Fuck it, why not?

Something in his tone gave her the impression he was totally unconcerned which choice she made. She was already here, so getting out and going inside the building wasn’t that much of a leap of faith. But dressing rooms and clothes picked out for me? Really? It had to be some rich perv, getting his thrills from luring young women into his red room of pain.

She discovered that the idea held nothing for her. She wasn’t afraid, just terribly bored. The idea some strange man might **** her wasn’t enough to stir anything other than a mild curiosity about how long it might take before she died.

Fuck it. She popped open the glove box and picked up the small brass house key sitting inside, turning it over in her hand as she slid out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. Before she’d walked more than five feet, the car was gone, the driver wheeling out into a hole in the traffic. She was standing at the foot of a tall set of steps leading up to an ornate dark wooden double door, the brown front of the building marked at irregular intervals by windows darkened by rich thick green drapes.

As Isabella reached the top of the steps, the doors swung open, and a tall blonde in a butler’s uniform greeted her with a warm smile. “Ms. Royce, how good of you to visit,” the man said in a soft voice with just a hint of a British accent, his blue eyes sparkling. “I’m Charles, the butler. Please, do come in.”

“What is this place?” she asked as she walked past him into a large ornately decorated foyer.

“The Four Corners,” he answered, helping her slip her coat from her shoulders and folding it carefully over his arm as he escorted her toward a small white door beside the front doors.

“The Four-” she started, then froze in place, staring at a painting nearby. “Is that an original Carvaggio?”

“It is,” Charles murmured. “You’ll find many other brilliant pieces throughout the premises, Miss. When you have time to roam.” He motioned to the white door, and smiled apologetically. “At the moment, however, you have an appointment you don’t want to miss.”

She saw the key from the car would fit the lock on the door, and Isabella inserted it, turning and twisting the knob. Looking back over her shoulder at the butler, she paused, feeling the first flutter of something in her chest. “Charles, you seem like a decent man. Can you tell me something about what’s going on here?”

He laughed, a glitter of amusement in his ice-blue eyes. “Are any men truly decent in the company of a beautiful woman?” He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there at the open door.

Inside, the dressing room looked much like any other similar room in a mall or retailer. There was a small bench to sit on, and a stool, and hooks along the wall to hold clothes. On the bench, there was a white silk bag, tied with a bright green ribbon. Attached was a small card, again embossed in gold lettering. Wear me, it read, and Isabella laughed despite herself. So I’m Alexis in Wonderland now? She thought, entertained. I hope the rabbit is cute.

Isabella’s idea that this was some sick game was reinforced by the contents of the bag. A small pair of silk panties, a white corset, white lace stockings, white garter belt, and long white high-heeled boots. And nothing to wear over the ensemble. If she actually put all of it on, there’d be little left to the imagination, and no question what sort of activities her mysterious letter writer had in mind. Isabella considered running for the front door and hailing a taxi before anyone could stop her. She could go home, and report this all to the authorities, let them handle it.

And then what? Again, she knew she was making a horrible mistake. Again, she found herself giving in, slipping off her clothes, sliding into the outfit someone else had chosen for her, not really surprised that each individual piece fit as if tailored specifically for her. She took her time with each piece, giving herself time to change her mind while already knowing in her heart she wouldn’t. On a whim, Isabella slid the tiny slotted key onto the green ribbon, and tied it around her neck. When she was sure every single item was adjusted to best show off what she had to offer, she took a deep breath and stepped back out into the foyer.

The downstairs lights were out now, but there was a golden glow coming from somewhere at the top of the large staircase at the far end of the room. At the top, leaning on the balcony, was a tiny brunette, her hair cropped short emphasizing the pixie-like quality of her features, a tight blue lace top accentuating the subtle swell of her breasts, her arms crossed on the dark mahogany railing. Her legs, coltish and lean, were bare except for blue stockings and tennis shoes laced tightly with blue laces. Her smile was radiant, genuine, excited, and as soon as Isabella stepped into the middle of the foyer, the woman laughed delightedly. “Bella! So glad you made it!” she called, standing and skipping to the top of the steps to wait.

“Have we met?” Isabella asked guardedly, trying to remember if she knew this absurdly familiar woman. Maybe someone from work?

“Not yet,” the pixie laughed again. “But we’re going to be great friends, I can feel it.” She waved Isabella forward impatiently. “Come on, the others are waiting.”

“What others?” Isabella tried to seem in control and savvy as she mounted the stairs, not wanting to seem afraid. “Is this where the eccentric millionaire doms are waiting to **** us into submission?”

The woman in blue exploded with laughter, hard enough to actually bring tears to the corners of her deep brown eyes. “Oh, dear Mother, no, Bella,” she coughed, fanning her cheeks with her hand. “We don’t submit to anyone here. Well, unless we WANT to.”

“Then why all the slutty clothes?”

“Slutty?” The woman was honestly surprised. “I think you look beautiful. Delicious, even.” She winked, with another merry giggle. She held out her hand toward Bella. “I’m Alexis, the Blue Spirit.”

Isabella shook Alexis’ hand; her grip was firm and warm, her glance intense, aroused. Isabella couldn’t help noticing that Alexis’ nipples were stiff, pushing out the fabric of her top, her face flushed. The girl was looking at her, almost expectant. She's checking me out, Isabella realized. She was suddenly aware the two of them were alone in the hallway, and there was a darkened alcove just behind Alexis; the girl in blue was holding onto Isabella's hand, two steps back to get to the private little hideout.