The assignment of women to the various chains gives the minor administrators, I suppose, some control over the whip masters. Too, perhaps the whip masters preselect some girls from the initial chains, or perhaps they even supply the minor administrators with some modest emolument that they may look out for their interests, or comply with their whims or preferences.
But, too, I thought, if I were one of the minor administrators I would think carefully before crossing a fellow such as this Borkon.
And I, and Emily, and others, were on his chain!
He then stepped back from us. "You are slaves," he said. "I am Borkon, your whip master. Within these walls you will be to me as my own slaves, in all ways. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Master," murmured several of the girls.
"Louder," he said, "all of you!"
"Yes, Master!" we shouted.
"You will work, eat, drink, juice, sleep, dream and excrete upon my command," he said.
"Yes, Master!" we said.
"If any of you retain any pride or courage," he said, "I will remove it from you. It will get in the way of your being a good slave. Do any of you retain any pride or courage?"
"No, Master!" we cried.
"I do," said Luta.
"Step forth, and kneel," he said.
Luta obeyed. Although she was a large, strong woman and could have beaten any of us, smaller, weaker women, she looked small, and suddenly timid, kneeling before Borkon.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Luta, Master," she said.
"How long have you been a slave, Luta?" he asked, removing the whip from his belt.
"A week, Master," she said.
"It is amazing that a woman such as you has survived this long," he said. "I would have thought you would have been slain by now."
"Master?" she faltered.
"On all fours," he said.
She obeyed.
He then lashed her, and she, in a moment, sobbing and gasping, disbelief in her eyes, was on her belly in the yard, a whipped slave.
"Are you not supposed to be on all fours?" he asked.
She struggled, sobbing, to this position.
"I am authorized, if I wish," he said, "to kill you, or have you killed."
She shuddered.
"I do not find you particularly pleasing," he said. "I am considering whether or not to have you fed to sleen this evening."
"Master?" she asked.
"You are a slave," he said. "You will serve and yield, or die. I will let you make the decision."
"Master?" she asked, frightened.
"The decision is yours," he said. "Choose as you will. It makes no difference to me, one way or the other."
"Please, Master!" she cried.
"Do you choose to serve and yield, or die?" he asked. "I give you ten Ihn in which to make your decision. One! Two! Three!"
"I will serve and yield!" she cried.
"Speak more clearly," he said.
"I choose to serve and yield!" she wept.
"And without reservation?" he asked.
"And without reservation!" she said.
"Do you desire to serve and yield, and with no reservations whatsoever?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "I desire to serve and yield and with no reservations whatsoever!"
"And do you beg to serve and yield, and with no reservations whatsoever?" he asked.
"Yes, yes," she echoed. "I beg to serve and yield, and with no reservations whatsoever!"
"You may now kiss my feet," he said.
Luta, desperately, humbly, fearfully, kissed his feet.
"More," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Do you now have any pride?" he asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"Do you now have any courage?" he asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"Kiss the whip," he said, "and as a slave."
Luta did so, fearfully.
"Return now to your place," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said and, rising up, hurried to her place.
"We are all going to be pleasing, and meet our work quotas, aren't we?" inquired Borkon.
"Yes, Master!" we said, including Luta.
He then lifted his whip to the lips of the first girl in the line. "Whose whip do you kiss?" he asked.
"I kiss the whip of Borkon," she said.
"Who do you love?" he asked.
"Borkon," she said.
In a moment or two I felt the whip pressed, too, against my lips. I kissed it. "I have kissed the whip of Borkon," I said.
"Who do you love?" he asked.
"Borkon," I said.
In another moment or two, after Emily, he stood before Luta. She, too, kissed the whip.
"Who do you love?" he asked.
"Borkon," she said. "I love Borkon!"
In another moment or two we were following Borkon across the yard and toward one of the buildings. I knew I would have to please him well. He was my whip master.
25
I Leave the Mill
I saw him shaking out the slave sack in the utility room. This was not the first time I had been unchained from the loom and hurried to the utility room.
"Get in," he said.
Before he had taken the sack from its shelf he had ordered me to the floor of the utility room, to my back on the dusty boards.
"Lie there and juice," he had told me. "Waste no time about it."
I had lain there and, briefly, shut my eyes and thought of his might and power, and my helpless slavery, and then I was ready, almost in a moment, to receive him. He had had me swiftly. "Why do you keep me ugly?" I had whimpered. Only this morning he had sheared me again. The hair of the other girls was being permitted to grow out, if only until it reached a suitable shearing length. Mine, on the other hand, he had made a point of keeping short. I had been five months now in the mill. "Be silent, Slut," he had said. "Yes, Master," I had said.
