La Bella Ladra

Franklin looked up the stairs at his obviously confused, ticked-off friend, unable to think of anything to say. It wasn’t the surprise of his sister’s best friend being brought on the show. It wasn’t the idea that whoever this audience was chose the girl who was like an extra older sister to be in his “harem.” It wasn’t even the increasingly angry glare she was giving him that had left him stunned.

He had never actually seen Trudy in a dress before. This was a girl who wore overalls to church. The flowing yellow skirt, black corset, and frilly bodice might as well have been a spacesuit as far as his sense of normalcy was concerned.

Trudy grew tired of his hesitation, shouting, “Geeze Frankie, would you get up here!”

Snapping out of his stupor, Franklin started towards the stairs. He looked back over his shoulder at Terra, who just gave him a shrug, seemingly content to watch on for now. As he reached Trudy he spoke softly, “Hey Tru, I know this seems crazy, but I can at least try and explain.”

“How did I get here, and how did I get into… this!” Trudy gestured wildly to her new garments.

“Well, magic,” Franklin said, “Honestly, we’ve been kidnapped by people with magic powers.” He tried to keep a dead serious look on his face, knowing how unbelievable he sounded. He pointed at the Host, “That’s Terra, she seems to be in charge. When I tried to make her stop, she did... something, and suddenly I couldn’t move! So I don’t really know what we can do to get out of here until I figure out how she’s doing this.”

Trudy could tell when Franklin was messing with her. She and Flo were always way better at it, and she could see that he was serious. “Goddam, Frankie, what kind of trouble did you get in?”

Franklin released a heavy sigh, “The ridiculous kind. Come downstairs, Terra can give you her spiel, at least.”

Suddenly blushing, Trudy leaned in and whispered, “Yeah, that’s the thing. You know how they put me in this frou-frou outfit? Well, it came with heels, tall ones. I’m not faceplanting trying to walk down these stairs, and I can’t even bend down to take them off with this freakin’ corset on.”

“Oh, right. Of course, hang out just a sec,” Franklin stammered out.

Trudy was expecting him to help her remove the offending footwear, but was surprised when Franklin positioned himself just behind her and lifted her up with one solid arm under her knees and another on her back. She stifled a yelp and resisted banging her fist against the dumb oaf’s chest, settling for staring ahead to hide the red on her cheeks as Franklin carried her down the stairs.

As they reached the ground floor, Franklin placed Trudy down, making sure she had her feet under her. Terra raised an eyebrow and mused, “Bold, you two, but I’m afraid the ladies can’t earn any points until all our contestants have been gathered. It wouldn’t be fair to the girls introduced last, after all.”

Trudy stared at the Host, “Contestants? For what?”

Smiling, Terra responded, “For this season of Harem Hotel, of course! The hottest reality dating show in the multiverse, where you’ll compete with other women to be the crown jewel in Master Porter’s harem.”

“Not my idea, believe me,” Franklin added. “Apparently, this show counts **** as a legitimate form of casting.”

Trudy took a moment to process the ridiculous claim, internally debating whether to try to tackle the other blonde. After all, flight was out as an option in the heels she had stuck on her feet.

As if sensing her thoughts, Terra explained, “Just to be clear, we wouldn’t have let you fall down a flight of stairs, Miss Webber. We’re not interested in any **** on set and take steps to ensure it doesn’t happen.”

The implied threat was enough to give Trudy pause. “You could have skipped the dress in that case, cause I’d almost prefer being knocked out by a fall down the stairs.”

“My apologies, we collected Master Porter from a fancy party and figured the theming would be appropriate to kick off our competition. I assure you, future wardrobe choices will be more varied and at your discretion.” Terra added softly, “Unless the audience says otherwise.”

As the Host continued to explain the basics to the newly arrived tomboy, Lyra leaned over and asked Dara, “You know her?”

“Oh… um, yeah, she’s Franklin’s sister’s friend. I don’t know her well, but I met her a few times when we were dating.”

