The music changed to a slow R&B number and Anne pulled me backwards to her, wrapped her arms around me and started to sway her hips. I followed her movement, feeling her pelvis rub pleasantly against my bum and her breasts brush teasingly against my back. She rested her chin on my shoulder, and I forgot all about the people around us, revelling in the closeness of her embrace. A punkish girl danced up to us. She looked barely over eighteen and had the most outrageous haircut I had ever seen, shorn bald on the left side but long on top and the right side, her hair dyed fiery red with bright, yellow highlights and white tips. Her body, sans her arms, was sheathed in a skin-tight wrap of bright yellow, shiny latex. A kind of catsuit, I realized. Her feet were stuck in incredibly high platform boots in the same color, and all the buttons and seams were done in dark red. It looked like some kind of crazy space uniform. Her bare arms were covered with tattoos, too fine to make out anything. Although he had hardly touched me, I knew that the services he was already commanding me to perform were profoundly sensual, and could only culminate in my absolute ravishment, in the kind of sexual conquest that only a slave can suffer at the hands of a master. And as a slave, I longed for that conquest, I longed to feel his body exerting its will over me and inside me.Suddenly I grew bold. "Please, master," I said, uninvited, now on my belly, grasping my ankles behind my body, "let me please you! I beg to serve you, as a slave."Suddenly I felt the whip burn into the flesh of my back. "You were not asked to speak, slave," he said coldly. I lay on the floor, silent, tears forming in my eyes from the pain. But I expected my pleadings were not completely wasted. Hopefully now he knew how desperate I was, how much I longed for my rape. And such knowledge, I knew from experience, generally has its effect on a man.Finally he positioned me again on my back, my knees lifted and my thighs.
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