by John Norman
I cried out, softly, and she looked up, pleased that she had made me do that.
"Finish your work, Slave," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
My hands knotted in her hair, tightly, holding her helplessly to me. Then I released her.
I pulled her up to me, and, in the dim light of the alcove, filtering through the red curtain from the slatted grilles in the roof of the main room, wiped her mouth with her hair.
"It is morning, Master," she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
I held her arms, as she looked down at me.
"Speak," I told her.
She then, whispering, said the following. I had taught it to her last night.
He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave.
I took her and put her to her back, beside me. I looked down into her eyes.
"Good morning, Slave," I said.
"Good morning, Master," she said.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
"In the little time you permitted me to sleep," she said, "I never slept better in my life."
"Did you dream?" I asked.
"I dreamed I was a slave," she said. "And then I awakened, and found that it was true."
I smiled at her.
"I am a slave," she said, "you know."
"Yes," I said.
"When I awakened this morning," she said, "I knew that it was true. You taught it to me last night."
"Do you think free women could have felt what you felt?" I asked.
"Never," she said, "for they are not slaves." She looked up at me. "What I felt were the feelings of a slave in the arms of her master. Those are feelings no free woman will ever know."
"Unless she is put in bondage," I said.
"Yes, Master," she smiled. Then she said, "How I pity them, those poor free woman, such as I was. How ignorant they are. No wonder they are so hostile to men. Would not any woman hate a man who did not have the strength to put her in a collar?"
"Perhaps," I said. I thought of a girl once known, one who once had been my free companion. I thought of her cruelty to me once, in the house of Samos, when she had thought me helpless and crippled. She had once been the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, but he had disowned her, for once, when she had been the helpless slave of the forest girl, Verna, she had begged to be purchased, a slave's act. Rather than submit to this stain upon his honor he, the Ubar of glorious Ar itself, had sworn against her, upon his sword, and upon the medallion of his office, as well, the fierce oath of disownment. She lived now, free, but deprived of citizenship, sequestered in Ar. Her left thigh would still bear the brand of Treve, for once, long ago, she had fallen slave to Rask of Treve, a captain and tarnsman. I wondered if he had made her yield well as a slave, when he had owned her. I did not doubt it. I thought the brand of Port Kar might look well upon her body, placed above that of Treve. I wondered how she might look in scarlet silk, dancing as a slave before any men.
"We belong in collars," said Evelyn.
I heard, outside the curtain, the sounds of the early morning. Tables were being moved aside, that the floor might be cleaned. This work is usually done by paga attendants. The girls, at this time, are usually asleep, chained in their kennels.
"It is morning," I said.
"You are going to go in a moment, aren't you," she asked, "leaving me behind, a chained slave?"
"Of course," I told her, "paga girl."
"Don't go yet," she said. "I beg you, Master."
"Very well," I said.
"I wear Pembe's collar," she said, touching the encircling steel on her neck. "I would wear yours."
I looked at her.
"Surely what you did to me last night," she said, "means something to you?"
"It was only a night's pleasure with a paga girl," I said.
"Oh," she said.
"Any Gorean male could do it to you," I said.
"Make me yield like that," she asked, "as such a slave?"
"Of course," I told her, "Slave Girl."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What do you think now of your collar?" I asked.
"I hate it," she said. "And I love it!"
"You love your collar?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "I love it." She looked up at me. "I love being a slave," she said. "I love being enslaved. I love being forced to yield, and to obey men."
"I see that it is appropriate that you wear a collar," I said.
"Yes," she said, defiantly. "It is fully appropriate."
"You know why it is fully appropriate?" I asked.
"Of course," she said, "because I am a true slave."
"Yes," I said, "Slave."
"And yet," she said, "I am an Earth girl." She put her hands at the collar. "How cruel that I should be put in a collar!" She looked up at me. "Will it never be taken off?" she asked.
"Undoubtedly," I said.
"Ah," she said.
"To be replaced with another," I said.
"Oh," she said. She looked up at the wall, to her right, at the slave whip hanging there, on its peg. "You did not whip me," she said.
"Do you wish to be whipped?" I said.
"No," she said, "no!" She had felt the whip. She then looked again at me. "I suppose," said she, "that I will be bought and sold many times."
"Doubtless," I told her.
"Do you think men will ever free me?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Why?" she asked.
"The collar is right on you," I said.
She touched it. "Yes," she said, "it is right on me. And you knew it immediately, didn't you, you beast? That is why you made me, when I thought I was free, serve you as a naked paga slave."
"It seemed fitting," I said, "that your slavery be made manifest."
"Of course," she said. "You are a Gorean master."
"Any Gorean male looking upon you," I said, "whether you wore a collar or not, would see that you should be a slave."
