by John Norman
Swiftly I thrust up my hair, baring the back of my neck. My hair, at least, extending over my nape, was now long enough to require this.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. I felt the steel of the collar under my chin, then its being adjusted on my neck.
“Put you in this collar,” he said. Then he snapped it shut. I was collared.
“By what right?” I asked.
“You may lower your hands,” he said.
I did so, brushing my hair back over the steel. “By what right?” I asked. I did not dare turn to face him.
“By every right,” he said.
I was bitter. “Doubtless you told my master, Miles of Argentum, of the results of your experiment last night, that in which I was conclusively proven to be a natural slave.”
“I did see him last night,” said Drusus Rencius.
“I see,” I said, bitterly.
“But he has had you leaping in his arms, several times, apparently last night, and earlier, on various days,” he said. “I told him nothing he did not already know.”
“I see,” I said. Last night, after I had served Publius and Drusus Rencius, I had been ordered to the couch of Miles. There, in spite of my feelings and my distress, I had been forced, three times, to serve him well. The last time, unable to help myself, I had cried out, surrendering myself totally to him. Miles of Argentum, as is his wont, such a man, when he wishes, takes everything from a woman. I had then, a few Ehn afterwards, been sent back to the slave quarters. Apparently it had been later the same night, perhaps in the neighborhood of the Twentieth Ahn, when Drusus Rencius had seen him. I had not seen him since earlier this morning, when I had knelt before him, kissing his feet, gratefully, for his attentions to me last night, and he had, without explanation, removed my clothing and my collar. I had then been permitted to go to the courtyard, that I might see my friends off. Drusus Rencius had probably been informed that he might find me here.
“You seem bitter,” said Drusus Rencius.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“My own master has not even seen fit to change my collar,” I said.
“I see,” he said.
“What collar is it,” I asked, “the collar of a scullery maid, of a kitchen slave?” I had not realized I had been so displeasing last night.
“Neither,” said Drusus Rencius, “or, perhaps, in a sense, both, and that of other slaveries, as well.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“What is so hard to understand?” he asked.
“You have been empowered by Miles of Argentum to change my collar, have you not?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
I touched the collar, fearfully. “I do not understand,” I whispered. I feared for Drusus Rencius. I feared he had committed a crime.
“I do not need that power,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it is my collar,” he said.
“Yours!” I cried. I almost turned about.
“Yes,” he said. “I bought you last night.”
I fainted.
***
I lay now naked, save for my collar, on the tiles of the quarters of Drusus Rencius, in the palace at Argentum.
I had apparently not long been permitted the luxury of unconsciousness in the courtyard. I had awakened, held in a sitting position, my face, stinging, seeming to explode, being jerked, by blows, first with the flat of a hand, and then with its back, from side to side. Gorean men are not always indulgent with their female slaves. I scrambled to my knees and looked up at my master, Drusus Rencius, of Ar. “To my quarters, and swiftly, Slave,” he snarled.
“Yes, Master!” I had cried, joyfully.
I had then preceded him to his quarters, moving swiftly, but scarcely swiftly enough, it seemed, from the point of view of Drusus Rencius, striding fiercely behind me, like some impatient, grumbling giant. It seemed he could not wait to get me alone. Many times was I hurried, pushed and thrust from behind. I was even twice kicked. It was not my fault that I was a woman, and that my legs were shorter than his! Then, at his portal, I had been ordered to my belly. I had then been bound, hand and foot. I had then been carried into the room, over his shoulder, as a slave, helpless. He had put me down on the tiles, near the foot of his couch, near the slave ring. He had locked the door. He was now standing near me, looking down at me. I pulled, futilely, at the ropes on my wrists and ankles. I was bound, perfectly. The door was locked. I was a slave girl alone with her master. I was utterly helpless.
He stepped back a bit. His face was unreadable.
“Whip me!” I begged. “I love you! Teach me that you own me!”
He took a step, further back.
“I beg the lash, Master,” I said. My heart was filled with joy and love.
His face was expressionless. He did not speak.
“Let me kneel before you,” I said, “and beg to be beaten with a slave whip.”
He did not speak.
“Whip me!” I begged. “I love you! I love you!”
“Slave,” he sneered.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Natural slave,” he said, angrily.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“I did not know you were a natural slave,” he said.
“You knew it before you bought me,” I said. “You knew it from last night.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But still you bought me!” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I love you!” I said.
“You are a natural slave,” he said. “Your love is worthless.”
“It is, at any rate, real,” I assured him.
“I wonder,” he said.
“You paid for it,” I said. “You must have wanted it.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Master?” I asked.
“Perhaps I have purchased you not for your love, but for your hate,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“You have caused me much grief and pain,” he said, “particularly when you were a free woman, in Corcyrus.”