I crawled into the sack, and it was pulled up, over my head, and laced shut. I then felt it dragged across the floor. He then lifted it up, partly, I now sitting in it, and left it against a wall. He then left. The confinement was not intended to be one of full security, of course. If it had been, then I would have been bound and gagged within it, that I might not be able, by fingernails or teeth, to attack seams or cut through the leather. Indeed, if I caused the least bit of damage to the slave sack, I had little doubt but what I would be well punished. Confinement in the slave sack is, incidentally, a familiar form of light punishment for a girl. I did not think, however, that I was being punished. At least I did not know of anything that I had done which might have displeased him. As always, as far as I knew, I had tried to be such to him that he would find me pleasing. Perhaps he was angry with me because of the welt on my face, but that was not my fault. Last night I had been struck by Luta. If he wanted to punish someone he should have punished her. She was very jealous of Emily and myself, who seemed clearly to be Borkon's favorites. Last night, after supper, my slave needs much upon me, I had begged to juice for Borkon. He had permitted this in his quarters. When I had been returned to the dormitory and the door had been locked behind me, she had been up and waiting. My face was still sore. It was not my fault that she did not find herself being put to Borkon's pleasure. He certainly was free to choose her, and not Emily or myself, or one of our other chain sisters. It was no secret in the mill that she regarded herself as Borkon's slave in some special sense. Ever since he had whipped and conquered her in the yard she had been very possessive about him. She was the best worker on the chain. Yet he scarcely seemed to notice her. Sometimes she would even try to be a bit dilatory or recalcitrant, to attract his attention, but commonly this only earned her a beating, and that usually from a subordinate whip master. Interestingly, in her slavery, Luta had ceased to be ugly. Her ugliness had been, it was now clear, largely a matter of expression, as it often is, expressions which had made manifest her frustration and hatred, and her m
isery. Though she was now no longer ugly she remained, I suppose, rather homely and plain. On the other hand, this homeliness or plainness, at times, seemed touched with a vulnerability and softness which, especially when she was near Borkon, made it seem almost beautiful. The exercises and diet of the slave, of course, had improved her figure considerably. I did not see, frankly, why Borkon did not give her a trial at his feet. I did not think she was all that bad, really. Too, he was not Gor's most handsome fellow. Too, I would think it should count for something with a man if the woman desires to serve him deeply and fully in all ways, and is in love with him.
It was hot and stuffy in the slave sack, but it was, at least, a respite from the work with the loom. It is tiring, Ahn in and Ahn out, standing, chained, by the loom, operating it. There is the raising and lowering of the warp threads to form the lines between which the weft is placed. There is the flinging back and forth of the shuttle, inserting the weft. There is the moving of the batten, attached to the reed, thrusting the weft back and locking it in place. Too, one must feed the cloth properly and remove it correctly. One must attend to the rollers, the weights and stretchers.
I suddenly became aware that hands were unlacing the slave sack.
"You are Tiffany, aren't you?" said a voice. "Come out of there."
"Yes, Master," I said. It was one of the mill officials. He was over ten work chains.
"Why aren't you at your loom?" he asked.
"I don't know, Master," I said.
"What were you doing in there?" he asked.
"I don't know, Master," I said. "Perhaps I was being punished."
"What for?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"Come along," he said. "Aemilianus, the nephew of Mintar, is in the mill."
"What is he doing here?" I asked.
"It is supposedly merely a surprise inspection," he said, "but one supposes there is something more to it."
I then, almost running, hurried after him, returning to my loom.
"Borkon should be trounced," he said.
* * * *
"Ah," said the well-dressed young man, in the silken tunic, with the short, silken mantle, with a golden clasp at the left shoulder. "Here is the maid from Loom 40! No, do not bother to chain her. Now, child, stand here, and remove your tunic."
I quickly obeyed.
Borkon, not looking pleased at all, was standing nearby.
"Step forth, here, child," said the young man, "and turn slowly before me."
I complied, inspected as a naked slave. I saw Emily at the loom next to mine. The shackle had been removed from her left ankle. She was standing near her loom, naked. She held her tunic in her right hand.
"Borkon, you sly fellow," chided the young man, "you have been holding out on us."
He who had fetched me from the slave sack, Borkon's immediate superior, cast him a glowering look.
"You are Tiffany, are you not?" asked the young man.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You may kneel," he said. Swiftly I did so. "You are pretty, my dear," he said. "You may open your knees." Swiftly I did so.
He then turned to Emily. "You may kneel, Emily," he said. Swiftly she knelt. "You, too, are pretty," he smiled. Swiftly she opened her knees, baring to him tender intimacies, enslaved, and the sweet interior softnesses of her thighs.
"Your name, 'Emily,' is very beautiful," he said. "As you probably know, it is a barbarian corruption of my gens name. It seems that fate has thrown us together." The gens name is the clan name.
"Perhaps, Master," she said, frightened. "Thank you, Master."
"And you are a barbarian, are you not, Tiffany?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And a very pretty one," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"Can you believe it, Borkon," asked the young man, "if it were not for hearsay information, casual remarks overheard at the office, I would not even have known that two such beauties graced our looms."
Borkon was silent.
"These are the two beauties of the mill," said the young man to a tall, stout fellow standing nearby.
"They are certainly pretty," said the stout fellow. "But we have, in my opinion, many lovely women at the looms." The stout fellow was the mill master. I had seen him only twice before in the previous five months.
