NINE WEEKS LATER

Larisa Celenskaya presented herself at the door of the Irkhet president's mansion, customarily called "The People's House," feeling overwhelmed by the unreality of the situation. She'd been interrupted while painting by a knock at her door from a grim-looking man, who had presented her with a card inviting her to see the president at 11:00.

Larisa had never met the president, nor anyone else of such august power. She was simply a struggling artist, trying to make ends meet selling her paintings in street markets.

She fully expected to be turned away at the door of The People's House, with laughter following her retreating footsteps, but had come just on the chance that the invitation might be real.

To her astonishment, she was greeted politely after identifying herself, and ushered into the residence, past the public areas where tourists, nearly all foreign, snapped pictures, led down a long, echoing hallway, through a door and into a room that gave the appearance of being a large hospital room, judging from the medical equipment in various corners. Larisa could make no sense of why it would be here, of all places. There were five doors other than the one by which she had entered from the hallway: two in the right-hand wall, two in the back wall, and a large one of elaborately-carved wood to the left. The entire suite of rooms seemed newly built, as if this corner of the residence had recently been refurbished. She could smell the fresh paint on the unblemished white walls.

She was taken through the nearer right-hand door. She blinked as she took in the general features of the room: this one, far from fitting in with the room she had just passed through, was a bedroom. In addition to a large, comfortable-looking bed, there were dressers, bedside table and lamp, a soft-looking overstuffed chair, and another table with a mirror on the wall behind it and a chair in front of it. There was an open door to a closet, and another standing open to reveal a small, clean bathroom. On the wall there was a large-screen high-definition television, and...

Larisa stopped dead in shock, her jaw dropping. There were four paintings on the walls. Her paintings. Her work. In the president's mansion.

The man who had led her here said, "If you will wait here, Miss Celenskaya, the president will be with you soon. If you would like, you may choose some items from the lunch menu." He pointed to a small stack of papers on the table.

Unable to speak, Larisa nodded vaguely, and watched him leave the room and close the door.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and opened them again. Her paintings were still there.

She wandered over to the table, and saw that the stack did indeed contain menus, not just for lunch, but for breakfast and dinner as well. Picking up a pen, thinking this was the most bizarre dream she'd ever head, she circled several items that sounded good, and were well beyond her budget. She stood and walked to the door, deciding she would go find the man who'd brought her in and give him the menu.

The door was locked.

She huffed in annoyance. She supposed they might not want random people wandering around the mansion, but thought this wasn't much of a way to treat a guest. She retreated to the overstuffed chair.

After half an hour she was startled by the door opening. There had been no sound of a key. Apparently the door was locked on the inside only. The same man appeared in the doorway, saying, "I can take your lunch order now, if you wish."

She picked it up from the desk and handed it to him, and said in irritation, "I don't really like being locked in. Could you take me to a kitchen or dining room or something and serve the lunch there?"

The man shook his head. "I am afraid not, Miss Celenskaya. I will bring your lunch here shortly."

She was about to argue with him and push her way past him, but simply took a deep breath and nodded. They were being too nice to her for her to be nasty in return.

Lunch was outstanding. The man had rolled it in on a cart, and it came complete with china dishes, silverware, and napkins, and included the expensive-sounding French wine she'd ordered. As she was finishing, the same man returned once again to clear the remains away. And then he'd locked her in once more.

After about an hour, during which Larisa grew increasingly annoyed, the door opened once again. Larisa had made up her mind to complain about being trapped in the room, and opened her mouth. Then shot to her feet, her eyes wide.

It was President Gerov who had entered the room, with a huge, blank-faced man behind him.

Larisa found his smile and extended hand unexpected, but then nothing whatsoever that had happened to her today qualified as "expected." She shook hands with him numbly.

The president crossed the room to the overstuffed chair and sat, looking casual with crossed legs. The large man who had accompanied him stood near the door, his arms folded in front of him. Larisa could have sat in the other, less comfortable chair, but decided she should remain standing.

