She started to repeat it to herself like a chant, silently, her lips moving slightly: Your slave… Your slave… Your slave, your slave, your slave.....She felt her hips of their own volition slowly slide forward in her chair, almost to the edge of the seat. Her legs, opening wider. Her feet, rising up on their toes. And her right hand, reaching under the table, grasping her skirt and drawing it the rest of the way up to her waist, just below the table. Giving him her answer. He had finished. Rebekka was waiting at the top of the steps, she kissed me on both cheeks and led me into a large simply-furnished entrance hall. Two slender young women stepped forward, dipped slightly and shook my hand in polite welcome. ‘Laisha and Nassri will look after you the whole time you are here,’ Rebekka explained. ‘They will call you ‘Miss Julia’. But you will rarely find it necessary to ask for anything, as they will always know exactly what you want. Call it body language if you like. They will. More

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