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.