They halted and their wide eyes ran up and down my body. They didn’t say anything, but blushing and giggling, they turned and ran through the church’s front doors. I again thought about the fact that I was short one concubine. Then I came to my senses.The service was comforting in its predictability. Song, opening prayer, three songs, communion service, song, sermon, and final song. I didn’t need to use a hymnal; the songs were all ones that I had memorized as a child. The arrangements were all four-part harmony, and I knew the tenor and bass lines. I had been singing with Paula and the girls, so my voice was in fine fettle. I threw back my head and opened up my throat, enjoying myself.Perhaps I enjoyed myself too much. By the third song, I noticed that I was getting sidelong glances from the around the sanctuary. I throttled myself back and concentrated on blending in. The sermon was innocently boring. I had decades of practice in maintaining a pleasant, alert look on my face while. My shoulders were being pulled together backwards as he tightened the arm binder in place. I realized that there was now no escape even if I wanted. Next he knelt in front of me un-strapping my shoes and removing them. He reached just behind me once more grabbing some ballet heeled boots. One at a time he put them on me and locking them in place. He knew that I could barely walk in them without assistance. “Let me help you to the car,” he spoke in a demanding voice. He held my arm as I took tiny steps so as not to fall. He opened the rear door of the car and pushed me across the back seat, which was just as well as I would have been unable to breathe and unable to sit. Master shut the door and we drove into the night finally arriving at a secluded spot in a car park. Master pulled me from the car and raised me to my feet once more. The only building in sight was a toilet block, luckily no one seemed to be around. “Wait there,” Master said as he walked off into the toilets. A few.
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