by John Norman
The whip, coiled, was in his right hand.
"Do the women of your world often dance thusly, naked before their males?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"Doubtless they will have them dance thusly, for they are men," he mused.
I was silent.
"And do they whip the women if they are not pleasing?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"You seem to know very little of your world," he said.
"It is very different from this world, Master," I said.
"But you know that you will be whipped, here on this world, Earth woman, if you are not pleasing, don't you?"
"Yes, Master!" I said.
With a motion of his wrist he flicked out the blade of the whip, uncoiling it. He observed it. The end of the blade, snakelike, narrow and tapering, was upon the tiles. He then, with another movement of his wrist, lifted it from the tiles.
"Please, do not whip me, Master," I begged. "I will try to be pleasing!"
"I am sure you will," said he, "Earth woman."
He then returned to the divan, and reclined thereupon. He indicated to the musicians that they might increase the tempo, which they did.
I danced.
How helpless we are!
How these men master us!
I wore my collar. It was narrow, close-fitting, locked. It was a state collar. On it was my name, that name which had been given to me, 'Janice'. I had been a free woman of Earth. I had then been brought to this world. I was now only a slave.
I danced.
How incredibly free and female I felt.
I danced.
I had been sent to his quarters.
I danced before him.
I wondered how I looked to him. I hoped desperately that he might find me pleasing. I wondered how women such as I looked to males. Well, I conjectured, in our collars, obeying, hoping to please, striving desperately to please. How exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on a world such as this, I thought, a world in which they had such power, at least over such as I. Here, you see, they had kept their mastery, in the order of nature. Here males were men, and here females, at least those such as I, could be only women, their women. How was it, I wondered, that these men had never relinquished their nature, that they had never surrendered their manhood, that they had never betrayed their blood, that they had never permitted themselves to be diminished and reduced, destroyed and crippled? I did not know. But they had not. Did they sense the danger we might pose to them, if they were weak, or permissive, or lenient? Was that why they were as they were? Was that why they put us in collars and kept us at their feet, because they knew us so well? But how could we be women if they were not men? Or had they profited from some hideous illustration of nature gone awry, from the dismal instruction of some tragic lesson, from the clear example of some pathological mistake, one they would simply not permit to occur in their own world? Or, perhaps, it was merely that this world had developed as it had, drawing strength and meaning from nature, rather than trying to live, dry and rootless, apart from her? But, as I danced before him, I did not think merely how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on this world but also, despite its dangers, its terrors, how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it was to be a woman on this world! I had never begun to feel so fulfilled on my old world as I had here. It was only on this world, it seemed, that I had, in my small, lowly way, begun to feel fully meaningful. It was here that someone, deeper and more real than names, had found herself.
I knew who she was.
It was fully fitting that she danced as she did, before such a man. It was not merely he who knew this, you see. It was I, as well.
"To the floor," said he, "Earth woman."
The Earth woman then, to the music, slowly and gracefully lowered herself to the floor, and there, to those sensuous strains, speaking so unabashedly to the blood of men and women, continued her dance.
He clapped his hands, ending the music.
I rose to all fours, before him, on the glossy tiles.
"You are not now closely silked," he said.
So I knelt now before him, my back straight, my head down, the palms of my hands down on my thighs, my knees properly, widely, spread.
I heard him speak to the musicians. I heard the clinking of what was doubtless a small sack of coins. One by one the three musicians left. One said, "A pretty slave." Another said, "Yes." He before whom I had performed said, "She has much to learn." "Doubtless she will be well taught," said the leader of the musicians. "I wish you well," said the officer to them. "We wish you well," said the leader of the musicians. They had then left.
I remained kneeling before the divan, head down.
I heard something strike the tiles before me. It was a tiny leg of roast fowl.
I looked up at him, knowing that I dare not yet break position.
I was ravenously hungry. I was starving.
But I could not yet reach for the food.
I had not yet received permission.
"You may feed," he said.
I bent forward, and snatched up the bit of meat, and, holding it in my right hand, steadying it with my left, with my head down, began to feed upon it.
"Janice is hungry," he observed.
In a few moments I looked up at him, hopefully. I felt a wing, another scrap from his plate, strike my body. It fell between my thighs. I seized it up. And so I was fed, on scraps from his meal, some tossed to me, as I have indicated, and others, later, I having been permitted to approach him on my knees, and kneel before him, fed to me by hand. In such a feeding, the slave, of course, is not permitted to use her hands. She takes the food in her mouth, delicately. Masters usually make the bites tiny. In this way it takes time to complete such a feeding. One utility of such modes of feeding is that it impresses clearly upon the slave who it is to whom she owes her food.
I ate eagerly and gratefully.
I looked again at him, hopefully.
But he had decided I had had enough.
