A small afterparty was held at Mr. Dannon's mansion-size house on the edge of their town, with everyone but Teri's parents who had to get up early for their respective jobs the next morning. Champagne and appetizers were liberally consumed in a lavish living room made for entertaining; they all spoke of the bright future Teri had ahead of her, as well as Carlie who would be able to forge her own success with a bit more training and experience.
Dannon made a toast, to the future of young, talented dancers.
"And to a wonderful dance to come...tonight," Camille toasted loudly, as the benefactors and Mrs. Cantor realized that their hired instructor had prepared a departing dance presentation for everyone before she was slated to leave. Camille had left the room to get ready while the younger dancers moved the furniture, prepping the room. The lights were dimmed to half brightness by the time Camille returned, wrapped in a familiar white robe.
"I know white to many is the color of resignation, of no longer willing to fight," she spoke theatrically. "And I know some would believe that I deserve to don this, and only this color. However..." Just as Teri had in her dance, on cue with the bellydancer music used on the first day, Camille spread her arms wide open and fast, showing off not only an American flag behind her, but her own custom-made 4th of July belly-dancing outfit. A blue bra with one strap, white, glittery stars, a red and white-stripped wrap tied at her waist, reaching down to her ankles. Her exposed midriff, painted and decorated with glittery fireworks all across her stomach, and a bald eagle piercing on her bellybutton. Three sparklers were lit in her hand as she posed perfectly like the Statue of Liberty.
"I am America, and America doesn't surrender," Camille finally spoke after a short while, garnering applause for the showmanship thus far.
"America is about freedom, the freedom to choose, to be oneself, always interested in having you free yourself." The phrasing seemed strange to all but two figures who came in behind Camille's form, dressed in American colors, but looking more like subordinates. Each bellydancer held a sparkler, and they danced in unison together, the dimmed overhead or sparkler not bright enough to put emphasis on their dreamy smiles, produced from their minds left gently yet endlessly spinning.
Carlie remembered walking in one day on Camille instructing Teri to spin. She found it fascinating as Camille explained the use it had for her style of learning. She was eager to try it, and Carlie found herself in nearly the same topspin of an induction that Teri had, the only difference being it opened her up to more of an inquiry.
"As you listen and spin so well, you can follow my voice from every direction it comes to you. You obviously have experience in belly-dancing in order to help your friend Teri progress so far, meaning you've spent so much time dancing and spinning yourself, meaning you've been in this place before, where the world just sort of goes away and you're left to let your mind dance and spin its way to a state of receptiveness, where you can be aware of things around you, but only to dance your way around them, guided only by the most prevalent of voices, like mine. I know what it is like to spin like this, I know how you are feeling, I know that the more you do it, the more you listen, the more you'll want to listen, and answer any questions I might have for you, because it's so easy to do so, and I can help you, as you help me, first by telling me about yourself, and how long you and Teri have been friends..."
Carlie's first trance was light, as were the questioned asked by Camille. The somewhat unorthodox teaching methods never seemed to bother Carlie; Teri's new teacher was so friendly and pretty, so unlike Mrs. Cantor, that opening herself up to the query raised no red flags. After a few more sessions of spinning, Carlie was literally an open book to Camille, who liked what she read in her. The part of her mind that wasn't concentrating on their synchronized dance thought back to those moments, and how good it felt to be dancing next to Camille then. The three dancers soon began to break off into their own styles, letting the music dictate their bodies path. The sparklers waved across their bodies, used like magic wands to draw the benefactors attention, and even Mrs. Cantor.
"America helps those who want to be free, to free themselves. And for those who resist, we say that you should surrender yourself."
Mrs. Cantor's eyes widened at the asinine suggestion, not because it was asinine, but because hearing those words took her mind back to a point, weeks ago when she found her dislike for Camille had reached a boiling point. Kicked out of her own studio, shuffled away from teaching her prize student in her latest competition by this unknown outsider, proved to be too much. It didn't help that Camille was a racial minority, and also suspected of being homosexual. After a lesson one day when Teri had already left, words were exchanged between the teachers, some of which involved derogatory words that did more than irk Camille. It didn't matter that she was half right about Camille since she was bisexual, it was insulting enough to think that Camille was supposed to be attracted to Mrs. Cantor, let alone how being attracted to the same sex was an insult. At that point, considered walking away from the whole circumstance, or slapping the taste of out of the older dancer's mouth. However, the triad directed at the Lebanese dancer ended with calling her a "witch." Camille could've belly-laughed at how of after everything she was called, she didn't have the gumption to call her what she really wanted. Backing up a few paces and spreading her arms out, a beat started playing in Camille's head that she moved purposefully to.
"Watch me dance, Mrs. Cantor. See exactly why I was chosen over you to teach Teri this style." Her words were coarse, but she kept her tone measured, letting the older woman watch and fall into the trap slowly springing onto her mind. "It's a very unique style, so unlike the ones you're used to, so sensual and provocative. It's no wonder Teri picked this style; it is meant to be eye-catching, attention-arresting, enthralling to the senses with that music you can imagine I'm dancing to, perhaps the smell of incense that comes with dances like these, the feel of your skin flushing as you watch the dance undulate, your eyes overwhelmed by which limb to follow as it moves whichever way it wants to enflame which part of your brain that wants whichever motion of my hips to make you feel which leg gets heavier or which arm feels leadened. Does determining which matter when the words you hear slip into you while the dance captivates you as if I was a witch casting a spell? That would make so much sense, wouldn't it?"