The president smiled again, "Well, Miss Celenskaya, how do you like your accommodations?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again. "Ummm... Nice room, I guess. But I'd... Really, I wouldn't touch anything if you'd let me walk around the place. And I wouldn't leave the building. I'm really honored you asked me here, but..." She couldn't think what should follow "but."

He continued smiling. "The honor is mine, I assure you. I've admired your work for a long time." He gestured casually at the paintings on the walls.

She colored at the idea of the president himself looking at... well, any of these. They were some of her rawest work. One simply showed a naked woman shamelessly, wantonly fondling herself. Another showed a nude woman, on her knees with her hands clasped behind her neck, her breasts thrust forward, as if offering them to the man with the whip, who was wearing trousers but no shirt, standing menacingly in front of her. Her breasts already showed marks of earlier whippings. A third painting had a nude woman standing, obviously in pain but with a set jaw as if trying to hide it, her breast being pinched by a second woman, this one holding a riding crop, her face displaying a nasty smile. But the fourth one, with the woman and the animals... Oh, God, thought Larisa, I can't believe he's seen that one.

She could only manage to stammer, "I -- I -- I'm glad you like it. Sir." She hoped that was the right form of address.

He nodded. "I like your imagination, your vision..."

Larisa couldn't stop herself shaking her head. He's talking to me as if I were one of these big, famous, oh-so-precious artists, she thought.

He continued. "You will work for me from now on."

She could only gape at him. She blurted the first thing that came into her mind. "I... I don't usually work on demand. I just... paint something as I picture it. I get an image in my mind and I try to make it real. I don't know if I could... you know..."

The president's smile returned. "I like the way you put that. 'Make it real.' Would you like to make it more real than ever before?"

Now she was totally lost. "I don't understand."

"I would like you to work with live women. Two of them. I want you to imagine extremely erotic poses for them, separately or together, and then make the poses happen."

She struggled to follow. "And then paint them?"

He shook his head. "No need. Your art will be the posing itself."

"Somebody photographs them?"

Again he shook his head. "Only pose them. They will be... Well, imagine yourself making a window display of mannequins for a clothing store. You move the arms, the legs, bend them as you want, and they stay that way. These women will be like that. Due to a medical procedure, they will be unable to move on their own. They will stay exactly as you pose them."

This was going well out of Larisa's comfort zone. "Mr. President, I... Well, I thank you for the very nice lunch, really. But I think I should probably be going. If you could..." She gestured vaguely at the door.

He smiled. "You don't understand. You are already working for me. This will be your room. Elsewhere is... my office, but you may think of that as your studio. That is where you will work."

Her irritation started boiling over into anger. She made a last effort to stay civil. "I really must be going, sir. Thank you again."

The president sighed heavily. "I expected that you would feel this way. But your feelings are not important. If you want me to make it official, then all right. You are under arrest, for distributing and selling pornography."

She gaped at him, her stomach fluttering. "What? I've never... there's no... It's always been all right!" Her knees felt weak.

"I assure you, you have been breaking the law with your work." He held up his hand. "Now, don't worry about being dragged off to a jail cell, defending yourself in a trial, any of those things. You have already been convicted, and you may stay here, in this room. We will provide meals, as you already have seen. I don't know your clothing sizes, but if you will write them down later we can fill the dresser and closet here with clothes for everyday wear. In that drawer," he pointed to the bedside table, "There is a remote for the television. Or we can provide you with books or magazines, if you prefer. You will have several assistants to help you with your work." He grinned. "Think of me as your sponsor, or patron. You really will live quite well, as long as your work is satisfactory."

In a tiny voice, Larisa said, "And... if it isn't satisfactory? If I decide I don't want to do the work at all?"

"Then there will be alternative accommodations. I will show you tomorrow. We will take a trip together." He stood. "I have an important meeting now, but I will meet you tomorrow morning. Please fill out a dinner request, and also write down those clothing sizes for Ivan. That was Ivan who brought you your meal, by the way." The president looked at the huge bodyguard, who went to the door and knocked. It was opened by an equally large man from outside.

