than in her frumpy work clothes. Possibly getting out of the house. Maybe even going on a blind date or giving up her months-long, self-imposed celibacy. Ever since her divorce, Eve had been the very picture of routine. Wake up, go to work, decline coworkers invitations for happy hour drinks, go back home.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Bill, on the other hand, was an adventurous man. He and his partner, Keiko, lived a fun, fast life.
So, it was that knowledge of him that Eve should have gone into the situation, but she hadn’t. While she hadn’t been thinking rainbows and kittens, Eve didn’t think that Bill would invite her into total darkness.
Literally.
He’d given her a black invitation, complete with a gold feather protruding from the right side, that boasted the 5th Annual Watch Party . Date. Time. Location. Dress to impress .
Eve wasn’t sure what that meant, but she hoped the blue dress that clung to her petite body like a second skin would suffice. And she teetered down the steep stairs of what looked like an underground club. The neon sign was unplugged, or broken, Eve couldn’t be sure. Her hand reached for the doorknob of the establishment and found that it was locked.
No sooner had she considered that perhaps she’d gone to the wrong address, a small slot opened in the door. Two gray eyes peered at her before a detached voice demanded, “Password?”
“Uh.” Eve looked around, slightly confused before she opened her clutch and pulled out the folded invitation. She scanned its contents before squinting at the tiny, fold font at the bottom.
“Scopophiliac.”
The steel door unlocked, loudly clanking in the small concrete space and opened before her. Almost immediately, slow music heavy with bass floated over the threshold and welcomed Eve inside, beckoning her into the dim, chandelier-lit club. Wine red and oak wainscot walls made corners darker than they should have been, creating space for illicit activities and drunken debauchery.
Eve’s head swivel left and right as she realized exactly what this place was.
A playground.
It was suddenly apparent what dress to impress meant. Men and women alike, in their tightest dresses and finest suits filled the large club. Some were on leashes and others roamed freely, surveying the crowd as if they were a buffet. Waiters in black tuxedo pants, no shirts and bow ties walked around carrying trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Bartenders and waitresses in black dresses so short they shouldn’t dare bend over, but some did and showed off their assets in a surprisingly sensual way.
Eve tried to comprehend exactly what she was witnessing. To her left, a man sat with his back to her, his head rested on the back of his chair. She watched for a moment longer and and nearly had a heart attack when she noticed a head full of dark brown hair was bobbing in his lap. Averting her eyes, the next sight she saw was even less innocent than that. A man, on his knees licking the black, leather knee-high boots of the tall, short-haired woman before him.
So, she’d found herself in a club that catered to the BDSM community.
If she was sober, she decided, she would have certainly found the nearest exit and ran straight for it. As it were, Eve had finished nearly three-quarters of a bottle of wine before she’d put on her form-fitting dress and forced herself to leave her hotel room. Now, she found that she could feel her heartbeat in her pussy as she tried to decide if tonight she would be a lion or a lamb.
A whip cracked somewhere nearby and her head swiveled in the direction of the sound only to find herself looking at the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on.
She was blonde and tall and Eve had to remember to close her mouth and not stare directly into her face. Letting her eyes roam downward, Eve clocked her dark metallic suit with a muted leopard print and pure black lapels. Her hair had been slicked backwards and fell behind her shoulders and her makeup was slight, reminding everyone that her natural beauty was superior. Her head tilted slightly as she appraised Eve.
“Fish.” Was the first thing she said.
“Excuse me?” Eve replied, genuinely confused.
“You are like a fish out of water in here.” The blonde replied in a thick Russian accent. She opened her tailored suit jacket, revealing a barely-there, but acceptable black mesh bralette before sliding her hands inside the pockets of her pants, circling Eve with interest.
“That must make you a shark.”
“It must.” She agreed, coming to stand in front of Eve once more.
“So what gave me away? Wait, don’t tell me. You smell fear?”
The tall woman chuckled and held out a hand. “Villanelle.”
“Eve.” The brunette replied, shaking it.