The scientist had realized that the introductions seemed to follow a similar cadence, so she’d been scanning the lobby for anything that stood out. There were two doors on each side of the ground floor, and she spotted similar ones on the floor above. The long staircase descended almost towards the center of the lobby, and opposite a large reception desk stood. Dara spotted several letters carved into the gold trim along the front of the desk, but was a bit too far away to read them.

Lyra grumbled, “Geez, this is ridiculous. I barely know the guy! Aren’t there enough flighty party girls he’s been with to fill up a ‘contest’ like this?” Seeing the incredulous look on Dara’s face, she hastily added, “No offense. You certainly don’t seem like that. It’s just the only people I see him around.”

Dara decided not to point out that Lyra seemed unusually knowledgeable about the dating habits of someone she “barely knew.” She turned her attention back to the trio in the center of the lobby just as Trudy was giving her “introduction.”

“My name is Trudy Webber. I’m 28, and I’ve known Frankie since I was 6, when I went over to my friend Flo’s house for a playdate. I work at Haverbrook Ranch, where I mostly take care of their horses and give riding lessons. The last time I had sex was 2 years ago, before I started rehab. I’ve been focused on other things.”

Dara saw the Host scratch out a note on her clipboard, just like she had after forcing Lyra to give her introduction. From the embarrassed and violated look on Trudy’s face, she was able to put the pieces together. She was glad she had gone through with the humiliating ritual voluntarily.

Terra directed Trudy to take a spot with the others, and the blonde caretaker hobbled over to the nearest seat, which was the other half of the loveseat Lyra occupied. She gave the other two women a once-over, and Dara shrank back when she saw the look of recognition in her eyes. The petite scientist turned her attention back to Terra and Franklin, hoping for things to move along.

“A nice, varied mix so far, Master Porter, but for our next contestant, the audience truly wanted to add some spice!” The Host explained. “While the end of your acquaintance might have been a bit… tumultuous, there’s no denying the chemistry you had together over the short time you were together. Now you’ll have a chance to, let’s say, recapture those feelings.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

February, 2025

The neon lights and pumping dance tracks were the perfect combination for those who wanted to be seen without having to carry a conversation. Every face was a fleeting spectacle, every body a silhouette against strobing blues and magenta. But Claudia, alias Tiffany Torrence, wasn't here for the spectacle; she was hunting.

She found him exactly where she expected: a booth tucked away from the dance floor but visible enough to be noticed. Franklin Porter, with his easy smile and designer shirt that whispered money without shouting it, was nursing a whiskey sour. Beside him sat a tall woman, her posture casual yet alert, her eyes sweeping the room with the practiced ease of a predator. Many would think they might be together, but for a trained eye, it was obvious. They were a well-oiled machine, a hunting party in their natural habitat. They made each other look approachable, less intimidating, a strategic illusion for the lonely and the seeking. She'd seen them call out to a few passersby, sharing a laugh and a toast, fishing to see who was of interest and who was interested.

Claudia straightened the silk of her dress, glad that the crimson she chose stood out amongst a sea of mostly darker colors. She ordered a gin and tonic, then sauntered over, her hips swaying with a calculated rhythm. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice a breathy murmur over the bass. "I'm new in town, and this place is… a lot."

Franklin's gaze lingered on her a beat too long. "Please," he said, gesturing to the empty space beside him. "The more, the merrier. I'm Franklin, this is Bernie."

"Tiffany," she replied, taking a seat with just enough of a bounce to draw all four eyes at the table to the neckline of her dress, cut just low enough to tantalize without looking outright trashy. "Tiffany Torrence." She offered a hand to each of them in turn. "Just moved here for a… change of pace."

Bernadette offered a small, knowing smile. "We know all about change of pace around here," she said, raising her glass. "To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," Claudia echoed, letting her eyes meet Franklin's over the rim of her glass. The plan was in motion. It was a performance, a delicate dance of calculated seduction. She laughed at his jokes, leaned in when he spoke, and let her fingers brush his arm as she emphasized a point. She played the part of a girl a little lost, a little lonely, and very attracted to the handsome, sophisticated man who seemed to have it all figured out.