"And now I am a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I do not object," she said.
"It does not matter whether you object or not," I said.
"True," she smiled.
I heard men moving about, outside, cleaning the floor. I sat up.
"Do not go, Master," she begged.
"I must be on my way," I told her.
"Leaving me here?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Please remain but a bit longer," she begged.
"Would you detain me?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "with the charms of a slave."
"You do not speak as an Earth girl," I said.
"I am no longer an Earth girl," she said. "I am now only a Gorean slave," she said.
"It is true," I said.
She slipped down my body and began, piteously, to kiss me.
"I do not have time," I told her.
"Dally, please dally," she begged, "if only for a few moments more."
I saw that she feared to be left behind. She looked up at me, miserably.
"You now begin to understand, do you not," I asked, "something of the meaning of your collar?"
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Surely now," I said, "you would choose freedom."
She looked up at me, boldly. "No," she said. "I have been a free woman, and I have been a slave. I have known both."
"Is not freedom inordinately precious?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "but more inordinately precious to me is my slavery."
I looked at her.
"I choose the brand," she said, "the collar, and the hands of a master on my body."
I pulled her up beside me, and threw her to her back. "Use me ruthlessly, Master," she begged.
"I shall," I told her.
"Ra
pe me as a slave," she said.
"It will be done," I told her.
In a few moments she screamed her submission and looked at me, unbelievingly.
"I did not know what it would be to be raped as a slave," she whispered.
"It was so swift, and brutal," she said. "Please hold me," she said.
I spurned her with my foot to the side of the alcove, and she lay there, trembling and weeping.
She held out her hand to me. "Please touch me," she said.
"Be silent, Slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
I began to dress.
She rose to her knees and knelt there, then, by the side wall, the steel ankle ring, with its chain, leading to the floor ring, still upon her ankle. "How you used me," she said. She was still trembling.
"Sandals," I said.
She crept to me and, head down, placed my sandals on my feet. She then tied them, drawing the thongs tight and then fastening them. "How you used me," she whispered. Then she held my legs and pressed her cheek against the side of my left leg, above the knee. I did not kick her from me. She looked up, tears in her eyes. "If one is a true slave," she said, "it is not wrong to be a slave, is it?"
"No," I said.
She held my legs, looking up at me. "If one is a true slave," she said, "it is right that one should be a slave, is it not?"
"Yes," I said.
"I am a true slave," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"It is thus right that I should be a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said. I lifted her to her feet, holding her by the arms before me.
"It is right," she said, "that a true slave should be enslaved."
"Of course," I said.
"I am a true slave," she said.
"I know," I said.
"It is thus right," she said, "that I should be enslaved."
"Yes," I said.
"I am enslaved," she said.
"Yes," I said. I then threw her to my feet and, turning, parted the curtains of the alcove.
"Master," she wept.
I turned to look at her.
"But one more kiss, please, Master," she said.
She knelt on the furs, chained by the ankle, and I crouched before her, and took her in my arms. We kissed. Then I thrust her back, and stood up.
"You subjected me earlier to slave rape," she said, soft tears in her eyes, with tender reproach.
"Yes," I said.
"And afterwards spurned me from you."
"Yes," I said.
"Keep me, Master!" she suddenly begged. "Keep me!"
I looked down upon her. She knelt before me. She was so soft and beautiful, her eyes and lashes wet with tears, her hair dark and soft on her shoulders, her lip trembling.
"Keep me," she begged.
She had been an agent of Kurii.
"Take me with you," she begged. "Do not leave me behind in this place."
She had been an agent of Kurii.
"Speak," I said.
Tremblingly, head down, she spoke.
"He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave."
"Each night, for a month," I said, "after you are chained in your kennel, and before you fall asleep, say that."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Similarly, for the same month," I said, "repeat it to yourself many times during the day."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"It may help you to survive," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"Remember to yield well to men," I said.
"I will not be able to help myself, Master," she smiled.
"Remember submission, and that you are a slave girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You may now find this difficult to believe," I said, "but the time will come when you will find that you are unable to part these curtains and enter this alcove from the floor outside without being hot and wet. Merely to cross this threshold, that of an alcove, that of a chamber of submission, will make you ready for a man's pleasure."
"I do not find it difficult to believe, Master," she whispered. "Merely to look at the curtains excites me." She touched her collar. "Merely to touch my collar excites me. To kneel on the furs, to feel them on my body, to be kneeling itself, before a man, excites me. To be naked before him, on my knees, makes me miserable with the desire for his touch."
"I think you will survive, Slave," I told her.
"May I kiss your feet but once more, Master," she said.
I permitted this.
I felt her lips, so sweet on my feet, her tears and hair. "Keep me," she begged. "Keep me, Master."
