Chapter 3
Early the next week, the painting was delivered to my gallery. It was easy to
arrange for one of the assistants to drive it, still unwrapped, to my apartment.
Gallery employees were allowed to borrow art works from the collection to
display in their homes, and as the assistant director I kept track of who had
which pieces. I spent the day in a state of nervous excitement, controlling the
impulse to unwrap the painting and take the long, close look that I had been
afraid to indulge in earlier.
Finally it was 5:00. I climbed into the gallery's van with Peter, the
assistant, and we drove to my apartment. Peter and I maneuvered the painting up
the stairs and into my bedroom, where we wrapped up my previous "loaner" - a
late-19th-century French still-life - to be returned to the gallery. I declined
the offer to unwrap and hang my new prize, explaining that my boyfriend would
help me later, and saw Peter out.
Then I raced back up the stairs and eagerly tore the protective wrapping off the
painting, uncovering the cruel, sensuous scene that was so fixed in my mind.
I slowly absorbed the canvas's earthen colors and sensuous lines, picking out
details I had previously missed - the cruel binding of the naked girl's wrists,
accentuating the arch of her back; the matching brass of the ankle shackles,
armband, collar, and chain leash that marked her status so clearly; the powerful
thigh of her captor, seemingly as thick as her waist; the faint shadow of a
bulge in her cheek. But still I came no closer to making out the emotion that
colored her face. Was it intent focus on duty? Or helpless desperation? Or
something else?
I looked at my watch. I only had an hour before Robert would arrive for dinner,
a dinner I had rehearsed in my mind all day. I hung the painting on the wall,
facing the bed, and draped a cloth over it, as if before an unveiling. Then I
moved to the kitchen to prepare dinner, wondering if this were the sort of chore
that the slave girl on my bedroom wall might also be expected to perform.
Luckily, studying art history at NYU and in Paris had taught me how to please a
man in the kitchen. Fifty-five minutes later, the potatoes dauphinoises where
just browning in the oven, the asparagus in brown butter was waiting in its
serving dish, the avocado and grapefruit salad was tossed, and the lamb chops
were marinated and ready to be seared on the grill pan. I slipped into the
bedroom and undressed, pausing briefly to assess my nude body, hoping it would
measure up to the figure in the painting. Then, as I heard knocking on the
door, I hurriedly put on a slip and robe in matching pink silk, drawing the belt
tight around my waist to accentuate my figure.
I opened the door and was rewarded by the sight of Robert's lower jaw sagging
open as my bare thighs slipped into view, and ushered him into the apartment
quickly. "I have a surprise for you," I whispered in his ear as I took his
jacket."
He stepped back and looked me up and down. "You mean that isn't it?" he asked.
"Well, another one," I smiled, and led him to the kitchen, where I had already
poured us two glasses of Cote Rotie. "To tonight," I said, raising my glass.
He was at a loss for words.
I know I was uncomfortable during dinner, feeling nearly naked with only flimsy
silk covering my body, but I'm sure he was even more uncomfortable, trying not
to stare at my thinly veiled breasts or my exposed legs as we ate. I served him
each course as demurely and pleasingly as I could, but did not neglect to tease
him gently as I walked back and forth from the kitchen, or as I leaned close to
him to refill his wine glass, or as I reached under the table to caress his
thigh with my hand. When it was time for dessert, I ate my sorbet slowly and
lingeringly, letting my spoon vanish into my mouth and closing my eyes as I let
my tongue drift around my lips.
"It's time for your surprise," I said as I put down my spoon. I could feel my
heart pounding in my chest. I was terrified of how he might respond, but I was
determined to go through with my plan.
"You mean there's more?" he said.
"Much, much more," I answered, taking him by the hand and leading him to the
bedroom.
I seated him on the bed, facing the draped painting, and slowly took off my robe
before him, stripping down to the thin pink slip beneath. It came about a third
of the way down my thighs, but was slit high on each side, showing off my hips
as I moved, and the low-cut neck revealed the soft curves of my breasts clearly.
"I got a new painting from my gallery," I said, grasping the cloth that hid it
from view. "I hope you like it."
I pulled the cloth off the painting, exposing its fair captive to view. I saw
Robert's eyes widen in surprise. I stepped closer to the bed and kneeled at his
feet, leaning my head against his thigh as we looked at the painting together.
I looped my arm around his leg and stroked it gently.
"It's pretty shocking," he finally said. "I'm surprised you like it," he added.
"Maybe you won't be when you get to know me better," I said, looking up at him
from my knees.
"What does that mean?," he said, his hand now in my hair.
I looked at the painting. "Have you ever fantasized about having a slave girl,
who would do anything you asked, instantly and obediently, like that girl on the
wall?"
He hesitated. "Um, not really."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, maybe occasionally, but I certainly never thought of you that way," he
stammered.
"Well this is your surprise," I said, pausing to kiss him on the outside of his
knee. "For tonight, I'll be that girl. I'll do anything you want, anything
you've always wanted to do with a girl but were too afraid to ask." There. I
had said it. I had offered myself to him, as his slave, if only for a night.
