I was floating—as light as dust. This time when I smiled, I meant it. I was enjoying myself. When the band hit the guitar solo, I broke free of his grip and danced on my own, twirling with my hair spinning around my body like blades of a fan. Moving my hips to the beat, my arms high about my head, I rocked to my internal rhythm until I was across the room from him.

He pointed to his eyes, then to me, silently saying, I’m watching you. He slowly approached me in step to the music.

I turned to him, crossed my hands across my chest, and tapped my foot.

He caught back up with me and we had the dance area to ourselves, a circle of people around us clapping to the music and watching us heat up the floor. In the end, he dipped me and kissed me on the lips.

Final applause. I curtsied as he bowed.

King and queen of the prom.

My smile was genuine.

He, on the other hand, had a strange look on his face. He took my hand. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

He led me out of the lounge and through a corridor, opening a series of locked doors with keys from a ring he pulled out of his suit pocket. It was dim and I had no idea where we were. He settled upon a final door and opened it. We stepped into a room, and he switched on the lights. There was a bed, an open closet with robes, an adjoining bathroom, and a patio with a Jacuzzi. A hotel room but not exactly.

I was in one of his brothel rooms.

He reached up to a corner where I saw a camera. “Don’t worry, I’m turning it off.” He pointed to the bed. “Get up.”

“Chris, I don’t want to.”

He didn’t answer me. He pulled out a condom and some lube from the cabinet. “Get up.”

“Please don’t do this to me.”

He picked me up and plopped me on the bed. Turned me around until his groin was at my ass. Then he hiked up my dress. I felt the tears come. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he started to ease his way into my anus.

I yelled, “You’re hurting me!”

“Because you’re fighting me.” Another shove. “Just relax.” He hit my butt cheek. “Relax, relax.”

I started to cry. “It hurts!”

“It usually does the first time. You’ll get over it.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re mine!” Another thrust. “You shake your booty for other men, you can shake it for me!” A third push.

“Chris, please—”

“Just count sheep. It’ll be over soon.”

“Please!”

“Terry, stop talking and let me finish!”