"We must be concerned with your figure, mustn't we, sleek little animal?" he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
He then poured some water from a small pitcher into a shallow bowl, and put the bowl upon the tiles. As he had not placed it on the table, nor handed it to me, I understood how I must drink. I knelt before the bowl, and, my hands on the floor, put down my head and drank. He then had me kneel straight, and, with the same napkin which he himself had used, wiped my lips. He then gave me the napkin that I might clean myself, my fingers and my body.
"The earrings are pretty," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
He looked at the armlet, and the bracelets on my wrist.
I think he was pleased.
Then he looked to my ankle. "Bangles look well on your ankle, Earth woman," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"Do many women of your world wear bangles?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said. I supposed that some might, in certain places, in certain cultures.
"Secretly, perhaps," he said.
"Perhaps, Master," I said. "I do not know."
"They are quite sensual," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Stand," he said.
I obeyed. I stood then before the divan.
He fetched the whip from the divan and, slowly, as he had before, walked about me. Few women on Earth, I suspect, have ever been looked at as these men look at a woman. It can be frightening to be looked upon in this fashion, but it can also be profoundly stirring, profoundly gratifying. I stood straight, with my head up. A slave is expected to be beautiful. She is expected to be worth owning. How reassuring, incidentally, that one is here recognized as being of sufficient interest and importance to be looked at, really looked at. One is here regarded as being worthy of attention, l
iterally, and is actually accorded it. On my old world everyone, it seems, is regarded as being infinitely important but no one pays much attention to anyone else. How tragic, I thought, that so few of the women of Earth are ever truly looked at. It is not that they are invisible. It is only that no one pays them any attention.
I supposed that I might be a little more flushed now, from the food. My belly, doubtless, was a bit more rounded.
I felt the whip, coiled, move along my left flank, and then my waist. He was a bit to my left. He stood there. He lifted the whip to my lips. Quickly I kissed it. He then withdrew again to my left, and then to a bit behind me. I looked straight ahead, over the divan, to the wall behind. "Oh!" I suddenly said. My entire body jerked. "Steady," said he. He held the implement in place. I moaned. Then, slowly, he lowered it, sliding it downward, against the interior of my left thigh. I flexed my knees, and half sank down, trying to keep contact with it. Then it was gone. I stood straight again, but unsteadily. "Slave," he said. His remark was an observation, not a mode of address. They make us like this, I thought, angrily. And then they mock us for being so! But then I thought they did not make us this way. This was the way we were. It was only that they would not permit us to be other than we were. They did not permit us, so to speak, to lie. But then why would they mock us for what we were? We could not help what we were, that we were slaves!
He was then again before me. He lifted the coiled whip before him. He smelled the moist, hot, glossy leather, and looked at me, over the coil, and smiled.
I looked away, distraught.
"It seems," said he, "that the Earth woman is a ready slave."
I looked away. It was true.
"I thought that Earth women were supposed to pride themselves on their frigidity," he said.
"Not here, Master!" I said.
"They are not permitted frigidity here, are they?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"It is not tolerated."
"No, Master," I said. Why did he torment me? I knew that frigidity was not permitted to female slaves, of whatever origin, that we could be beaten for it, that we could be slain for it. Too, why did he speak as he did? Surely he knew that I, a slave, whether an Earth woman or not, could not begin to resist men such as he, even if it were permitted. Too, surely he knew that I was a "hot slave." That information, like my eye and hair color, was on my papers. He would know that I was helpless under the caresses of men such as he, that I could not help myself, that I was the sort of woman, pleading, helpless, vulnerable and spasmodic, who must, to a master, yield the totality of herself, sans reservation, sans qualification. Many times had I surrendered wholly to them. They could completely conquer me.
"I wonder if you should be whipped," he said, musingly, lifting the whip.
"Please, no, Master," I said.
He held the whip before me, and I put forth my head and lips, and kissed it twice, quickly, fervently.
"Earth woman," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
He regarded me.
I kept my eyes forward, not daring to meet his.
He then, to my relief, tossed the whip to one side. He lifted me up, sweeping me quickly from my feet. He then held me in his arms, looking down at me. I felt momentarily giddy. I was naked and collared. I felt very small in his arms. He was very strong. My weight was as nothing to him. I could see hair upon his chest, in the parting of the lounging robes. How different we are, I thought, my smallness and softness, and his lean, mighty frame, the breadth of the shoulders, the thickness of his arms. One has no contact with the floor. In one sense this is disconcerting, in another it is absolutely thrilling. One knows one can be carried, and placed where he wishes. His left arm was behind my back, his right beneath the backs of my knees. I dared to put my arms about his neck and kiss him, timidly.
"I melt in your arms, Master," I whispered. I hoped not to offend him.
He carried me to the rear portion of the divan, and placed me down upon it, on my back.