"These are the best of the current crop," said the young man.
"Perhaps," said the mill master.
"Have them sent to my house," said the young man, and turned away.
Emily and I looked at one another, frightened.
Borkon looked angry. Luta was beaming.
"I beg to please you, Master," said Luta, putting herself to the feet of Borkon. The chain was on her left ankle, going behind her; by it she was fastened to the loom. She had her head down, kissing at his feet. Never before, as far as I knew, had she been so bold. It was no secret in the mill, of course, that she was the slave of Borkon. Indeed, she had been so since that first day in the yard, some five months ago.
"What need have I of a tarsk sow?" he snarled.
She lifted her head to him, lovingly, pleadingly. I saw that the diet and exercise had shaped her excitingly. Her face, in its plainness and homeliness, seemed somehow, now, in its softness, its tenderness, its vulnerability, very beautiful. "Take me then to your lair and rut with me there, Master," she said. "I beg to be the tarsk sow to your boar."
He looked down at her, startled. "Perhaps," he said.
I felt a slave bracelet closed about my left wrist. The companion bracelet, on its three links of chain, was then closed about the right wrist of Emily.
We looked at one another, frightened.
"Come along, Girls," said the fellow who had fetched me forth from the slave sack, he who was Borkon's immediate superior.
"Yes, Master," said Emily.
"Yes, Master," I said.
We then, naked, braceleted together, carrying our slave tunics, followed him down the long aisle between the looms.
26
I Must Get up Early for School
I tried to hold the head of the man in my hands, and kiss at him, and lick at the side of his neck, but he, engaged in conversation, brushed me to the side. I knelt back, restraining a whimper. I wanted to touch him. I was a slave. He would not permit me to do so.
Teela, first girl, from across the room, signaled to me, and I, bowing, slipped back, rose to my feet and hurried to her side.
"Wine," said she, "to the master."
I hurried to the serving table and fetched a vessel of wine. I then went behind the feasting table, behind which the men sat, talking. Some musicians were playing, at one side of the room. I knelt behind the young Aemilianus. "Wine, Master?" I whispered. "Yes," said he, extending his goblet. "Thank you, Tiffany," he said. "Yes, Master," I said, and withdrew. The courtesy of Aemilianus, a habit with him, probably a function of the gentleness of his upbringing, in no way affected the totality of the bondage in which his girls were kept. Whereas one need not thank a slave, one may, of course, if one wishes, thank them. From the point of view of the girl, since she knows she is in a collar, being treated with courtesy can sometimes be more frightening than being treated with rudeness or cruelty, or, as is more often the case, with gentle, intimate, absolutely unqualified authority. Being a slave she knows that a master's invitation to remove a garment is equivalent to a categorical command to strip. She hastens to obey.
I went then, at a sign from Teela, after replacing the wine vessel on the serving table, to the side of the room, where I knelt down beside Emily.
An Ahn or so earlier we had been in the kitchen. "Stand straighter, Girls," had said Teela, inspecting us. "You are not bending over looms now."
"You are pretty in your slave silk, Emily," had said Teela.
"Thank you, Mistress," she had said.
"You, too, Tiffany," said Teela.
"Thank you, Mistress," I had said. We both wore scarlet pleasure silk
. It was diaphanous, and left little doubt as to the lineaments of our figures. We wore the collar of Aemilianus. We now belonged to him. Twelve copper tarsks for each of us had been transferred to the accounts of Mill 7. On our left ankles we each wore a tied string of slave bells. These jangled sensuously when we moved. On our upper left arms we each wore a coiled, barbaric, snakelike armlet.
"Although you have been purchased as house girls," said Teela, "and surely we need more of them around here, you will also be expected upon occasion, as tonight, to serve at dinner. Indeed, I suspect that the Master has it in mind to obtain more from you than simple domestic services."
Emily and I looked at one another.
"The musicians are already playing," said Teela, "and the other girls are on the floor. I shall soon send you both out, too, on the floor."
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Remember that you are not lofty free women," she said. "Remember that you are only female slaves. You exist for the service and pleasure of men. When you go out there drip with obedience and sensuousness. Let every glance, every look and movement, signify to men the promise of untold pleasures, and if any of them should so much as snap his fingers, see that you fulfill that promise a thousand times and more."
"Yes, Mistress!" we said.
"There will be no free women present," she said. "That will make things easier."
That was a relief for us. The frustrations and chilling hatred of free women for their embonded sisters, and their power to inflict pain on them, tended naturally to preclude, or inhibit, the performances of slaves. Their presence, too, of course, tended to have an adverse effect on the satisfactions obtainable by the free men present. If a free woman is present, for example, one is scarcely likely to tear the silk from a laughing, squealing slave and rape her on the table. Female slaves commonly wear relatively modest garments and serve unobtrusively and decorously when free women are present. Except for the perfection of their service, and their collars and the relative brevity, openness and looseness of their garments, one might not even know they were slaves, unless perhaps, of course, one looked into their eyes, or touched them.
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