Larisa managed to gasp out, "Wait! Are you just leaving me here then?" It was clear she couldn't possibly force her way past the two goons.

He turned at the door. "Yes, but be ready to leave after breakfast tomorrow. Be clean and dressed. I will see you then." Without another word he left, the big man trailing him closing the door behind him.

She ran to the door. Locked again.

As pleasant as the room looked, like a comfortable hotel room, Larisa knew she was in jail. She had committed a crime without being aware of it, been arrested unwittingly, tried and convicted in absentia, and now she was imprisoned in this well-furnished bedroom.

Of course, she told herself, trying to remain calm. It all makes perfect sense.

She reversed course and ran into the bathroom. She felt an urgent need for its facilities.

Larisa hated the helicopter ride. Not that she could see any of it. She had to wear a loose cloth hood over her head during the whole trip. With her hands cuffed behind her. She had complained how unfair it was. There were three other women she had just met, all in military fatigues. They'd introduced themselves as Veronika, Zlata, and Raisa, and they were all army nurses, who had all just met each other that morning. The three nurses didn't have to wear the hoods. Or the handcuffs. Nobody gave Larisa an explanation, but she supposed it was because she was "in custody" for her crime of doing what she had done for several years with nobody complaining.

That morning after her shower, Larisa had found a pile of new clothes on the bed, and breakfast on the table. She'd picked out clean underwear, new jeans and a nice velour open-necked shirt. Everything fit perfectly, including the underwear.

Ivan -- was he a butler or something? -- had bustled in after she dressed, carrying an empty satchel and telling her to pack enough clothes for several days. She'd just had time to do it when she was rushed up to the roof, there meeting the nurses just outside a helicopter whose blades were already starting to turn. Also meeting the handcuffs and hood. She would have objected more strenuously, but everything was happening so fast she couldn't express what she was feeling until she decided exactly what it was.

The other occupants of the chopper were the president and the pilot in front, and two bodyguards behind them. The nurses had chatted among themselves, exchanging comments about their hometowns, military postings, and duties, a conversation Larisa could find no way to join even if there hadn't been the embarrassment of speaking from under the hood. She remained silent. She couldn't tell whether the nurses themselves knew what the trip was about. They may have felt uncomfortable discussing it behind the president.

After what Larisa guessed were about two hours of flying, they landed, and Larisa's hood was removed. She was stunned to see that they were high up in the mountains, and that there was at least a meter of snow on the ground, through which blowers had cleared a path to a large doorway in the mountainside.

Every time, thought Larisa, I narrow down possibilities for what's happening, the next thing I see blows all of it apart.

Another, larger helicopter sat inert on the ground nearby, and from it men were offloading large bales of pine straw. Larisa could make no guess as to the purpose for it. In the growing quiet as the engine of the helicopter that had brought her and the nurses wound down, Larisa could hear another motor-like noise. One of the nurses -- Raisa, if Larisa had kept the names straight -- identified it as an electrical generator. Her own military hospital, she said, used one like it during power outages.

Shivering from the unanticipated cold, Larisa and the nurses were led through the big doorway into a building that seemed carved into the mountain itself, to an office in which a general greeted them, shaking hands with the nurses and nodding to the still-handcuffed Larisa. "This is Trevachevski Women's Prison," he'd told them, causing Larisa almost complete panic before he added that they were the first female non-prisoners to visit it in many years. Why, thought Larisa, do I feel like I am one of the prisoners then?

First, said the general, he wanted his guests ("guests"?? thought Larisa) to tour the prison. He didn't say why. Larisa could see, from the looks passing among the three nurses, that they were as mystified as she was.

