by John Norman
“Perhaps, then, I shall see you again,” he said.
“Perhaps, Master,” I said.
“You may leave,” he said, suddenly, rather angrily.
“Thank you, Master,” I said. I leaped up and the Lady Constanzia not daring to look at the scarlet-clad stranger, rose, too, to her feet.
We turned about.
“Stop!” said he.
We stopped.
“Do not turn,” said he. “Do not kneel.”
We remained as we were, facing away from him, I with the leash, she with her hands braceleted behind her.
“When is she to be put up for sale?’ he asked. His voice, in all its power, seemed almost to break. It seemed that within him, unaccountably, this question had cost him something. It was as though it had suddenly erupted within him. It seemed to have emerged out of a struggle, some internal conflict.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“It does not matter, of course,” he said, suddenly, angrily.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Go!” he ordered.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I swiftly then made my way toward my previous destination, a point on the wall of the terrace, which wall was, across an expanse of terrace, to the right of a bride leading from the terrace, which bridge was, across an expanse of terrace, to the right of the balustrade.
I drew more heavily on the leash. The Lady Constanzia, clearly, was hanging back. I stopped and turned about. She then, too, turned about. We could see the scarlet-clad figure striding fiercely across the terrace, not looking back. He seemed angry. I conjectured that the Lady Constanzia had been trying, earlier, to glimpse his retreating figure over her shoulder.
“Do you think we will see him again?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said. “The cut of his clothes seems foreign to this city. He is probably here on some business.”
“He will then be gone soon?”
“I would suppose so,” I said.
“He kissed me,” she said.
“Do not be upset,” I said. “He things you are only a slave. He does not know you are a free woman.”
“Do you think he likes me?” she asked.
“It is possible,” I said, “that he might have found you of interest.”
“Of interest?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Of what sort of interest?” she asked.
“Of slave interest,” I said.
“Ohh,” she breathed.
“But half the men who look upon you, clad as you are,” I said, “might not mind having a chain on you.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, eagerly.
“Yes,” I said. “But, too, they would probably all be of the opinion that you are short on whip-training.”
“Do you think I am short on whip-training?” she asked.
“If you were a slave, certainly,” I said. “But do not concern yourself with such matters, as you are a free woman.”
Whip-training, incidentally, does not require that the pupil is struck, only that she is subject to that contingency. To be sure, it is difficult to get though whip-training without having felt the lash. On the whole, of course, the more intelligent the girl is, and the more quickly she trains, the less she is likely to feel the lash, and the stupider she is, or the more slowly or clumsily she trains, the more likely she is to feel it.
“I have never been kissed before like that,” she said.
“You have never been kissed in a collar before,” I said.
“It is not at all as one kisses a free woman,” she said.
“I dare say,” I admitted.
“I did not know a kiss could be like that,” she said.
“They are brutes,” I said. “What they are denied in the world of free women they arrogate to themselves in the world of slaves. It is there, in that world, that their natural dominance, liberated from the bondage of artificial constraints, flourish unchecked. Beware, for in that world, we belong to them. In that world we are totally theirs. In that world we must obey and serve them, utterly. In that world they use us as it pleases them, and have from us whatever they wish, in total perfection.”
She shuddered.
“Rejoice,” said I, “that you are a free woman.”
“It is only in such a world, is it not,” she asked. “that they can be true men?”
“Yes,” I said.
“But then,” she said, frightened, “it must be only in such a world that we could be true women.”
“You are a free woman,” I said. “Do not concern yourself with such matters. Do not think such thoughts.”
The scarlet-clad figure had now left the terrace.
I then drew her to the wall.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Kneel here,” I said, “your back to the wall.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Exactly what I told you before,” I said.
“Surely you were joking,” she said.
“No,” I said. “Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.
“No,” she said.
She knelt down, with her back to the wall.
But means of the leash I chained her to a slave ring. Slave rings are common in public places on this world.
“I do not want to stay here,” she said.
“I think you will find that you have little choice,” I said.
“Janice!” she protested.
“I will be back shortly,” I said.