"Wow, you work at the Museum? That's so cool," Claudia said, her eyes wide with a feigned admiration that was almost comical. "I just adore art."

Franklin preened, a flicker of professional pride cutting through his practiced cool. "Oh yeah? The Minnesota Museum of Art is my stomping ground. Fundraising coordinator," he added, as if the title itself was a conquest. "We've got some incredible pieces right now."

Bernadette watched the exchange with an amused, detached smirk, nursing her drink. She was a good wingman, knew when to fade into the background and let Franklin work.

"I've been meaning to go," Claudia gushed, swirling the ice in her glass. "I'm just so… overwhelmed. New city, new job, and all my friends are back in California." She let a manufactured pout touch her lips for a moment before brightening. "But a girl's gotta have hobbies, right?"

"Absolutely," Franklin agreed, leaning closer. The scent of his cologne, something woodsy and expensive, filled the space between them. "You should let me be your guide. Personal tour, no crowds."

Claudia's heart gave a little thump of victory. "I'd love that," she breathed. "But I'm swamped this week." She paused, letting a hint of disappointment color her features. "When are you free?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Saturday. We're having our big spring gala. A bit stuffy, but the open bar helps. Plus," he added, lowering his voice, "it's after hours. The whole museum is ours. I can get you in as my plus one."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Claudia's smile was genuine now, a predator's satisfaction carefully masked behind the persona of Tiffany Torrence. "Franklin, you are officially my favorite person in Minnesota." She clinked her glass against his, the sound a small, sharp bell in the cavernous club.

***

"So do we have everything we need, Finch?" Claudia asked her contact the next day, holed up in the motel that she'd rented for the week. It was clean, quiet, and most importantly, anonymous.

Finch's voice was a dry rustle through the burner phone. "Everything and then some. The gala's guest list is public. I've pulled the donor registry. Security detail is standard, nothing out of the ordinary for an event of this caliber. Our biggest hurdle, and our biggest opportunity, is that the restoration lab is on the lower level, isolated. Less foot traffic, less attention." He paused. "I'll have the cameras looping during the window, but there's a security door."

"Keypad?" Claudia asked.

"Keycard," Finch answered, making the thief click her tongue in annoyance. "Think you can get it from your mark?"

"Well, I'll have to, won't I, Finch?" Claudia hung up on the techie.

Looks like you get a second date, Frank, she thought, pulling up the fundraiser's number in her messenger app.

***

"Thank you sooo much for coming out, Franklin. When my boss said he didn't need us this evening I just felt like blowing off some steam, you know?"

Claudia had invited Franklin out for a Thursday dinner, with the promise of a more relaxed evening at a high-end cocktail lounge. She'd chosen a place with plush, circular booths that **** a certain level of intimacy, with a long, dark wood bar and bartenders who took their craft seriously. Here, they weren't faces in a crowd; they were a pair, nestled in a velvet alcove.

"Happy to be your excuse," Franklin replied, his arm resting along the back of the booth behind her. His fingers occasionally brushed against the silk of her blouse, a casual possessiveness he likely thought was charming. "You're a breath of fresh air, Tiffany. It makes a guy feel great to get a call out of the blue for a time like this."

Claudia giggled, "Well, I'm certainly looking forward to Saturday, but that doesn't mean we have to wait until then when the opportunity arises."

He leaned closer. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The conversation was a practiced dance. He spoke of the museum's patrons—the Vanderbilts, the Carlsons—the kind of old-money names that were supposed to impress her. She, in turn, spoke of her imaginary life in California, of beaches and sunshine and a "boring" corporate job she'd fled. She was a caricature of a fun-loving girl, and he was eating it up.

“What kind of art do you like best?” Franklin asked, “I enjoy it, for sure, especially the historical stuff, but I kind of stumbled into it through the nonprofit side.”

