Lina Ritter decided, as she struggled into the costume, that she was getting too old for this. She was too old for this. It had been her career for nearly fifteen years now and, at thirty-four, enough was enough. After all, this was a game for younger women. She was being forced more and more to ‘specialise’: to cater for the more bizarre and exotic tastes of specific clients, and the role of a dominatrix had suited her age better. And anyway, there was no fucking involved most of the time: you got to order some fat businessman about for half an hour, whack him on the arse if he was too slow following your instructions and then tell him how bad he was and how angry you were as he jerked himself off. It paid reasonably well, the health risks were fewer and her clients, as their punishments, often did all her housework for her. Tonight would be harder work, however. The guy who had booked her had given her a wad of cash in advance. Then he had made his appointment for tonight, with precise instructions that she must wear the outfit he brought for her. She knew, from this ridiculous bloody costume, that she wasn’t going to be the dominant partner this time and had resigned herself to having to fuck the big guy.
He had arrived bang on time, and now he waited for her in the bedroom, while she squeezed into the outfit he had brought. It had clearly been meant to fit someone a size or two smaller than Lina. The things a girl had to do to make a living. Lina had forgotten just how big her customer was. Big, but quiet. Almost shy. He wouldn’t give her any trouble.
Lina walked into the bedroom and twirled around. ‘You like?’ She stopped mid-twirl as she saw him. ‘Oh . . . I see you’ve got a special costume too . . .’
He was standing by the bed. He had switched off all but the small bedside lamp behind him and he stood in half-silhouette. Everything in the room seemed dwarfed by his dark bulk. He was wearing a small rubber mask, like a child’s mask, in the shape of a wolf’s face. The wolf’s features were distorted as the tiny mask had been stretched across the too-big face. Then Lina realised that he wasn’t wearing some kind of skintight costume, as she had first thought, but that his entire body, from his ankles to his throat and down his arms to his wrists, was covered with tattoos. All words. All in the old pre-war script. He stood massive and silent, with that stupid mask and his tattoo-covered body, the light behind him. Lina realised that she was, now, afraid. Then he spoke.
‘I’ve brought you a present, Gretel,’ he said, his voice muffled by the rubber mask.
‘Gretel?’ Lina looked down at her costume; the one he had asked for. ‘This isn’t a Gretel outfit. Have I got it wrong?’
The head behind the too-small rubber wolf mask shook slowly. He stretched out his hand, holding a bright blue box tied with a yellow ribbon.
‘I’ve brought you a present, Gretel,’ he repeated.
‘Oh . . . oh, thank you. I like presents.’ Lina performed what she considered a coquettish curtsey and took the box. She did her best to conceal that her fingers trembled as she undid the ribbon. ‘Now . . . what have we here?’ she said as she lifted the lid from the box and looked in.
By the time Lina’s scream hit the air, he had already crossed the room to her.