I then hurried from her, toward the bridge. I did look back once, to see her there, looking after me, back-bracelted, kneeling at the ring, chained to it by the neck. It was doubtless the first time in the Lady Constanzia’s life that she had been so situated. It is not unusual, of course, on this world, to find slaves so tethered, kneeling or sitting, awaiting the return of their masters. Indeed on this world, there are many places in which slaves, as other animals, may not be taken.
In only a few moments I had come to the large, flat expanse over the bridge from the terrace. That was the object of my journey. On the left there was no balustrade. On the right there were numerous warehouses. This expanse was now empty. There were, near the warehouses, some boxes and bales, some covered with tarpaulins. There were some planks here and there, also near the warehouses, and some coils of rope. The sky was clear. The day was warm. I looked about. The expanse was now empty. It was not always empty. It was here I had hoped to find the answer to one of the questions which afflicted me. One day I hoped I might do so. But this, it seemed, was not the day.
I then returned, in haste, to the slave ring, to free the Lady Constanzia, for it was near the fifteenth bar. It would not do for me to return her late to the pits.
That night, when I brought her her food, she wanted, as she often did, to speak to me.
“You will take me again, to the surface, won’t you?’ she begged.
“I can ask the pit master,” I said.
“Soon!” she begged.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Do you remember the fellow in the scarlet tunic and cloak, whom we met this afternoon?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you recall that he kissed me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He kissed me,” she said. “And I was in a collar.” She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard’s rounds.
“Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared.”
“No,” she said, uncertainly.
“Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?”
“I do not know,” she said.
“I assure you,” I said, “if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar.”
She nodded, numbl
y.
“But not kissed as a free woman is kissed,” I said.
“No, of course not,” she said, “rather, kissed as a slave is kissed.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And that is how I was kissed!”
“He did not know you were a free woman,” I said.
“It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful,” she said.
“He is a man,” I explained.
“How can you resist such a kiss?” she asked.
“We are not permitted to do so,” I said.
She trembled.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“He kissed me,” she said, “and I was in a collar.”
“Yes, you were,” I said.
“A collar!” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“A slave collar,” she said, “the collar of a slave!”
“Yes,” I said.
“I am trying to understand my feelings,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I imagine such a man would have to be served very well,” she said, lightly.
“I would think so,” I said. “He seemed such a man.”
“I feel uneasy, and frightened, and weak,” she said.
“Do not be afraid,” I said. “You will doubtless never see him again.”
She threw me a look of anguish.
“On the other hand,” I said, “it is possible, of course.”
She seemed, then, to breathe more easily.
“He kissed me,” she said. “Do you think he likes me?”
“He may have been merely trying you out,” I said.
“Trying me out?”
“Yes,”
“Do you think he might have been pleased?”
“I would not be surprised,” I said.
“Do you think he likes me?” she asked.
“Perhaps he might find you of some slave interest,” I said, “as might, incidentally, a great many men.”
She smiled, shyly, pleased.
“Do you like him?” I asked.
“Of course not!” she cried. “Did you not see how he kept me on my knees before him?”
“Such a position is common for a slave before a free man,” I said.
“But I am not a slave!” she said.
“He did not know that,” I said.
“Surely one could tell!” she said.
“Not at all,” I said.
I saw that this intelligence much pleased her.
“You think then that I could be taken for a slave?”
“Of course,” I said, “and you were.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And you would make a lovely slave,” I said.
“Do you think so?” she asked, eagerly.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you think I would bring a good price?”
“Of course,” I said.
“And men might desire me?”
“Certainly,” I said, “very much so. Even excruciatingly so.”
I saw that this much pleased her.
“How dreadful!” she exclaimed.
“Not at all,” I said.
“And did you not see how he demeaned me,” she said suddenly, angrily, “how he walked about me, regarding me, examining me, inspecting me, as though I might be a slave!”
“He took you for a slave,” I said.
“I?”
“Of course,” I said.
“And he ordered me to him, that my collar might be read!”
“He probably wanted to know your name,” I said.
“Do you think so?” she said, eagerly.
“Certainly,” I said.