Watching her toned hips and exposed midriff undulate like Wilma's never could or never tried to put her at a loss. The way her loss of composure produced a need to dance, and desire to speak about the dance she was already doing didn't make sense, nor did it make sense to the more conservative dancer how good she made it look. Wilma Cantor could tell as she followed the pretty jewel in Camille's belly-button from left to right, in small and larger circles, that Camille absolutely loved to dance this way. It never occurred to Wilma unconsciously that she began to love it too.
"Whichever limb feels heaviest and unlikely to move, this witch is what is rooting it in place. Whichever lung is helping to steady your breath, this witch is the one making it happen. It's not a question of which witch makes you feel like that, but merely which bewitching word has the witch uttered to take you deeply under her spell? And when was it that being called a witch was a bad thing? Which decade was that, which century? So long ago, yet witches still endure, and their power still endures. And which group or culture was foolish enough to suggest being a witch was a bad thing, because if you can't tell which leg or arm feels more comfortably numb and heavy, or which bewitching word you like to hear more from me when the only ones that should concern you is Surrender Yourself!"
Mrs. Cantor was totally thrown out of whack, half-realizing she was grasped in Camille's arms, not minding being there as they moved together in a gentle sway, actively listening to more dizzying words emptying her mind until there was just bewitching words. The usually gentle and merciful hypnotic dancer had her buttons pushed, and shifted her efforts for the next few days straight to crass but thorough brainwashing. Camille did not allow her adversary to muster any kind of resistance, deftly repeating "surrender yourself" past the point of it's use to turn Cantor into a drooling, enslaved mass for her to shape. Carefully, over time, the shape Mrs. Cantor subconsciously found herself in was wanting something no religious woman should, yet the urge to worship, worship a woman's pussy, Camille's pussy to be exact, washed over her daily. She would have "nightmares" about wanting, begging to see it. It didn't take long for those "nightmares" to become dreams she admitted to no one, not even to Mr. Cantor. Without it, she never would've found herself undressing at the afterparty as Camille told her to, revealing under her street clothes was her own exotic dancing outfit she purchased for herself, consisting of only seven colored veils.
At Camille's insistence she moved toward the center of the room, surrounded by the three dancers. "America declares 'surrender yourself' to its enemies." Mrs. Cantor raised her hands above her head and began to spin like the others had, the veils attached to her body flowing with her. "Enemies whom try to resist, to withstand the might of America, but they soon find their world's spinning out of control, thanks to American influence. Before they know it, 'surrender yourself,' becomes your last act of free will, until you have nothing but America's will to rely on, no matter how much you spin it." Each veil miraculously stayed attached to her person as the spinning continued, until Camille snatched one from her body at any given time, each time reminding the older dancer to "surrender yourself." With each trigger, her sexual need multiplied, held back only by the mental obstruction that also multiplied in tandem.
Camille pulled the last veil in a triumphant sing-song, leaving Mrs. Cantor naked and exposed. She didn't try to cover herself as she fell to the floor. She crawled to the woman who practically owned her, begging for a taste, or just a peak at what it looked like. Camille strutted to the defeated woman, lowering her body, rolling her hips only close enough to give the illusion of a peak. Before she got too aroused at the sight, Camille snapped in her face "surrender yourself to sleep now!" depriving her of even the scent of her arousal.
Camille had lost count of how many times she'd said "surrender yourself," an added benefit as the benefactors remained seated, with their eyes vacant, erections protruding in their pants, merely waiting for instructions from Camille like everyone else present. If her words weren't enough to grip them, the sight of her bald eagle pin piercing at her bellybutton would have been, snatching their mines like the serpents they were, grasped in symbolic eagle claws. Glassy eyes could focus only enough to see that eagle as it soared over her majestic body, moving as much as her hips allowed it to. As much as she'd planned for Teri and Carlie to seduce them originally, like Teri had done in her dreams, Camille couldn't help but take it upon herself to take them down like she had the first time.
"Never forget though, one of America's greatest strengths is its diverse collective, the strength of many peoples put together. Those who think they represent America, yet forget that strength, tend to be its weak links. And how weak you are in the face of America, assimilated into the will of something, someone much stronger than yourself, a servant to their beliefs. Your notion of 'keeping it American,' if you think about it, might me 'keeping it obedient to me. And if you think a little more about it, 'keeping it obedient to me' would mean you'd already be surrendering yourself to me, now."
Camille paraphrased the last speech she gave Rogers and Dannon after their first trance, snatching Dannon's toupee off his head and tossing it on the face of Mrs. Cantor's sleeping form without reaction from any of them. These older, wealthy, lecherous men were the easiest of the group to take. She only offered them a taste of the dance Teri originally had in mind, but gave them something shown at bachelor parties and such events. The eagle was complimented and gazed at with adoring eyes before either knew what happened to them, isolated from their own thoughts by the feel of silk scarves and libidos the best strippers they'd ever watched couldn't produce.
