by John Norman
The connoisseur looked from the papers, attached to the clipboard he held, to the girl, and then back to the board.
“She has been whipped only three times,” said the connoisseur.
“Yes,” said the trainer, “the instructional whipping, once when I felt she did not obey quickly enough, only two strokes, and once because it pleased me to do so.”
The girl, her head down, trembled.
She could see, as she knelt, out of the comer of her eye, the coil of the trainer’s whip.
“That is really only twice,” said the connoisseur. “The two strokes is only an admonition, the sort of thing that might be done at any time, for any reason.”
“Then twice,” said the trainer.
“You have been whipped very little, Flora,” said the connoisseur.
“I have tried to be pleasing, Master,” she said.
“Kneel up, Flora,” said the connoisseur, “your back arched, your hands behind the back of your head.”
“She is a sleek little thing,” said the connoisseur.
“A pretty little piece of livestock,” said a man beside the connoisseur, a dealer.
“You have done well, Emon,” said the connoisseur.
The keeper inclined his head, accepting the compliment.
The diet and exercise of such stock is, of course, carefully supervised.
“I see by the papers, Rigg,” said the connoisseur, “that she has been trained, within the limitations of the brief time at our disposal, to give the most intimate and satisfying of slave pleasures to a master.”
“Yes,” said the trainer.
“You may place your hands on your thighs, Flora,” said the connoisseur. “She applied herself, in learning such lessons?” asked the connoisseur.
“Zealously,” said Rigg, the trainer.
“Little Flora apparently realizes that it is well for her to learn such things,” said the connoisseur.
Rigg laughed.
“Adeptness in such skills can considerably improve the quality of a girl’s life,” said the connoisseur, “elevating her price, quite possibly enabling her to obtain a richer, better master, lighter tasks, and such.”
“Certainly,” said Ambon, the dealer.
“But I think,” said Rigg, “that there is another reason, as well, that she applied herself so eagerly to her lessons.”
“The whip?” asked the connoisseur.
“Other than that, too,” said Rigg.
“What?” asked the connoisseur.
“Speak,” said Rigg to the girl.
“That I am a slave, Master,” she said.
“As are the other women in this house,” said the connoisseur.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Completely,” he said, “as yourself.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
In a sense she had known this for a long time, of course, even before becoming a slave.
“We have raised your value, Flora,” said the connoisseur.
“Thank you, Master,” said the girl.
“Many men could not now afford you,” said the connoisseur. “You may even find it tempting, in some markets, to obtain a master, to conceal your skills.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“But I would not permit my seller to know that,” he said.
“No, Master,” she said, shuddering.
“And such matters will be public, on your papers,” said the connoisseur.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“I would recommend perfect honesty, in all respects and matters,” said the connoisseur.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
A slave girl must be completely truthful, and totally honest.
She is not a free woman.
“You have come far, in a short time, little Flora,” said the connoisseur, “but remember that your training, and such, is really quite limited, only a matter of a few days, indeed, that, in a sense, it has only begun.”
“Yes, Master.”
“You must struggle to continue to learn, and grow,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“I see,” said the connoisseur, returning to the clipboard, “that she has done well in cosmetics, perfumes, adornments and such.”
“Yes,” said Rigg.
“In slave dance?” asked the connoisseur.
“There was no time,” said Rigg.
“But surely you have taught her at least some of the movements, which are useful in giving intimate pleasures to masters?”
“Of course,” said Rigg.
“Sewing, cooking, cleaning, such things?”
“Only some elementary knowledge in such matters,” said Rigg.
“Many men want a complete slave, Flora,” said the connoisseur, “one who can serve them in all ways and things. Many men, for example, will expect you to keep their quarters in perfection.”
“I know little of such things, Master,” said the girl.
“Perhaps you can compensate for such inadequacies, or distract the master from too keen an awareness of such things, by the excellence of your services in the furs.”
“It will be my hope to do so, Master,” she said.
“While striving to improve your expertise in such homely skills,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Many men want everything from a woman,” he said, “everything.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“But, as you are a pleasure slave, I would give my greatest attention to my services in the furs.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, gratefully.
“As I recall, from my own cursory examination, when she was brought to this house, her body is responsive,” said the connoisseur.
“We have confirmed that,” said Rigg. “It is responsive, uncontrollably so.”
“She will then be much at the mercy of masters,” said the connoisseur.
“Helplessly so,” said Rigg.
The girl put down her head.
“And yet she is still a virgin,” said the connoisseur, wonderingly.
The girl blushed, wholly.
“A virgin?” asked Ambon, the dealer.
“Yes,” said the connoisseur. “It is seldom, Flora,” he said, “that a girl, and certainly a slave, with flanks such as yours, is a virgin.”