“He read your collar first!” she said.
“Certainly,” I said. “I was the leash holder. But I think it is clear that his interest was in you, not in me. Indeed, I suspect he read my collar to learn more of you, for example, you would be the slave Tuta who was in the keeping of the state slave, Janice, and so on.”
“Oh!” she said, excitedly. “But did you not see,” she then said, angrily, “how he forced me to hold my lips, pursed, simply by his will, and I must keep my eyes closed, and wait, and wait, and then how ht took me in his arms and kissed me, and how he kissed me!”
“Slaves may be kissed in such a fashion,” I told her. Certainly her lips, although those of a free woman, had been as lengthily and patiently raped as those of a common slave in a master’s possessive greed for her.
I doubted that free women were ever so kissed, unless perhaps they were but moments from the collar, such a kiss serving them as a token of the bondage that awaited them.
“I hate him,” she said. “The beast, the arrogant brute, I hate him!”
“You hate him?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said. “Yes!”
“If you were actually a slave,” I said, “it would not matter whether or not you hated him, or he you. You would serve with perfection in any case, as the slave you would then be.”
“I supposed so,” she said.
“Definitely,” I said. “And if he was not pleased he would doubtless use the whip on you, and well.”
“Do you think so?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Such men do not let women make fools of them.”
“Janice,” she said.
“Yes?” I said.
“Why did you ask me so silly a question, as to whether or not I might like him?”
“It was just a thought,” I said.
“An absurd thought!” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
“But why did you ask?”
“Just little things,” I said.
“Such as?” she asked, testily.
“The way you spread your knees before him,” I said.
“I did not!” she cried.
“Oh, yes, you did,” I said. “It is one thing for me to kneel before a man thusly, for I am a pleasure slave. I may be punished if I do not do so. We are trained to kneel thus, brazenly and joyfully before men. But you needed not do so.”
“I did not!” she said.
“Yes, you did,” I said. “And as time went on, and particularly when he looked upon you, you spread them even more.”
“Truly?’ she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She put the tips of the fingers of her ring hand before her mouth.
“But such things,” I said, “might occur inadvertently, or without one’s being aware of them, or without really paying them much attention, or one might forget about them promptly afterwards, as things that could not have happened.”
She pressed her finger tips against her lips, as though fearing that she might speak.
“Did you know what you were doing?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
“Perhaps you were frightened?” I suggested.
“Yes,” she said. “I was frightened.”
“Such behaviors in a female can be consequent upon trepidation,” I said.
“Undoubtedly,” she said.
“Rather like the prone slave’s timid lifting of her derriere, facing away from the master, at his feet, hoping thereby to distract him, perhaps from punitive intentions, with thoughts of pleasure.
“Oh!” she said.
“To divert wrath, to placate him, such things,” I said.
“Undoubtedly,” she whispered.
“But often such behaviors, the spreading of knees, and such, and merely a way of presenting oneself, of offering oneself, of inviting attention, of begging for it.”
“But I am a free woman!” she said.
“Even so, you are a female,” I said.
“I have never thought of myself so radically,” she said.
“Perhaps you should, sometime,” I said.
“There is a saying,” she said. “It is that there are two sorts of female slaves, those who are collared, and those who are not yet collared.”
“An
interesting saying,” I said.
“Do you think it is true?’ she asked.
“I would not know,” I said.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It is true for me,” I said. “I have always been a female slave, but it was not until I was brought ot this world that I was collared.”
“It is so easy for you,” she said. “You know what you are.”
“I must go now,” I said.
“Ask the pit master if we may go again to the surface!” she begged.
“I will,” I said.
“Janice!”
“Yes?”
“Surely my disguise as a slave might be more effective,” she said, lightly, “if you were to instruct me, somewhat, in how a slave behaves, in the sort of things she is expected to know, and such.”
“Perhaps you are right,” I said. Certainly I might improve her deference procedures and her way of kneeling.
“Teach me the seven kisses.”
I regarded her, startled.
“You are a free woman,” I said.
“Please!” she begged.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“And teach me to use my lips!” she said.