Claudia thought carefully, trying to judge what Tiffany from Cali would say, but the earnest look in Franklin’s eyes made her say screw it, and she answered honestly, “I love the impressionists and the romanticists. When everyone was chasing realism and perfect accuracy, they were showing that you didn’t have to see every detail to know something, you know? Sometimes the shape of something is enough to see it.”

Franklin smiled, more genuinely than she had seen in their short time together. “I like that. If everything looked picture perfect, there wouldn’t be any room for the… art, right?”

Claudia hummed, selling her pleasure at Franklin’s agreement like it was validation from an expert on the subject. Then she made her move.

"So, how about we go back to your place for a nightcap?" She ran a finger along his bicep, making her intentions as clear as possible. "Or are you an early riser?"

A slow, easy grin spread across Franklin's face. "For you, I'll make an exception."

Later, in the sleek, minimalist apartment that screamed "trying too hard to be sophisticated," Claudia slipped down the hall from Franklin's bedroom, leaving the man asleep after their fun. As far as distractions go, it was certainly not the worst task she had to take care of, but she needed to get to the real purpose of her visit.

Claudia had spotted Franklin's badge on the way in, hanging on a hook in the kitchen. Pulling out the cloner Finch had sent her from the bottom of her handbag, Claudia quickly and efficiently created herself a copy on a blank RFID card and put everything back where it was.

She considered writing a note and heading out, but figured she should probably keep up appearances so close to the big day. Besides, Franklin's bed was far more comfortable than the one at the motel.

***

"You having a good time?" Franklin asked, handing her a glass of champagne.

"The best," Claudia replied, her smile reaching her eyes this time. The thrill of the game was a potent intoxicant. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Just wait until the auction," he said, winking at her. "Things get a little crazy."

The auction was her signal. As the lights in the main hall dimmed and attention turned to the stage, Claudia excused herself to the ladies' room. Instead, she slipped into a nearby service corridor, the keycard from Franklin's purse granting her access. She moved with a practiced grace, her heels silent on the polished concrete floors.

She reached the restoration lab, a quiet space filled with the scent of turpentine and old canvases. The Renoir, View of the Seyne, Provence, was being stored in a safe in the corner, a silent steel giant. Claudia pulled a stethoscope from her clutch, its cold metal a familiar weight against her skin. She listened, her fingers dancing across the dial, feeling for the subtle clicks of the tumblers falling into place.

The lock was old, a simple mechanism from a bygone era of security. It surrendered to her touch with a satisfying thud. Inside, nestled in a bed of acid-free paper, was the painting. Its colors were muted in the dim light, but the woman at the well's enigmatic gaze was as captivating as ever. Claudia carefully wrapped the canvas in a silk shawl she'd brought for this purpose, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the rough texture of the paint.

She slipped out of the lab, the painting a secret weight under her arm. She made her way to the loading dock, a labyrinth of shadows and echoing sounds. A lone security guard was making his rounds, his footsteps a predictable rhythm. Claudia waited, her breath held in her chest, as still and poised as any statue in the gallery.

As the guard's footsteps faded, she dashed across the dock, a fleeting shadow against the grimy concrete. A black van was waiting, its engine idling. The side door slid open, and a figure emerged, his face hidden in the darkness.

"Everything go according to plan?" a gruff voice asked.

"Perfectly," Claudia replied, handing over the painting. "Get it to the drop point."

"Always a pleasure, Mancini," the man said, before disappearing back into the van.

Claudia watched the van pull away, a sense of satisfaction settling over her. The restoration project wasn’t scheduled to start until the following week. If she were lucky, they wouldn’t be able to connect the theft to the gala, not with Finch’s ability to scrub records.

She turned and made her way back to the gala, the silk of her dress a whisper against her skin. She rejoined the crowd, a smile plastered on her face, the picture of innocence. She found Franklin near the bar, a worried look on his face.

"There you are," he said, relief washing over his features. "I was starting to get worried."