“My master,” she said, “is not pleased with me, and has seen fit, after my embonding, to ignore me, and treat me with great coldness.”
“I will make you an offer for her!” said the dealer, suddenly.
Terror transfigured the girl’s features.
To be sure, she could be bought and sold with the same facility as a pig.
“Alas,” said the connoisseur, “we do not own her, but she is merely being boarded here, for a time, to be trained.”
“You could pretend that she was stolen, even that you were raided,” said the dealer.
“We are an honest house,” said the connoisseur.
“Ah,” smiled the dealer, and leaned back in his chair.
“Master,” asked the girl, pleadingly, “may I speak?”
All eyes went to her. Even Emon and Rigg seemed surprised that she had spoken. To be sure, it was merely to request permission to speak, which permission may be granted or not, as the master sees fit.
The connoisseur looked at her, interested. “Certainly,” he said.
The fact that he had said “certainly” must not, however, be taken to mean that such permissions are always readily forthcoming. Indeed, sometimes a girl is not permitted to speak for hours, sometimes for days. Sometimes, even in the furs, she must serve, with all her attentiveness, her skills and zeal, in silence.
“I still belong to the same master, do I not?” she asked.
“I do not know,” said the connoisseur. “I do not know who your master is. I only know who has signed you over to us, and to whom, upon the receipt of an appropriate signature, we will return you.”
“I
may have been sold, while I am here, in school?” she said.
“That is quite possible,” said the connoisseur. “Indeed, it is often the case that training of this sort is given to a girl to increase her value, because the master intends to put her up for sale, hoping to make a profit on her.”
She groaned.
“I do not know who my master is then,” she said.
“No,” said the connoisseur. “But doubtless you will soon learn.”
“You do not know who my master is?” she said.
“No,” said the connoisseur. “I know little more than the place to which we are to deliver you.”
“May I beg to know the place?” she asked.
“You will learn it in time,” he said.
“Please, please, Master,” she begged, weeping.
The connoisseur looked to the dealer, and to Emon and Rigg, and then shrugged. “Very well,” he said. He read off to her an address, and a world.
“But I do not know that place, or world!” she cried.
“Doubtless you will come to know it, at least for a time,” said the connoisseur, “for it is there that you will be delivered to your master.”
The pretty slave regarded the connoisseur, agonized. She put her hand, timidly, to the metal collar on her neck, a rather simple, plain collar, the collar of the house. It was all she wore, other than her brand.
“It is there,” said the connoisseur, “that you will kneel before your master, and present the flower to him, as you have been taught, the slave flower.”
“You will offer it to him humbly,” said Emon.
“And it will be his to pluck,” said Rigg.
“Masters!” cried the girl.
“Take her away,” said the connoisseur, signing one of the sheets on the clipboard.
She was pulled to her feet, and turned about.
She looked back over her shoulder, in misery and fear.
“Master!” she wept.
“You will be shipped this morning,” said the connoisseur.
She was conducted, weeping, from the room.
The connoisseur turned over a page from those on the clipboard.
“Next,” he said.
CHAPTER 18
“I am innocent!” she cried. “I am innocent!”
“Is she covered?” asked Tuvo Ausonius, alarmed, keeping his back turned to her.
“Yes,” said the officer.
Tuvo Ausonius turned about to see the girl, struggling, swathed in buckled canvas, from her thighs to her throat, forced down on her knees, on the street, outside the small apartment, with its door opening onto the street.
“You have the complaint?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“Yes,” said one of the officers.
“He!” cried the girl, squirming in the canvas, turning to face Tuvo Ausonius. “It was he, he! He was here!”
A small crowd had gathered.
“I only arrived from Miton this morning,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “I am of the honestori.”
“Yes, sir,” said the officer. “I believe the complaint is in order.”
“It is,” said the officer.
“I did not neglect to sign it, did I?” inquired Tuvo Ausonius.
“No, sir,” said the officer. “It is signed.”
“You have the warrant?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“Yes, and endorsed,” said the officer.
“Then everything is in order?”
“Yes,” said the officer.
“Down on your knees, bitch!” said the other officer, forcing the girl back down on her knees.
“This has been quite distressing,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“The apologies of the city,” said the officer.
“What is going on?” asked a man, joining the small throng.
“A prostitute, unlicensed,” said the officer to the man. “We caught her.”
“I am not a prostitute!” cried the girl.
The officer near her buckled a leash on her neck.
She looked up at him, wildly, leashed.
“I did not realize that this was a prostitution district,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “This is all very embarrassing.”
“Concern yourself no longer, sir,” said the officer. “The matter is done now.”
“I need not appear anywhere to testify?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“No, sir,” said the officer. “The matter is clear, and the complaint is sufficient.”
