It's a masterpiece of function and intimidation—custom-built hybrid of clawfoot soaking tub and gynecological examination table, carved from a single piece of black volcanic stone. The basin itself is deep enough for full-body submersion, five feet long and three wide. Polished smooth.
At the far end, hinged stirrups that fold up from the tub's edge. Polished steel. Leather padding. Locking ankle cuffs.
Medieval aesthetic meets clinical efficiency.
The participant is bathed, prepared, made vulnerable—then the water drains to knee-level, the stirrups deploy, and her legs are locked wide open for whatever comes next.
Shaving. Inspection. Penetration.
Complete access to her most intimate parts while she's helpless to close her thighs or hide herself.
Psychological torture dressed up as spa treatment.
They guide Scarletta toward it now, the dark-haired one supporting her elbow like she's stepping into something precious.
The water's already steaming, lavender and eucalyptus rising in fragrant clouds.
She looks back over her shoulder—not at them, but at the entrance.
Looking for me.
Wondering if I'm watching.
I am, baby.
I'malwayswatching.
Chapter 2
Scarletta
I'm naked again.
New place, same strangers. Same humiliating vulnerability.
My three attendants guide me toward the tub and I try not to panic becauseJesus Christ, it looks like something from a medieval torture museum.
Black stone. Cold and massive. Deep enough to drown in.
And at the far end—stirrups.
Stirrups.
Like the exam table. A moment from Christmas Eve flashes through my mind. The way my masked man guided my heels into the stirrups after he caught me. After he learned that I couldn't be trusted to be still so he had to strap me in. The look in his eyes behind that mask—god, it made me want him to do very sick, strange things to me.
But this gyno-tub… what the hell is it?
I'm trying to reconcile where I even am right now. The Caribbean, obviously. Tropical heat, palm trees, that thick humidity that makes my hair frizz instantly. But I don't actually know. It's an island. I saw it from the window of the plane.Two of them, actually. Very close together. One with a lot of infrastructure, one without. But I could be anywhere. Mexico. Belize. Who knows.
The trip here was awful.
I waited almost an hour for the limo. Standing in the lobby of my apartment building, checking my phone every thirty seconds, convinced the masked man changed his mind. Convinced the whole invitation was a joke.You really thought someone would pay fifty thousand dollars for you?
When the car finally arrived, I almost didn't get in.
That's not true.
I was always going to get in.