"Just got a little turned around," Claudia replied, her voice a smooth lie. "This place is a maze."

She took a sip of her champagne, the bubbles a pleasant fizz on her tongue. She had done it. She had outsmarted them all. The thrill of the steal was a heady ****, and she was already craving her next fix.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mischief that was all her own.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Well, that certainly explains some things,” Franklin muttered, looking up at the woman he had tried very hard to forget about over the past year. The woman stood at the top of the stairs, and unlike the disbelief, anger, and confusion he’d seen on the other contestants’ faces, she had managed to keep a look of mirth and curiosity on her face. Her blood red dress looked very similar to the one she’d worn at the gala, and Franklin could suddenly sympathize with the bull getting ready for a fight.

Terra announced to the room, “A woman of many names; Tiffany Torrence, Clematis Red, Bella Ladra, but for now, let’s keep it simple. Give a very warm welcome for the beautiful thief who stole Franklin’s heart, and our audience’s choice for the fourth contestant, Claudia Mancini!”

Seemingly unsurprised by the revelations in her introduction, Claudia gave a small curtsy and proceeded to glide gracefully down the stairs.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dee offered a blue party popper to his brother. “You want to do the honors?” He asked with a smirk.

“Joke's on you, I love these things,” Vee replied, snatching the toy and releasing it so it blasted confetti all over his twin. The red Imp continued, “I’m not ashamed to say you’re better at picking contestants the Master dislikes, even if you’d call that a compliment.”

“Indeed, I would,” Dee agreed. “I’m happy to say Miss Mancini won the vote quite handily, and the poll had the highest turnout yet, so obviously the audience is excited for our sneaky rival.”

Dee smiled cruelly, “I only wish we could have included the young protestor too. It seems defacing art was a bit of a hot button for some of our audience, but I’m sure they would have liked returning the favor. One recommended a body paint transformation, only allowing her to wear what she can splatter on herself each morning. Exquisite taste.”

“Yeah, well, only one contestant per category,” Vee declared, before his expression turned thoughtful. “Although other folks were saying that they liked the other candidates in the friends group. So, I guess we could…”

He was cut off by the blue Imp, “That’s a decision for later, right now we have something a little different to discuss.”

Vee perked up, “Oh, you mean…”

“Yes, I do,” Dee interrupted again. “Franklin, as we know, has a voracious appetite for carnal delights, so much so that he doesn’t just enjoy himself at the clubs or the galas, but in the electronic sphere as well. We have a carefully curated selection of the online roleplay partners he’s enjoyed chatting with over the last couple of years, and the audience will be able to select one based on the categories of fetishes they explore together.”

Vee smiled, “Now that’s spice. I can just imagine the surprise of meeting someone you’ve only spoken to over the net in person and getting to live out the kinks you share in a place where they can really come alive!”

Dee nodded, “The classic ‘be careful what you wish for’ moment. To be stolen from a life you are used to simply because you indulged in a dalliance with someone a thousand miles away? Just lovely.”

“Right…” Vee allowed his brother to wallow in the most ruthless interpretation of events, something he’d learned to ignore only through ages of practice. “I’ll just introduce the first option.” Opening a red folder, he waited for the image to coalesce in the air. Unlike the previous sets of candidates, only the image of a user profile appeared.

“Do note that she’s not actually a Drow. This is a modern realism universe, after all, and not one where Gygaxianism became an official religion. You’ll have to check out the Francis O’Conner and Mona Cummings seasons for that stuff. Heh…Mona Cummings.” Vee explained.

Dee was busy reading between the lines of her profile. “So, small town goth girl? Probably no real experience? Played a bit too much Baldur’s Gate 3 and got seduced by the horny nerd side of the ****?”

“Don’t mix metaphors, Dee,” complained the red Imp. “Anyway, this is Harem Hotel! You just have to look at the VTuber contestants to figure out how quickly we can make someone look like their avatar.”