“I am not a prostitute!” cried the girl.
“How do you know she is a prostitute?” asked a man.
“Smell her!” laughed another.
“There are these, too,” said the officer. He held up, bunched in his hand, evidence, some jewelry, a scarlet halter, two rectangles of provocative scarlet silk, such things.
There was laughter from the men about.
“She claims to be a Sesella Gardener, a stewardess, from Wings Between Worlds,” said the officer in whose keeping was the leash.
“I am!” cried the girl.
“Doubtless she is,” said a man.
“But not for long!” said another.
The girl looked at the speaker, frightened.
Men laughed.
“Don’t you make enough money with Wings Between Worlds?” asked a man.
“It seems she wished to supplement her income,” chuckled a fellow.
“You should have bought a license, dearie,” said one of the women in the throng, in golden sandals, with a gown of purple silk.
“The city is particular about such matters,” said another woman.
“Too particular,” said another.
“It serves you right,” said another woman.
“We have to pay, and so should you, dearie,” said another.
“The nerve of the cheating little bitch,” said another.
“Now you will get what you deserve,” said another.
“Good, good!” said another woman.
“Cheat, cheat!” hissed another.
“I am not a prostitute,” she wept.
“How was she caught?” asked a man.
“This gentleman,” said the officer, “came to assume occupancy of the apartment and found her here, apparently having made unauthorized use of the premises. Apparently her last customer had left her stark naked, chained to a slave ring.”
“That seems appropriate,” laughed a man.
There was laughter.
“I am not a prostitute!” protested the girl, tears in her eyes.
“Certainly you must be a poor one,” said one of the women.
“She does not even have a license,” said another.
“Apparently she was not sufficiently concerned to be fully pleasing to her customer,” said the officer.
“If you’re going to be picky, and uppity, you’d better have a license, dearie,” said a woman.
“I speculate,” laughed a man, “that she will soon be such that she will be zealously concerned to be fully pleasing to men.”
“To any man,” laughed another.
“Yes,” laughed another.
The girl wept, and raised her eyes, pleadingly, to Tuvo Ausonius.
“Tell them the truth!” she begged.
“I have never seen you before in my life, young lady,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Tell them the truth!” she wept.
“I have,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“He is lying!” she cried.
“Silence, prostitute bitch!” said the officer who had her in custody.
He shortened the leash, meaningfully.
“She should think up a better story,” said a man. “One can see by the fellow’s garb that he is a same.”
“Poor fellow,” said another man.
“He would not know what to do with a woman,” said another.
There was a ripple of laughter in the throng.
This sort of talk irritated Tuvo Ausonius. He was proud of being a same, of course. Still, they did not always command the res
pect due to them on account of their superior virtue. Indeed, some people even regarded them as pathetic fools. That was sometimes a bit irritating. But, more importantly, Tuvo Ausonius was no longer quite as confident in his sameness as he had been before yesterday evening. What if it were not best to be a same? What if there were two sexes, quite different, really? He had not forgotten how she had looked at his feet, in scarlet silk. That is not the sort of thing that it is easy to forget. Sometimes Tuvo Ausonius had wondered what it might be, not to be a same, but a man. But then he had dismissed such thoughts as beneath him, and grossly improper. But that was before he had seen her at his feet, in scarlet silk. Such a woman, and perhaps others, would not be easy to forget.
“Be quiet,” said a fellow. “He is of the honestori.”
Tuvo Ausonius supposed that such a woman might make an acceptable domestic servant.
Certainly some sames kept such servants, who lived in. They would have to be suitably garbed, of course, in same wear. And, of course, he would not have to so much as lay a hand on one. He knew certain sames who kept such servants. Actually, as everyone knew, they were purchased slaves, as free women on Miton, sames, at least those who were well-to-do, did not perform domestic labors. Such were beneath them. Tuvo Ausonius had sometimes wondered what went on in such domiciles, when the doors were closed, and the shades drawn. Doubtless nothing. But still one wondered. And he, if he were to keep such a servant, so to speak, would surely not have to lay a hand on her.
Then he put such terrible thoughts from his mind, for he was a same.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to have permitted himself to look upon her at his feet, in scarlet silk.
Then he reminded himself, again, sternly, that he was a same.
The top button on her jacket had been undone, lasciviously baring her neck.
That neck was now muchly more bared, and wore a leash.
She had leaned toward him, as he had occupied his seat in the vessel.
Now she wore brief canvas, buckled tightly upon her beauty.
She had removed her head covering in the tiny galley, revealing her hair. Now it was loose, abundant, distraught, marvelous about her shoulders, over her leash, and it might be considered by anyone, as much as though she were a slave.