He then sat at the edge of the divan, the palm of his left hand on the divan, resting on it, across my body. His right hand was on his right knee.
"You did not dance badly," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"It is slave dance," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"The Earth woman danced it well," he said.
"She is a slave, Master," I said.
"Is slave dance danced on your world?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Did you understand the meaning of slave dance on your old world?" he asked.
"I think so, Master," I said. Here, on this world, of course, there was no doubt as to what its meaning was.
"Do many women dance slave dance on your world?" he asked.
"Not many," I said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"They are afraid to be so beautiful before men," I said.
"They are afraid to be women?"
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Were you afraid?"
"Yes, Master," I said.
"That is unutterably stupid," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
He regarded me. "You are a woman, I assure you," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Do you object?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"Do you want to be a woman?" he asked.
"I am a woman," I said.
"But do you want to be a woman?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"How do you feel about being a woman?" he asked.
"'Feel'?" I said.
"Yes," he said.
"I love being a woman," I said.
"Good," he said.
Until I had been brought here I had not understood what a marvelous, glorious, wonderful thing it was to be a woman. To be sure, I had learned this, as perhaps one must, in bondage. A female slave, you see, is not permitted to deny her sex. Only here, for the first time in my life, had I found it possible to fulfill my sex. Indeed, here I had no choice in the matter. I must fulfill it, wholly and irreservedly. It was no wonder then that, in spite of the dangers in which I might stand, I was so joyful.
He rose from the edge of the divan and picked up the length of chain looped beside it. This chain was some seven feet in length. There was a lock clip at one end and a collar at the other. I lay there. He made me wait for the collar. By means of the lock clip he fastened the chain to a ring fixed in the divan, one near the floor, on the right, as one faced the divan. He then took the chain about the head of the divan and there, at one point, placed a link over a stout hook, part of an integral slide-ring mounted there. In this way, it was, in effect, as though the chain was mounted at the head of the divan, rather than at the side, the hook would carry the weight of the chain, preventing it from drawing against the collar, the length of chain between the hook and collar would rest on the divan, and the amount of play in the chain allotted to me, without opening the slide-ring, would be strictly controlled. Thus, I would be, in effect, on a short chain run from the head of the divan, but, ultimately, on a long chain, run from the side ring. This is a convenience in chaining for masters. One need not, then, locking and unlocking them, spend a great deal of time changing chains. The amount of chain allotted to me from the hook would be about three feet, and from the side ring, if the chain were freed of the hook, about seven feet. There were various rings and hooks about the divan, permitting a large degree of flexibility in custodial and pleasure arrangements. The slave is commonly prohibited from touching the slide-rings and, in any event, remains attached to the divan, by means of the longer chain. Also, of course, the slide-rings may not be available to her, depending on how she is secured, what she can reach, the number of chains, and so on. As an analogy, it would be quite easy for a girl to unbuckle certain sorts of leather wristlets and anklets, but if she is unable to r
each the buckles, as, for example, if she is spread-eagled between rings, she is as helpless as if she were held by locked steel. Slide-rings, too, it might be mentioned, can be locked shut, either with their own locks, or, more commonly, with external clip locks. He then put the collar about my neck, and closed it. I was then chained by the neck to the divan, held about a yard from the slide-ring at the head of the divan, and held, ultimately, by the lock clip, to the side ring.
He stood beside the divan. He looked down upon me.
"You are not a trained dancer, of course," he said.
"No, Master," I said.
"Yet," said he, "I did not find your dance displeasing."
"The slave is grateful if she has not been found entirely displeasing," I whispered.
"I am now going to have you, Earth woman," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
I was well had and soon screamed my submission and my begging for more. His least touch, that of a master, set me on fire. Occasionally he tortured me, as it amused him, bringing me to the point of yielding, and then desisting, as I writhed, pleading, before him, lifting my body, begging for relief, for mercy. Four times he roared, laughing within me, as I clutched him. In the manner of these men with their slaves, almost in moments, I had been made wholly his. Numerous times, sweating in my collar, I yielded.
The minimalities, the tepidities, accepted by the men of Earth in their females were not, by men such as these, permitted to us.
They choose to own us, wholly.
Then, though I clutched him still, he wearied of me.
He undid the chain from the slide-ring at the head of the divan and thrust me from the divan to the floor. I looked up at him, above me, from the tiles.
"You will sleep there tonight," he said.
Tears came to my eyes.
"I may want you again, toward morning," he said.
I looked up at him.
"Turn about," he said, "so that you lie with your head toward the foot of the couch."
I rose to all fours, and turned about, and then lay down on the tiles, on my left side, so that I might face the divan. The chain was on my neck, holding me to the divan.
I drew my legs up.
He tossed me a sheet. I gratefully clutched it about me. I then lay there, huddled in the sheet, on the tiles, my head toward the bottom of the divan.