Larisa's cuffs were unlocked, at last. An hour later, after a tour led by the general's aide, named Shevchenko or something like that, the nurses were also as wide-eyed and silent as Larisa, and seemed as frightened. They'd seen the astonishingly tiny cells the prisoners lived in -- all empty at present, since the inmates were all at work -- and they had seen two different prisoner work stations: one of them a huge cavern that two dozen exhausted-looking women were working to enlarge, the other a hot, humid, stuffy greenhouse in which eight inmates, covered in sweat and looking blank and hopeless, were tending plants that were presumably the food supply here. All of the women in either place could move around, but were so inconveniently chained it made the work much harder. Without exception, all of the prisoners were naked, their heads nearly shaved, with only a bristly centimeter of hair remaining. Larisa and the nurses saw one of the women working in the cavern whipped for moving too slowly, and it was clear from the marks on their skin, in both venues, that many others had received the same treatment. Two of the nurses now looked green, trying to hold their breakfasts in. When Shevchenko mentioned that after working hours, the guards used the inmates for their own entertainment, Larisa nearly lost her own.

Shevchenko had led them back to the general's office and into a conference room, where the president was waiting to meet them, sitting with a bespectacled gray-haired man in a lab coat. The two bodyguards stood against the wall.

The president spoke without preamble, looking at the nurses. "Your new posting will be at my residence, The People's House, in a facility there in which you will care for two..." Larisa knew enough of the situation to understand that his smile was ironic, "...patients. You will meet them here today. They cannot move, so it will be your job to see to their needs. Doctor Tourachev will be in charge of your training."

One of the nurses, with dark curly hair, spoke. Larisa remembered her name was Veronika. "Paralyzed?" She frowned, seemingly in sympathy for the as yet unseen patients.

The president shook his head. "Not exactly. Doctor Tourachev will explain."

The doctor smiled and spoke. "Not paralyzed in the normal sense, no. Their nervous systems are fully functional. They will feel everything you do to them. Well, not today, as I am keeping them unconscious for the present. But you will not actually be able to tell when they are awake -- not by looking at them, at any rate. Their joints have been considerably stiffened, and at the same time they have drugs in their system that interfere with muscle control. When they are awake, no doubt they will want to move on their own. They won't be able to."

Another of the nurses, with short, straight hair -- Zlata -- seemed to catch on slightly more quickly than the other two: her eyes shot open wide. "You... put them in this condition? Intentionally?" Zlata's eyes seemed to say: Please tell me I misunderstood.

The doctor simply smiled again, as at an apt student. "Indeed, yes. The idea is... Well, perhaps you should explain that part, Mr. President."

The president did so. The nurses' eyes grew steadily wider with horror as he spoke.

Larisa's did not, but only because she already knew.

Afterward, the president leaned forward. "Now listen to me. You are military personnel, and I am your commander in chief. You will be stationed at my residence, and you will not leave your post. You will be under observation, by members of my security staff, through cameras. You will be allowed to write to, and receive letters from, family and friends -- mail to you will be addressed to a central military post office, and forwarded -- and you may even talk to them on the phone. But if you attempt to pass along, to anyone, any information about where you are or the nature of your assignment, that will be a breach of military secrecy. If you attempt to leave your post, that will constitute desertion. If you do not carry out your responsibilities to the very best of your abilities, that will be dereliction of duty. Any of these offences will result in your being returned here, to this prison, as inmates."

The three nurses went pale. In a situation where they might have been expected to look at each other to determine whether they had heard correctly, all three sat frozen. They knew exactly what they had heard.

The president turned to Larisa. "Your situation is different, Miss Celenskaya. You are already under arrest. You may serve the term of your sentence in my residence, as long as you satisfactorily perform your assigned work as a prisoner. If, however, your work fails to meet my standards, your sentence will be served at this facility instead."

Larisa noticed he'd made no mention of her talking to her family. With as much as he seemed to know about her, she thought, it made sense that he knew she had none. None that she kept in communication with, at any rate. Her parents had thrown her out of the house five years ago. Considering where she had now ended up, she wished, for the first time, she had made some different choices back then.

