Look around the lobby at other tourists.

You tear your gaze from Ms. Tavita's composed face and survey the lobby properly for the first time.

The Gilded Harness is everything the brochure promised—marble floors, brass fixtures gleaming under crystal chandeliers, tropical flowers spilling from enormous vases. But the guests are ... unusual.

A man in his fifties sits on a leather sofa near the concierge desk, reading the Financial Times. At his feet, a blonde woman kneels on a cushion, wearing nothing but a leather harness that crisscrosses her torso and a thick collar. Her wrists are clipped together behind her back. She's leaning against his leg, eyes half-closed, completely relaxed. He absently strokes her hair.

By the lifts, a younger couple is checking in. The woman—Southeast Asian—stands beside her partner in a short white dress and heeled sandals. Her collar is rose gold, matching the leash he holds loosely in one hand while signing paperwork with the other. She's scrolling through her phone, occasionally pointing something out to him with a laugh. They could be any couple on holiday except for the leash connecting them.

Near the bar entrance, a man you recognize as unmistakably American—cargo shorts, baseball cap—is having his partner fitted with what looks like a leather muzzle gag by a female attendant in The Gilded Harness uniform. The woman being fitted is laughing, actually laughing (at least until the gag is placed bewteen her lips), her eyes crinkling as the attendant explains something about sizing. Her partner grins and takes a photo with his smartphone.

"That should fit now," the attendant says cheerfully, buckling the final strap. "There we go! How does that feel, ma'am?"

The muzzled woman makes an experimental sound—"Mmmmph"—and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

A porter wheels past with a luggage trolley. On it: actual luggage, two designer suitcases. Also on it: a woman bound in elaborate rope work, her arms folded behind her back, legs folded beneath her. She's wearing a hotel robe. As the trolley passes, she makes eye contact with you and—God help you—winks.

Ms. Tavita follows your gaze around the lobby, then turns back to you with that same patient expression.

"As you can see, Mr. Zuccarelli, Patruda attracts a very specific clientele. Most of our guests have researched extensively before arrival." Her tone is pointed but kind. "You're experiencing culture shock, which is understandable. But I assure you—within a day or two, this will all seem quite normal."

Behind you, Rosaria makes another sound through her gag. You turn to see her wide eyes fixed on the kneeling blonde woman by the sofa. The woman has shifted position, now resting her cheek on her owner's thigh, a small smile on her lips.

Mikaere clears his throat gently. "Shall I take you to your suite now, Sir? Your wife really would be more comfortable there."