Villanelle’s hazel eyes flashed and her lips jerked once in a semblance of a smile. It was almost a shame, Villanelle thought, how much fun she would have being the serpent that would corrupt Eve in this dark Eden.
“So, Eve,” Villanelle started, “would you care for a drink?”
“Sure.”
Eve allowed herself to be led to the full bar, pulling herself up onto the tall stool while Villanelle simply leaned against it, hands still in her pockets as if she had to physically keep them there for fear of reaching out and touching Eve. Almost immediately, a brunette bartender made her way towards them.
“Your usual?” She asked.
“No, Nadia. Tonight, I am in the mood for something,” Villanelle ogled Eve for a moment, “ new .”
Nadia raised a brow and turned to retrieve a few bottles. She made a show of making their drinks, garnishing one with lime and mint.
“One sparkling water,” she slid it to Villanelle, “and one Moscow mule.” She sat Eve’s drink atop a napkin in front of her.
“Water for you, and vodka for me?”
“I don’t like the way alcohol makes me feel.”
“What? Does it make you angry?”
More like borderline-sadistic, Villanelle mused, and I have a feeling that I have to take things slow with you.
With a shake of her head, Villanelle replied, “No, it makes me lose control.”
Eve nodded, accepting that answer. “So, you’re a regular here?”
Villanelle grinned, and Nadia laughed.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Villanelle owns this place.” Nadia told her with a wink.
Finally, Eve understood. That was… well, it was actually kind of sexy. Eve had always loved to see a woman in charge.
“That’s… nice.”
“Nice.” Villanelle repeated, grinning. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but ‘nice’ has never been one.”
Eve sipped from her drink. “Maybe you haven’t been very nice.”
Hazel eyes squinted dangerously, followed by an amused smirk.
“Oh, I’ve been very nice.” Villanelle stood to her full height. Somehow, even with Eve on the elevated bar stool, Villanelle was still slightly taller than her.
“Really?”
“Really.” She confirmed.
“Maybe your idea of nice isn’t like everyone else’s.”
Villanelle took a step closer. “Well, I have yet to take you over my knee and spank you for being rude.”
The next sip of Eve’s went down the wrong and she quickly retrieved her napkin, coughing into while Villanelle looked on. She didn’t ask if Eve was alright because it was clear that she wasn’t. Nonchalantly, she simply slid her sparkling water over to Eve.
“So, you’re a.. a dominatrix or something?”
“Or something.”
Eve nodded, trying to understand.
She was definitely out of her comfort zone. She sarcastically hoped Bill would be proud. If he could only see her now, being propositioned by a… whatever Villanelle identified as.
Eve, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by it all. Whether it be the bottle of wine, or Moscow mule or Villanelle, she couldn’t be sure, but she couldn’t squeeze her thighs together any tighter if she tried. And almost as she could see the imperceptible movement, Villanelle’s eyes flickered down and then back up.
“So, you own a BDSM club, but aren’t a dominatrix? I guess I should be happy that all you want to do is spank me and not tell me to lick your boots or whatever.”
“Don’t be silly, Eve. These are stilettos.” She looked down at her shoes. “And I would rather you did not lick them. They were expensive.”
Eve couldn’t tell if she was joking or genuinely trying to throw her off. Either way, Eve found that she enjoyed the younger woman’s personality.
“And I do not own a BDSM club. I own a space where everyone is free to express themselves sexually, in whatever way pleases them the most. You have a kink? Then this is the place for you. It is a judgement-free zone, away from the pressures of society. That is why everyone else is here. So,” Villanelle wondered, finally, “why are you here?”
“My friend told me I needed to step out of my comfort zone.”
“Oh, you will.” Villanelle told her, assuredly. “And I will help you.”
“What makes you think I want you to help me?”
Villanelle laughed as if that was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. Eve’s eyes zeroed in on her mouth.
“Come, little lamb, I will give you the grand tour. Show you exactly what happens here. Then maybe we can really get you out of your comfort zone.”
It was decided for her. Eve was the lamb, and somehow she was okay with following this new shepherd. Even if it was to her slaughter.