Chapter 9

I danced.

Musicians played, but I didn't need them to guide me. The rhythm of my footfalls was steadier than any drumbeat. The musicians followed me. The real music was in my blood, in the pounding of my heart. My master watched me, eyes avid. He cared no more for the music than I. It was me he wanted. It was him I danced for. No one else mattered.

I danced closer to him, close enough to see him tense as he controlled the urge to seize me. Laughing, I whirled away. My body glistened in the lamp-light, bare skin gleaming with scented oil and sweat. The air in my lungs burned like wine. The second that the music stopped, I would be in his arms. I wanted that. I needed it. Yet in the intoxication of the music I prolonged the dance, tormenting him, tormenting myself. I drew out his anticipation and my own, wanting him half-mad with passion when he had me at last.

My whirling progress took me to the edge of the carpet, then back. I leapt towards him, spun to my knees, then in a flash onto my feet, dancing away again. The musicians felt the intensity of my movements as I alternately lured and repulsed him; they began building to a crescendo in time with me. I swayed near him, almost touching, then pulled back, his hands reaching for me against his will. Muscles surged beneath my skin. Dancing was a drug in my veins. The drums were my pulse. As the climax of the music came, I drew myself up before him, arms raised, holding the pose for a last, defiant instant while the flutes and drums still played. Then I dropped to my knees and bowed my head.

The music stopped.

"Master?"

"Yes, Susie?"

"Are you... happy with me?"

"Of course I am."

"Oh." Pause. "Really?"

"Susie, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I am?"

"I'm crazy about you. Maybe literally."

"Oh!" Pause. "You are, too... I mean, the best thing --"

"I get it, Susie. Thanks. Go to sleep."

Silence.

"Master?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you told anyone? About us? I mean, the truth?"

"No. Have you?"

"No..."

"But?"

"I think... I'd like to tell Arlene."

Pause.

"Are you sure?"

"I think so. She's my best friend. I hate lying to her. And..."

"And?"

"I want someone to talk to. About this. It's the most... powerful... thing that's ever happened to me, and I have no one to talk to, about what I feel and how I've changed. Except you, of course, Master. But, it's different with you."

"How do you think she'll react?"

"I don't know. That's what scares me. But I don't like keeping it all bottled up. I don't like pretending, with her."

"Would she tell anyone?"

"Not if I asked her not to."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure about that."

"Well, I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Master."

Long silence.

"Master?"

"You know, you never told me you were an insomniac."

"I'm not an insomniac. I just have trouble falling asleep."

"Too subtle a distinction for this time of night. Didn't I tire you out enough?"

"Almost."

"Almost. Terrific. Roll over."

"Master?"

"As long as we're both awake, we might as well use the time. So, lie back and think of England."

Long period of nonverbal communication. Then silence.

"Master?"

"Mmph."

"I forgot to think of England about halfway through. Should we try again until I get it right?"

"Do you remember the cypresses, Susie?"

"Yes, Master."

"Picture them in your mind, for me. OK?"

"OK."

"Good girl. Think about how relaxed they make you feel. Think about the warm, soft darkness they help you to sink into."

"Uh-huh."

"Now, pull that darkness over you like a thick blanket..."

"Mmmm..."

"... and go to sleep. Good night, Susie."