Eight years later, David snapped on the bathroom light. Lisa was in a deep sleep, dreaming she was a child back in Lebanon. She was patting a horse and talking to like it was an old friend. "
Je suis une fille de la ville
," she explained. "
Je ne peux pas avoir de cheval.
"
Suddenly her eyes opened, to bewilderment.
Where did the horse go? Why am I lying on a floor naked? Oh, it hurts to swallow!
At that point David stepped into her field of view. The hood was gone. He was back in his civvies. He squatted down and asked, in a not-unfriendly voice, "Well, how do you feel?"
Now she remembered it all. She had to struggle to speak. When it came out it was more of a croak. "I'm OK, I guess," she said, with a slight gargle. "What time is it?" Now she noticed that a leash around the toilet base held her head there.
"Two in the afternoon," said David.
"What time did I get here?"
"Ten a.m."
"Ah, oh," she groaned, "it feels like I've been here for years." Then she blurted out, "My throat hurts."
David chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I gave you quite a workout."
He unsnapped the leash and told her to sit up. Oh, her ass was sore, too! David took the collar off. He took her hand and helped her stand up.
"Easy," he said, "just take a step or two."
The most important thing came flooding back: he had treated her like she was just a wet hole for his pleasure. And she had submitted totally, willingly. She couldn't fathom the strange, shy pleasure it had given her. He had reduced her to nothingness, and in the end, the nothingness was peace.
But, oh my God, what is he going to do to me now?
David, still holding her hand, led her out of the bathroom, down the short hall, and up the stairs into the kitchen. She was still naked and glanced around at the windows hoping nobody could see her. Now that she knew how ruthless he could be, she wouldn't put it past David to pose her in the nude on his front lawn.
David gestured to the small table, so she sat down. Her instinct was to cover herself, but she was sure he wouldn't like that. She folded her hands on the table. She remembered only now that he had said not to speak unless he spoke to her.
David went to the refrigerator and took out a ceramic baking dish. He brought it over to the table. "You should have something to eat. I made this rice pudding. It may soothe your throat."
Lisa nodded emphatically. Hunger came rushing over her almost like sexual need. She hadn't eaten since last night, and what David had put her through seemed to have drained her body of everything. David brought her a bowl, spoons, and a napkin. "Help yourself. What would you like to drink? I've got most everything. I'd advise against anything carbonated, but suit yourself."
"Do you have milk?" Lisa asked.
"Ah, of course." He brought a glass and a carton of cold milk. Then, disturbingly, he sat down across from her and put his own hands on the table. He watched her as she fumblingly put some pudding in the bowl, poured milk, and began to eat.
It was clear he intended to watch everything she did. Was he thinking critical things?
She stopped worrying as she ate the pudding. It was delicious, chilled, flavored with cardamom and studded with golden raisins. The top was a crispy, sugary crust. It did soothe her sore throat. She wanted to tell David how perfect it was but didn't dare speak. Maybe her obvious gusto would convey the idea.
She looked at him and gestured at the large bowl, asking for more.
"Sure," he said. "Help yourself. I made it for you."
The tiny tears again. He was being so unexpectedly kind. Did that mean he was pleased?
When she finished, he took the things to the sink. Then he took her by the hand, raised her up, and walked her out through the dining room and living room, to the large oak staircase just inside the front door. He indicated that she should precede him up the stairs.
He's looking right up my ass. Does he like it?
At the top he led her to a corner bedroom, overlooking the sunny back yard, and on the side looking into a wall of leafy trees. The effect was a little like being in a treehouse.
The bedroom was fairly large and nicely but sparsely furnished. The carpet was a subdued maroon. Against the longest wall, opposite the back windows, was a huge, perfectly square bed, crisply made up with a bold purple cover. The bed itself had no headboard, but a long stained piece of woodwork was mounted on the wall slightly above it, crossing its whole width. Several rings were mounted on the board, some with straps or cords attached. She also noticed rings on the sturdy wooden beg legs. Under the back windows were jumbled an assortment of pillows of different shapes and sizes. She knew what those were for. There were two doors, one to a walk-in closet and one to the master bathroom.
David told her to use the bathroom if she wished. She did, while he busied himself with his phone. When she came out he was still scrolling. She walked over and stood uncertainly in front of him. He ignored her.
Although David was--for now--being polite and considerate, he obviously was assuming her obedience. Other American men didn't treat Lisa like that, because they were nice guys and had been trained to respect women. But, although she had lived in this country for a long time, Lisa was Mediterranean at heart. She had spent her childhood around men, including her father, who were brusque with women and expected them to be attentive to men's needs. David's offhanded orders gave her butterflies, but also a little thrill, as if--somewhat paradoxically, given what she was doing here, she had returned to childhood innocence and freedom.
She was also taking a certain pleasure from being nude while he was clothed. So far, he had appeared not even to notice her body. That, too, gave her an emotional fillip. She wanted him to notice, and the wanting itself stirred eagerness--especially since she didn't dare do anything to call his attention to it, There was doubtless a whip somewhere in this bedroom.
When he finished with the phone, David moved over to the chair by the desk, turned it around, and sat down. He gestured for her to come over, and when she stood in front of him, gestured downward with one hand. Lisa hesitated, not sure what he meant.
"Kneel." She knelt and looked up at him.
"Lower your face." She did. "Keep it that way. Lock your hands behind your head." She did. "No, move your elbows all the way up, out, and back. Back straight. You can bend your neck slightly."
There was quite a long silence. She wondered if he had gone back to his phone.
Then he said, "Tell me what you felt this morning." His voice was even and firm and gave no hint of what sort of answer he expected.
She grasped for words.
