"Soon, slave, I will make you dance in that circle," her Master had said, his eyes making a pass over her body as she poured him his wine. 'I would do it better,' she'd wanted to answer when his look strayed back to the girl performing, but wisely she had held her tongue.
Now she's less certain. Her teeth bite into her lip, her fingers anxiously tracing the still angrily red outline of the freshly branded flower on her hip. She looks out over the empty kennel as she stands in the practice dance pit.
Nervously, she takes a step, then another, notes from the Gorean music playing in her head. Small indentations are left in the sand from the balls of her feet with each shift in her stance, with each twirl. She feels the grinding sensation of the grains under her toes, sandy friction against her skin.
Muscles flex. She lets the music guide her where it will, her body taking over, its limber movements channeling her thoughts. Once more she reaches that zone, like so many times before in the dance studios on Earth. Before she was abducted to this strange planet.
An image forms in her mind, and she expresses it through her dance. She's in the jungle, running from... something. The branches and leaves whip against her face, her flitting skips from side to side during her mad dash only barely making the beast behind her miss her on its pounces. And then, with no warning, she's cornered. She freezes, air rushing in and out of her mouth with her rapid panting, chest rising and falling, her deer-like eyes wide as saucers as they meet her pursuer. Her eyes lock with his, she moving backwards, and she whimpers, pressing herself against the imagined rough stone face behind her, her body held back by the outline of the dancing ring. No escape.
She shakes her head, long curls of golden tresses whipping behind her. No, she decides, she's on the beach at night, wind from the sea blowing in her hair, pulling it away from her face. She's looking out over the whipped waves of the dark water, running into the wind of the approaching storm. The strengthening gale tears at her silks, pulling her top away from her, the wispy garment flowing in the air, thrown towards where audience would sit behind her. She pays no regard to the lost clothing. The dinghy from the ship is coming in, the wonderful, majestic ship that will take her to her freedom. Exhilarated, she runs into the water.
Then the music in her head changes its tone, a mischievous grin coming to her lips. Steps become confident, toes curling and playfully teasing at the soft surface as she steps forwards, foot placed in front of foot, hips rolling. Each shift in balance is perfectly measured, slow, graceful like a cat's. She's a Panther in her camp, perfectly in control of her body, using it to tease her capture, purring, driving him to a frenzy before she has her way with him, animal instincts to the fore as she pleases herself on his cooperation.