“I prefer a slower boil, myself,” his brother deferred, “but it could certainly work as motivation to get her debasing herself for the audience’s entertainment.” He opened his own folder, and another profile manifested for the cameras.

“Speaking of debasement, Miss ByU here practically screams that she gets off on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she used an actual picture of herself instead of an AI Elf. This is a frustrated working woman looking to indulge her dark side if I’ve ever seen one.” The blue Imp rubbed his hands together, eagerly considering the things that could be done with a contestant who fetishized her own downfall.

Vee watched with a questioning look on his face. “What if she’s, like, actually married? Or has a kid? This feels like a lady trying to balance a stressful life with a bit of consequence-free fun.”

“That’s the point, you dolt. Being given what you wish, even if it isn’t what you want? Delicious.” Dee had to wipe his mouth to hide the bit of drool that had been summoned by the thought. “And if she’s married, it’s obviously an unhappy one if she’s running to the virtual arms of our Master.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst. If you’re going to bring a role player onto a show like this, it should be someone who truly wants to embrace the fantasy, deep down inside.” Vee looked wistful as he continued his speech. “Someone whose dreams can really come true thanks to the nature of Harem Hotel, things that would be nearly impossible without us!”

Dee scoffed, “And I’m sure have a profile in that folder who’s just such a contestant?”

“You betcha!” Vee opened the last folder on the desk and showed off a third profile full of someone's secrets and kinks.

“Hypnosis and Altered Consciousness, the top result on the Master’s fetish list, ahead of even Transformation. Sleepy and the Master have had a handful of steamy sessions, and she was very close to broaching the subject of a video session before the season started,” explained Vee. “We kind of… interrupted that, but I’m sure we can help them along, even if it means moving the timeframe up a bit.”

His brother raised an eyebrow. “Taken is just looking for a bit of fantasy play, but you think this girl is looking to be permanently brainwashed?”

“I think she’s looking for a partner who’d want to make it a long-term part of their dynamic. That’s the fun of hypnosis, you won’t be in a trance all the time, but you have someone who can drop you, set up little surprises, and then you have all kinds of fun!” Vee continued to justify his pick with fervor. “Plus, this gets the Master’s kinks out in front of the group in a substantial way. It shows that he wants to be the Dominant partner but knows how to take care of his Subs.

Dee cringed at his brother’s take, “I think that all three of these picks would do that, but we’ll just have to wait and see.” He then turned to the camera. “Vote at the link below for who you think should be our fifth contestant, and do let us know what you think in the comments.”

Vote Here for Contestant #5: The Role-

“Delivery!”

Both Imps jumped out of their seats at a shout from behind them, turning to see a strange visitor in their office. She was a ghostly blue figure in a ringmaster’s outfit and top hat, and she floated in midair just like the Imps. Over her shoulder was a bag, and in her hand was a postcard, which she thrust out towards the closer of the two.

Vee took the card and said, “Oh, you’re Lyn, from the ghost season. Geeze, that was a fast response. How did you even get in here?”

“And how did you interrupt the voting link?” Dee asked, incredulously.

The ghost girl’s only response was, “Mail!”

Vee looked down at the postcard, letting out a brief “Aww” at the cartoon ghost on the front, and then flipped it over to read Jocelyn’s response.

Vee was a bit confused, but he grinned at the kind words. “Hmm, I suppose Jason and April have bonded a bit already since she was such an outsider. Maybe the sympathy she’s getting from the audience will be a good thing in the end.”

Dee looked over his brother’s shoulder, “Why did she scratch out the part about Terra?”

Crossing her arms, the diminutive ghost replied, “Assistant!”

Shaking his head, the blue Imp laughed. “I see, you’re all Jocelyn needs, huh? Wasn’t expecting you to be so possessive, but then, you are a ghost.”

Lyn stuck out her tongue and replied, “Bye!” With that, she disappeared in a puff of smoke and glitter.

Vee shrugged, “Well, that was fun! Where were we?”

Vote Here for Contestant #5: The Roleplay Partner

Voting is now closed.