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I started crying. I couldn't help it. Slave girls weren't picked up and carried. Slave girls had to walk on their own two feet unless they were very bad.Outside Big Master's tent were three of the four Five Years who hadn't been in the wagon. Padder wasn't one of them. They weren't crying. They were white and sick with terror.The guard took me into the tent and set me down. In addition to Big Master, the man who'd paid for me, there were several guards and Lanti. Lanti was kneeling on ground with her face buried in the dirt and her ass in the air. She was trembling and her skin actually looked green. Lanti had once told us that we should follow her lead if we didn't know what to do, so I knelt on the ground, and put my face in dirt and my ass up, but I couldn't stop crying.Big Master stepped over to me and grabbed my hair. He pulled my head up and shouted, "Stop that wailing!" Then he pulled me to a kneeling position and stepped back. His fists clenched once or twice and the look on. “You’re writing your own music?” Susan asked. I nodded.“Oh yes,” my mom said. “It’s quite good too, you should listen to some of it. He spends hours and hours down in that room making music.”I looked at Aunt Susan and asked if she would like to hear some of it. She said that she would.She followed me downstairs and into my music room and I closed the door behind us. I flipped on a small gooseneck desk lamp that lit the room in a soft glow. I fiddled with knobs and put on a piece of music. It was a sultry, seductive, slow, bluesy, swamp rock kind of tune with moaning, harmonized guitar and sax licks.I watched her face as she listened. The song was one of my best, I thought, emotional and played with feeling. I was interested in how she responded. She listened intently and stood stock-still. She said she liked it.After several minutes of my mood music I circled around and came up to her from behind. I put my arms around her just below her breasts and placed my lips gently on her ear..
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