“I am sorry, Master,” I said.
“And well you might be,” he said, “as you are now my slave.”
“I am sorry anyway,” I said.
“Perhaps it is my intention to humiliate you, to debase and degrade you, to abuse you, to teach you, at my hands, fear, misery and pain!”
“You may do with me as you please,” I smiled. “I am your slave.”
“I wonder how you will like it,” he mused, “in your collar, hating me, but utterly helpless, knowing that you must obey me, absolutely, and serve me, in all things, with total perfection.”
“I do not hate you,” I laughed. “And you need not concern yourself with obedience and service. As I am a slave, you may depend upon them. Too, I shall render them to you eagerly, not only from the meaning of my collar but from the bottom of my heart.”
“Perhaps I should debase and degrade you,” he said.
“The more you debase and degrade me, Master,” I said, “the more I shall love you.”
“How you tortured me in Corcyrus!” he said, angrily, looking down at me.
“I was cruel and petty,” I said.
“Much misery did you cause me,” he said, angrily.
“I am sorry,” I smiled. I was not completely displeased, of course, to learn of his discomfort.
“You are not truly sorry, are you?” he asked, a smile about his lips.
“Not really,” I admitted, shrugging in the ropes.
“Why?” he asked.
“I am a woman,” I said.
“Women enjoy taunting men, and tormenting them with desire,” he said.
“Some women, sometimes,” I said.
“You, then,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, angrily, rising to my elbows, “I, then!”
“I thought so,” he said.
“It is a flattering tribute to
a woman’s power,” I said, “her capacity to arouse desire!”
“Doubtless,” he said, bitterly.
“I only wish I had known how important I was to you at the time,” I said. “That would have made the matter much more amusing!”
“I see,” he said.
“I am glad to learn, even now,” I said, “how much I had disturbed you. Thank you for confessing it to me!”
“You’re welcome,” he said, quietly, perhaps too quietly.
“I’m glad I made you miserable!” I said, angrily. “I’m glad I made you sweat and squirm, when you could not have me!” I was glad, too! In Corcyrus he, though desperately attracted to me, I think, had resisted my advances. This had caused me great frustration. I had, as a consequence of this spurning of me, taken a woman’s vengeance upon him. I had, in a thousand ways, in glances, in small words, in smiles, in tiny gesture’s, in movements, in seemingly careless proximities, seeming inadvertences, tormented him. I had seen to it, many times, that passions would flash and flame in Drusus Rencius, which I would then, haughtily, refuse to satisfy.
“But those days are gone, aren’t they?” said Drusus Rencius back on the tiles.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I swallowed hard. I was very conscious, then, of my nudity, and of the tight binding on my wrists and ankles, making me absolutely helpless.
“Things are different now, aren’t they?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I was now a slave. The least discontentment a girl causes her master can be taken out of her hide. I was now at his disposal, completely. I must now ready myself for him, and please him fully, at as little as a glance or a snapping of fingers.
“Get on your knees,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I struggled to my knees. It was not easy, bound as I was. He did not help me. I then knelt before him. He stood then, his arms folded, some feet from me, across the tiles.
“You look well on your knees, bound as a slave,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said. I recalled Corcyrus, where I had been to him as a Tatrix. I was now bound naked before him, as a slave.
“There are vengeances to be taken upon you,” he said.
“Do with me as you will,” I said. “I am yours.”
“I will,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“How I despise you!” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You are utterly beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You do not seem truly afraid,” he said.
“I do not think you are the sort of man who buys woman to hurt her,” I said.
“You cannot know that,” he said.
“I suppose not,” I said.
Consider the matter of marriage. Most women, prior to their marriage, do not truly know the man they are marrying. They will come to know him, truly, only in living with him, his. It is natural, then, that a woman should enter into such a relation with a certain amount trepidation. How much more so, then, must this be the case with the female slave, whose new master, one who will have total power over her, is likely to be a total stranger, a fellow whom she has probably never even seen before her sale. Is he going to enfold her lovingly in his arms, and master her, and cherish her as a treasure, or is he going to feed her to sleen? She does not know. You strive desperately to please him. You are his. You hope for the best.
“You do not seem convinced,” he said.
“I am not,” I smiled.
“Perhaps suitable lashings would convince you,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I smiled.
“Do you think you are never to be whipped?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said. “I know that I am a slave. I know that I am subject to the whip.”
He unfolded his arms and looked at me, with fury. “How utterly, utterly beautiful you are,” he said, “and how provocative, and delicious!”
“And I am yours, and you may do with me as you please.” I said.
“How you infuriate me!” he cried, suddenly, his fist clenched. He turned away. I was silent. I squirmed a little the ropes. They held me well.
