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what you
can expect. And you can ask me some questions."
    I raised my eyes, slowly, past his wide chest and shoulders,
the aggressive set of his short neck. He had salt-and-pepper
hair, in a brush cut. Large, blunt, decided features, ruddy
skin, large pores. And the glinting gray glasses. I was glad
to be able to look at his face, but I was disappointed by how
little it revealed, with the glasses hiding his eyes.

    "You like being publicly displayed, don't you?" he asked.
"You like it much more than you thought you would."
    "Yes, Mr. Constant."
    He nodded. "I thought you'd respond that way," he said,
"but it was just a guess. It's a relief to know that my buyer's
instincts were correct. Because I intend to show you, on the
dressage circuit."
    I'd seen dressage shows, of course. You'd taken me to
some, Jonathan, to show me how much I had to learn about
submissiveness. I thought of the participants, offering their
open, vulnerable bodies to an enthusiastic crowd, to judges
who would decide which of them had presented the most
appealing and comprehensive tableau of availability and obedience. I knew how much control it took, and I didn't think
anybody in their right mind would enter me in a difficult
competitive event like that.
    "I employ an excellent trainer," Mr. Constant was saying.
"You'll receive a lot of instruction. Of course, it will take a lot
of work, but I think you'll try hard for me. I think you'll want
to present your body in all the difficult, painful modes we'll
teach you."
    I found that I didn't quite have the breath to give sound
to my assent, but I mouthed the words, whispering that yes,
Mr. Constant, I would try very, very hard.
    "But ultimately," he said, "I see you as a racing pony.
I find pony races very entertaining. Have you ever seen
one?"
    "Uh, no, Mr. Constant."
    "We'll take you to one, so you can see. They're loud, fast,
a little dangerous. And people bet large amounts of money"

    "But Mr. Constant," I said, "I've only had a week of
beginning pony training, and I've never raced or competed
at all...."
    "Yes," he nodded, his glasses opaque in the candlelight,
,,the odds will be stupendous."
    I thought of protesting, but of course I couldn't do that.
I giggled instead, nervously.
    He didn't seem to mind. His body spread out a little in
his chair, his neck relaxed a bit. "I'm rather an arriviste," he
confided. "I wasn't born so wealthy-I've just perfected a
few tricks that seem to work very well in the current financial environment. We work from my place in Greece, mostly,
except when I have to go to New York from time to time.
But the way we approach the market-it takes very good satellite technology and lots of time and concentration. So my
only amusements, really, on the island, are the occasional
party and checking in on your training-yours and Tony's.
And then attending the races and competitions where you're
shown.
    "I suppose," he said slowly, "that outside of my
work-outside of the risks and quick decisions and highstakes-
what I most enjoy is a disciplined body, painfully bound and
displayed for my entertainment, either at a public competition, or at night, in my room."
    "Will it be very painful, Mr. Constant?" I felt my voice
wobble.
    "Painful enough to entertain me," he said somberly. "You
can buy slaves, you know, whose specialty is pain. But I know
you're not one of those. And neither is Tony. I prefer material
like you, it turns out-fast, eager learners who can be taught
to bear what they have to, but who never quite get used to it."

    He seemed to have scoped it out pretty well.
    And then he added, laughing a little, "Oh, and don't
waste your time wondering whether I'm really one of those
tycoons whose dearest wish is to be tied down and beaten.
I've met a few of those gentlemen, but we don't seem to have
much in common."
    "Well, uh, it all seems very, uh, simple, Mr. Constant." It
scared me a little. I didn't know if I'd be good at