He was silent. I edged around in front of him, still on my knees, and rested my
hands on his thighs. "Shall I strip for you?" I asked, looking up at him.
"You really don't have to do this, Heather," he said. "I like you just the way
you are."
"This is how I am, Robert, kneeling before you offering myself to you. Tonight,
I just want to make you happy." He didn't respond. "Don't you want to see me
naked?" I asked.
"OK," he said, trying to be casual about it.
I reached up to the front of my skimpy garment and slowly drew it over my head,
baring my body before him. I drew back my shoulders and lifted my breasts for
his view, hoping he liked what he saw. "Shall I serve you like that girl in the
painting?" I asked, hopefully.
"Um, OK," he said, still unsure what he could ask for.
"Thank you," I said, reaching up to unbuckle his belt. I lowered his pants and
underwear, and slid my hands around his waist as I bent forward to take him in
my eager mouth. I moaned softly as I felt the familiar warmth build between my
thighs. I had hoped that seeing the painting would unleash Robert's desire to
have a slave girl, and I had clearly offered to be that girl. I wasn't sure if
it was working, but still, I was kneeling naked before him, serving his
pleasure. I pressed my thighs together.
I could feel his hands in my hair, guiding my head off of him. "Come up here,"
he said, patting the bed. I crawled onto the bed and lay next to him, my breast
heaving in excitement. "I don't want a slave girl," he said. "I just want
you." Then he leaned down and kissed me deeply, rolling on top of me to make
love the old-fashioned way. I kissed him back, but inside I was disappointed.
I didn't know if he really didn't want a slave girl, or if he was only trying to
conform to what he thought I wanted. I closed my eyes and imagined it was a
cruel, foreign master forcing himself upon me, pushing my legs apart and
claiming my body as his loot. Finally I cried out in submission and ecstasy.
Robert thought it was love.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening," he whispered as we snuggled together in the
bed. I felt sleep take hold of me and plunge me into darkness.
***
The door broke inward with a crash, and three dark-haired men swaggered into my
bedroom. I put my hand to my breast and looked around me frantically. There
was no escape, and no one was coming to my aid. I had nothing to protect myself
from these strange, powerful men.
Their leader, with the dark, cruel moustache, walked directly toward me, his
heavy boots echoing against the floor, stopping just inches from my heaving
chest. He looked down into my eyes, his expression a mix of contempt and lust.
I averted my eyes and slumped down to my knees, any will to resist drained out
of me. He extended his foot and lifted his leather boot up toward my face.
Tears in my eyes, I leaned forward and kissed it timidly. I knew that I was
powerless against these men, that my only hope for survival lay in doing
anything they asked. I shuddered, thinking of what that might entail. He
chuckled softly and slid his other foot forward, towards me. I lowered my face
and hands to the floor as I pressed my lips to the boot, tasting the dust of the
streets on my tongue.
Then I felt myself lifted up, one arm held by each of the two other soldiers,
until I was standing before him, my eyes only coming to the level of his neck,
my body trembling in fear. I saw him draw a dagger from his belt, and my heart
began to race. "Please," I sobbed. "Please don't kill me." He lifted the
dagger toward my neck. "I'll do anything you want," I begged. "You can do
anything you want to me." He smiled. Then he grasped the collar of my
nightgown with one hand and slashed down the front with the dagger, ripping it
open and exposing my body to him and his men. They laughed, cruelly. Sobs of
both relief and humiliation wracked my body. The man casually brushed aside the
shreds of my garment, stripping me completely naked. I closed my eyes as their
hands roamed across my body, feeling my breasts, belly, hips, and thighs, even
my most intimate areas. The man laughed as he felt my dampness, my body's
self-defense against its expected use. Tears of shame slid over my cheeks. I
wondered if I was going to be raped, or worse. I hoped they would find me
pleasing. I knew that I would do anything I could to satisfy these men, on whom
my life depended.
Then I felt a rough rope collar tied around my neck, and my hands lashed
together behind my back. One of the soldiers tugged on the length of rope
dangling from my collar, leading me toward the door like an animal. I followed
him down the steps of my own house, steps I had climbed thousands of times
before - but never naked, bound, and led by a leash, a helpless captive of
powerful men.
I stumbled as I was dragged over the threshold and into the street, averting my
head so I would not have to meet the lustful stares of the soldiers on the
street. I wished I had been granted at least some scrap of clothing to hide my
nudity, but I guessed that I was not likely to enjoy such niceties, given my
present condition. I felt the warm sun beating down on my unprotected body. My
captor, behind, me, raised his whip and barked out commands in a foreign tongue.
***
"Heather! Heather!" Robert was shaking me gently. I felt the sunlight
streaming through the window and onto the bed. "You were dreaming," he
explained. "It's time to get up."
I closed my eyes. I could still feel the dust of the street under my feet, the
rough rope collar around my neck. I opened my eyes and looked at the alarm
clock. "Thanks, honey," I said and kissed him on the cheek as I slipped out of
bed.