He stood by the window in his quarters. “I remember Corcyrus,” he said, bitterly. He put the palms of his hands on the sides of the window, looking out.
“I, too, remember Corcyrus,” I said, happily.
“Slut,” he snarled.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“There are vengeances to be taken upon you,” he said, angrily.
“You are certainly entitled to them, Master,” I said, smiling. I loved Drusus Rencius.
He looked about at me, angrily.
“Let us put our heads together,” I suggested. “Perhaps, then, we can plan certain appropriate exactions, ministrations wherewith that arrogant slut, Sheila, may be well punished for her stupidities.”
“You seek to divert my wrath,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I smiled.
He leaned back, wearily, against the wall, by the window, looking at me.
“Surely a girl cannot be blamed for hoping to do that,” I said.
“I suppose not,” he smiled.
“Oh,” I said, “I forgot! I am no longer Sheila, am I? My collar has been changed!” I looked at Drusus Rencius. “I do not have a name now, do I?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Is master going to name me?” I asked.
“I will, if it pleases me,” he said. “I will not, if it does not please me.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“I am a fool,” he said.
“I shall maintain a judicious silence,” I said. “If I agree I would seem to proclaim my master a fool. If I disagree, I should, at the very least, contradict him.”
“I am a fool!” he said, miserably.
“I do not think so,” I said, “but, of course, I am only a slave, and I could conceivably be mistaken.”
“I should sell you,” he said.
“You may do with me as you wish,” I said. I had no fear, however, that he would sell me. It was not for such a purpose, I was confident, that he had bought me.
“You do not fear me, truly, do you?” he asked.
“Not, ultimately,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Must I speak?” I asked.
“No,” he said, angrily. “You need not speak.”
He turned wearily, angrily, away.
“Master?” I asked.
He turned again to face me. “You are a beautiful, complex woman,” he said.
“I am a simple slave,” I said, “a man’s toy, a bauble for his pleasure.”
“Simple or complex, you are a slave,” he said. “There is no doubt about that.”
“Your slave,” I reminded him.
“Why did I buy you?” he asked.
“I can think of several reasons,” I said.
“Do you mock me?” he asked.
“I tease you,” I said. “I do not mock you.”
“I care for you,” he said, suddenly, bitterly.
“I know,” I said.
“And you only a slave!”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“What a fool I am!” he cried.
I was silent.
“You did it to me,” he said.
“I?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “you, with your intelligence, your beauty, your vulnerability, your sensuousness, your glances and movements, your bondage skills, your insidious slave wiles, the perfections of your servitude, made it impossible not to desire you, not to lust for you, inordinately, not to want you, not to demand you, to the point of madness, for my very own!”
I was silent, bound before him. There was some truth of course, or at least I thought so, to these charges. At least I hoped there was. I had tried, with all the skills I had been taught, and with all the devi
ces, and instincts, of the natural slave, which I was, to attract and lure him. The outcome of such a campaign, of course, if successful, is that the girl becomes the man’s slave. She is then, of course, subject to whatever vengeances he might be pleased to take upon her.
I squirmed in the ropes. I belonged to him. I began to sweat. For the first time I felt genuine fear.
“You wrapped me about your finger,” he said. “You manipulated me!”
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Gloat in your power, Slave!” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.
“Even last night,” he said, “in your writhing on the steps, you made me wild for you. You made me want to tear off your silk and hurl you beneath me, then to have you, uncompromisingly, like the luscious slut and slave you are!”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“I saw your body jerk in the hands of the soldier!” he said, accusingly.
“I cannot help what I am!” I cried, looking up at him, angrily, tears in my eyes.
“You are a slave!” he cried.
“Yes!” I cried. “And had you been there you could, later, have seen my body jerk in the hands of Miles of Argentum. That night he made me, three times, serve him well, and the third time, writhing, I cried myself his, a submitted slave. In the morning I kissed his feet in gratitude!”
“Slave, slave!” snarled Drusus Rencius.
“And do you not make women respond like that,” I said, “the girls in the taverns, the girls on their mats, the girls thrown to your feet, for your sport, at the house of a friend?”
“Yes,” he said, angrily. “I make them grovel and scream!”
“And why, then,” I asked, “should you object if other men make me respond in the same way?”
He regarded me, with fury.
“Am I different?” I asked.
“Apparently not,” he said.
“I am not!” I said.
“They are slaves,” he said.
“So, too, am I!”
“I had hoped you might be more,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“A free woman,” he said.
“I have been a free woman,” I said. “Do not laud them to me!”
“Do you speak ill of free women?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “for I do not wish to be whipped!”
He glared at me.
“Look at me.” I said. “I am naked and bound before you! Would you really prefer that I was a free woman?”