The president sat back, and looked at all four women now. "No one brought to this prison is ever released. All inmates die here, some sooner, some later. The guards decide which incoming prisoners should live." He smiled. "They save the ones they like. In your cases, if the guards don't want you, I think that, instead of executing you right away, we can find something less pleasant than what you saw today."

Larisa suddenly couldn't breathe. She had seen dozens of inmates, with their curvy, big-breasted bodies. She could easily guess the basis on which the guards made their decisions.

She knew she wouldn't pass the guards' scrutiny. She was too skinny, with negligible breasts. Her paintings served as an outlet for her need to experience life fully sexualized, as she was in her imagination.

If she failed to do what the president wanted, her life in prison would not be that of the abused women she had seen today. She knew she would get the "something less pleasant."

Larisa was sure she had gone as ghost-white as the nurses.

Larisa gasped at her first sight of the two women who would be her charges. They lay on their backs on separate examining tables in the infirmary, nude -- unconscious, as the doctor had said they would be.

One was a blonde, with a beautiful face, perfect body, obviously very tall -- Larisa guessed she must be over 180 centimeters. Her hair was quite short, but longer than that of the inmates Larisa had seen. Well of course, thought Larisa, the doctor said she's been here in treatment for two months.

The other struck Larisa at first as being a child, to her shock, but she reevaluated her impression based on the girl's large, full breasts. Otherwise she was very slight of build, with narrow hips, and a very cute face. Her hair, dark, was about the same length as the blonde's.

Their size difference, Larisa thought immediately, might present some challenges to posing them together. I'll have to think up some ideas, she told herself, to make use of that. Make it an advantage somehow instead of an obstacle.

Larisa realized she was trying to lose herself in the problem of artistic composition to avoid dwelling on the terror of the threat the president had just made.

The doctor led the four of them into a smaller office, and spent over two hours on a PowerPoint presentation, intended mainly for the nurses, discussing in more detail what had been done to the women, and then outlining the steps of daily health maintenance the nurses would need to perform. The nurses took notes. Larisa just watched, knowing that most of what he was saying did not concern her. Larisa realized that the nurses, like her, were busying their minds with the details to avoid having to think about the danger they were in. The nurses all barraged the doctor with questions, stretching out the session another hour.

At last the questions petered out, and the doctor looked at his watch. "We go through their care regimen close to the same time each evening. You will assist, starting today. We'll start that in about two hours. I will supervise tonight and tomorrow, and the night after that I will see whether you have learned all you need to know. In the meantime..." He looked directly at Larisa.

Larisa jumped, barely holding back a squeak of panic. The doctor seemed like such a nice old man, purely on a visual basis, until you listened to his matter-of-fact description of his obscene violation of the autonomy of two living, feeling women. Larisa was deathly afraid of him, especially as she knew she herself was under threat of having to come back to this prison as an inmate, exposing her to, among so many other appalling prospects, being under the control of this same monster.

The doctor continued, speaking to Larisa, "...you should probably familiarize yourself with the feel of working with the patients. You should take the opportunity presented by the next two hours. You may continue experimenting with them over the next two days as well, but why don't you get started now?" He smiled, as if had had just offered her a special treat.

Experimenting, thought Larisa. What a loaded word.

The doctor gestured her towards the main room where the two inert women lay, then went into his private office, leaving Larisa to get herself moving on her own.

Her heart pounding, Larisa stood on shaky legs and went to the door. Looking behind her, she saw that the nurses were all reading their notes, putting on a "this doesn't concern me" show.

Larisa looked at them pointedly, until one by one they looked up at her. She gestured at them to follow her. I can't do this all by myself, she told herself with certainty. The big one outweighs me by at least ten kilos. I can't just shift her around as if she were a child's doll.

With tiny steps, Larisa slowly approached the larger woman, breathing hard, her chest feeling very tight. The nurses followed behind her, but not closely. Larisa looked behind at them, biting her lip.