I looked down once more at the slave at my feet, who had been an agent of Kurii.
Then I turned about and left the alcove.
"Master!" she cried.
I looked back at her, once more. She was on her belly, half through the curtains, her left leg extended behind her, held by the ankle ring and chain. She held out her right hand to me. "Please buy me! Don't leave me here!" she wept.
"How was she?" asked a paga attendant, pausing in his work, buffing goblets.
"I will not demand a refund," I told him.
"Do you think she will work out?" he asked. "Pembe was curious."
"Probably," I said. "It is hard to know about those things. It is my guess that she will prove satisfactory."
"Is her slavery close to the surface?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Doubtless it will soon become fully manifest."
"Does she have slave fire?" he asked.
I remembered her sobbing in my arms, kissing and licking, and begging for my least touch.
"Yes," I said.
"That is good," he said. "Perhaps there is hope for the wench. I grow weary of carrying bodies to the harbor."
I went to the place, near the rear wall, where I had left the blond-haired barbarian. She had fallen asleep, slumped, blindfolded, there. She had, of course, released her ankles.
I touched her gently, and she, with a little moan of anguish, awakened. She realized then, suddenly, she had dropped off to sleep. Suddenly, fearfully, she assumed the kneeling position in which I had placed her, head down, gripping her ankles.
"No," I told her, softly.
I then took her gently in my arms. How small and light she was. I do not think she weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds.
"I am leaving by the back way," I told the paga attendant.
"As you wish," he said.
Outside I waited for a few moments, to see if the door, behind me, should be moved ajar. I examined, too, the dust of the alley, to see if it moved, or otherwise stirred, as it might have, if a foot had passed. I looked about, at the roofs about. The door did not move. The dust did not stir. The tops of the buildings, as nearly as I could determine, seemed clear.
I looked at the girl in my arms. She was again asleep. For a moment I felt moved to tenderness toward her. Her life, in the past few weeks, had not been easy. She had been a pawn in the cruel games of worlds. Too, it is sometimes traumatic for a proud, free woman of Earth to discover that she has suddenly become an owned slave. I would let the girl sleep. I carried her through the streets of Schendi. I did not take a direct route to my room.
14
A Girl Becomes More Beautiful;
I Must Take my Leave of Sasi
Sasi opened the door.
"Master," she said.
"Prepare a chain for the new girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I do not think Sasi was too pleased when I carried the blond slave over the threshold and placed her on the straw by the slave ring. Gorean slaves, incidentally, are commonly carried over the threshold when they first enter a master's house or place of residence. This is reminisce
nt of a bridal custom on Earth, of course. That custom, an ancient one, makes tacitly clear the bride's ownership by the male, and has clear implications of capture and bondage. It is natural that the bride desires this ceremony, and will plead for it. The oafish male, commonly, does not even understand what is going on. He should, of course, take her directly to the bed, and throw her upon it, his.
Women wish to be the slaves of their men. What woman would want a man who is not strong enough to be her master?
Not all Gorean slaves, of course, are carried over a threshold. Some are leashed and enter on their hands and knees. Some, perhaps bound and collared, are thrust through. The common denominator of these customs, of course, is that the slave must understand that force, either explicitly or implicitly, is involved, and that she will enter the stronghold of the master, and as a slave, whether she wills to do so or not.
"Is that not the girl from the Palms of Schendi?" asked Sasi. The blond girl, exhausted, was still asleep.
"Yes," I said.
Sasi fastened a short chain to the slave ring, locking it, with its own lock, on the ring. She then, with a key, the same key which would open the chain lock, opened the chain's ankle ring.
"What do you want her for?" asked Sasi. She handed me the opened ankle ring.
"She interests me, at least for the moment," I told her. I shut the ankle ring then on the blonde's left ankle. I stood up, and looked down upon her. She was secured.
The man commonly places the bond on the slave. It is his right, as she is a female. Too, of course, it is a matter of custom. The practice, too, is thought to have a good psychological effect on the slave, reminding her that she is owned, and, usually, by whom. To be sure, the blonde, at present, was unconscious. But by now she should know enough of Gor to suspect, upon awakening, who in all likelihood it was who had fettered her, who had placed the locked, clasping steel so closely about her small, sweet ankle. Similarly the owner of kaiila or verr will commonly lock the stable or close the pen.
Sasi put the key on a hook to one side of the room. Near it, on another hook, there hung a slave whip. From one of the overhead beams, near the side of the room, there was a whipping ring, to which a slave could be tethered, which could be lowered. It was a furnished room. Accordingly, this appointment was not unusual. Slaves, it must be understood, are not uncommon on Gor.
Indeed, many females on that world are held in bondage.