She turned forward again to face the pretty blonde. She was startled to see that the blonde's eyes were open, though only to stare straight ahead. Past her, the smaller girl showed the same empty gaze with eyes open.

With a shaking hand, Larisa reached down and took the blonde's wrist.

She snatched her hand away quickly. She'd known intellectually she was looking at a live woman, but somehow she expected her to feel plastic, like a life-sized doll. But the wrist had felt warm, and Larisa's fingertips had felt the pulse of a living heart.

She gasped, and bent over the blonde's face. Yes, I was right, she told herself. I did see her blink.

Okay, she thought, the doctor said she'd do that. But the proof that the blonde was alive still startled her.

I have to do this, Larisa told herself emphatically. I have to do this.

Her mind eagerly distracted itself from the task at hand. Oh my God, she thought, I wish so much I had breasts like that! Larisa wished now she had waited before asking the nurses to accompany her. She wanted badly to touch the woman's breasts, to feel their weight in her hands.

Stop it! she ordered herself. No! This woman has endured more than enough abuse of her body. Don't you start too! Even if she is unconscious. Or because she is.

And what about when she's awake? Larisa's thoughts continued, beyond her control. That would be even worse. Feeling me fondle her, watching me, completely helpless to stop me.

But, she reminded herself, my job is going to be to abuse her even worse than that. To do shameful things with her body. If I don't, I'll be abused myself, so much worse than anything she's experienced. I'll wish I was in her place.

Larisa reached for the woman's wrist again, and tried to lift it. It resisted her effort much more than she expected, and she thought for a moment the doctor must have overdone it, freezing her joints so completely they couldn't be moved at all. Larisa tightened her grip and tried harder, and finally the woman's arm came upward, bending at the shoulder and elbow. Larisa let go, and the arm stayed where it was, half-lifted.

Larisa tried the fingers, working to curl each one inward. Again it was harder than she expected, but eventually she finished closing the woman's hand into a fist.

She walked around between the tables, to see whether the smaller girl's joints had the same degree of stiffness. She put her hand under the girl's knee and anchored the girl's foot with her hand. Grunting with effort, she managed to raise the girl's leg, bending it at the knee, and extended the girl's foot at the ankle so the sole of her foot rested flat on the table.

This will be doable, she thought, but I was right. I definitely can't do this all by myself.

She turned back towards the bigger woman and looked across her at the nurses. "Help me get her sitting up. I want to try some things." She squeezed her eyes shut tight, again telling herself: I have to do this, I have to do this. "I need to get a feeling for how to manipulate them. By the end of today, let's see what it takes to make them kiss so it looks real."

The nurses all gave her horrified looks. Larisa could tell what they were thinking -- about her, not just about the situation. All they knew about her, she realized, was that she was some kind of criminal and, considering what her job in the operation was, probably some sort of pervert. They were far from being ready to take orders of any kind from her.

Larisa took a quick look towards the doctor's closed door, and said softly, "This might be our only chance to speak freely. You know they'll be listening to us once we get back to the People's House." She looked down at the unconscious woman in front of her. "These aren't dolls, or mannequins. They are living, feeling people. They're asleep right now, but in a few days they won't be. They'll be more helpless than you've ever imagined being. I want all of you to promise -- promise! -- that you'll never forget that, that you'll never hurt them, and that you'll do everything you can to make their lives better."

Larisa could see the nurses' attitudes towards her shift in an instant. It's an easy promise for them to make, Larisa thought. They are nurses. I'm just asking them to do what they'd do for any patient. But they have to know that I feel that way.

She held each one's eyes in turn, as they nodded.

Larisa bent and kissed the tall blonde on the lips. "I promise too." Then she turned and kissed the smaller girl, and repeated the promise.

She turned back to the pretty blonde and pressed her hand against the inert woman's lower stomach, then pointed to Zlata and Raisa, who stood nearest. "Each of you put a hand under one of her shoulders, and lift when I tell you." They each nodded and took positions on either side of the blonde.