“Do not speak to me like this!” said the girl.
“You are no longer a child,” she said. “You are now a grown woman, indeed, a beautiful young woman, a desirable young woman.”
“‘Desirable’!” she said, scandalized. But I could tell she was thrilled to hear this.
“That at any rate, whatever you may personally think about it, is the judgment of men, who are the arbiters and masters in these matters,” she said. “Indeed, that much is attested to by your presence on this chain.”
“Am I desirable,” she asked, “truly desirable—as a female?”
“I believe so,” said the mother. “And I am sure, sweet and dear daughter, that when you find yourself helpless in the arms of men, kicking and crying out, and squirming, their lust will make it quite clear to you.”
“You needn’t put it just that way,” said the girl. She shrank back in the collar and chain. She put her hand to the collar. It was closed with a padlock. The collars these women wore had rings. It was by means of these rings, one to each collar, at the right side of the collar, and a second padlock, the bolt of which passed through the ring and a link of the chain, that the collars were attached to the common chain. In this fashion, a woman could be removed from the chain and yet be kept in a closed, padlocked collar. This was a different arrangement than had held the larger groups of women earlier, outside, at various points on the Avenue of Adminius. To be sure these were choice wenches. It was not surprising, then, that they should now find themselves the captives of a somewhat more refined constraint system. Additional security can be achieved, and often is, particularly when moving women, or when they are to be kept on the chain for a longer time, by riveting the collars shut. Needless to say, there is a large number of collar types, chaining arrangements, and security devices, the choices among them largely dictated by the motives and tastes of the master, and sometimes by his cultural background, all of which serve to keep women in perfect custody.
“True,” said the woman.
“But you do think I am desirable?”
“Yes,” said the woman.
“Oh,” said the girl pleased.
“You are now ready for the collar,” said the woman.
“No!” said the girl.
“You will find you have little choice in the matter,” she said.
“I will resist!” said the girl. “I will be strong!”
“And doubtless, after a test period, if they are so kind as to give you one, you will simply be killed.”
“Killed?” she gasped.
“Yes,” said the woman. “Men are only human. They do not, nor should they have, endless patience, particularly with the sort of animal which you will then be. It is not like having a foolish free companion, one who knows no better, who will patiently work with you for years, trying to help you become a woman.”
“I will try to be strong!” she wept.
“Such expressions often constitute but transparent concealments for envy and resentment,” she said. “Consider whether or not this might be true in your case. Similarly, even worse, do not use them to disguise your fear of men and of your own true nature. Too, they are but ill used when put forth to praise what may be actually only frigidity, sexual inertness, sexual anesthesia, an incomplete or stunted development, a neurosis, an ignorance or stupidity, or false pride. Do not concern yourself in this matter, sweet daughter, with the values of others, and particularly of men, for you are not a man, or of those who desire to be imitative of men, but seek to find your own female values, the deepest and most feminine values in your being, those of your deepest self. Try to find out who you are, in the depths of your most complete femaleness, and then dare to be what, truly, you are.”
“You are my mother,” she said. “You must not talk to me in this way!”
“Perhaps you are right,” said the woman. “And perhaps I would not myself even dare to do so if I were not here with you, naked, in a collar, too, with a number on my breast.”
“It is shameful for you to speak so!” said the girl, angrily.
“I want you to live,” said the woman. “And I want you to be happy, truly happy.”
“Shame!” scolded the girl.
“It is my love that prompts me to speak so,” said the woman.
“I hate you!” said the girl.
“Have I truly touched something so deep in you, so familiar, so recurrent, yet so frightening, that you dare not face it,” she asked, “that you would lash out so at me?”
“You are a terrible person!” said the daughter.
“I am one who loves you, more deeply than you can ever know,” said the woman.
“Liar!” wept the girl.
“No,” she said. “I am trying to tell you an end to lies.”
“Naked female!” said the girl.
“You said, earlier, when first we discovered one another here, both stripped prisoners, the loot of soldiers, on a common chain, when I said that I had thought you might have escaped, that you had not, that the collar was on your neck.”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“Is it on your neck?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” said the girl. Almost inadvertently, lifting both hands, she touched it.
“Then there is no escape for you,” she said.
“I know,” whispered the girl. “Nor for you.”
“I know,” said the woman.
The girl sobbed.
“Surely you understand what this means,” she said. “Soon, my lovely daughter, you will learn the delicate, lascivious draping of slave garments and the tying of slave girdles, in such a way as to accentuate your beauty for the pleasure of a master. You will be taught to kneel, and caress, and do things you have not now dreamed of. You will learn to wear chains attractively and to move in them in such a way as to drive men wild with passion. You will be taught to cook and sew, and to polish boots and scrub floors. You will learn to bring a whip to a man in your teeth, on your hands and knees, head down. You will learn to love, and to serve. You will learn to be a slave.”
“No! No!” said the girl.
“Soon your lovely thigh will feel the kiss of the blazing iron, and you will be given away or sold,” she said. “You will then have entered upon your new reality. You will then have begun your new life.”
“Mother,” protested the girl.
“Beware of free women,” said the woman, “for you will be altogether different from them.”
“Do not speak to me in this fashion!” begged the girl.
“I must speak to you,” she said. “I do not know how long we might have to speak together.”
“What do you mean?” asked the girl.
“At any moment a man might put a whip between us, and stop our talking,” she said. “Too, soon we may never see one another again.”
“Mother,” she said, frightened.
“Surely you do not think we will be kept together,” she said. “Soon we will both be evaluated, not as mother and daughter, but merely as women, and be taken on our diverse ways.”
“You,” asked the daughter, skeptically, “being evaluated as a woman.”
“Yes, my dear,” she said, “the same as you.”
“That seems absurd,” said the girl.
“I am nonetheless a woman,” she said.
The girl looked down, angrily.
“Does it disturb you to think of me in that fashion?” asked the woman.
“Yes,” said the girl, angrily.
“That is the way men will think of me, and look at me, I assure you,” she said.
“Absurd,” said the girl. “What are you even doing here? Why are you here?”
“I am here,” she said, “for the same reason you are.”
“Why is that?” asked the girl.
“Surely you can guess,” she said.
“Why?” asked the girl.
“I was not brought here, and put here among these women, because I was your mother, I assure you,�
�� she said.
“Why, then?” asked the girl.
“I do not wish to speak,” she said, “before you.”
“Speak,” demanded the girl.
“I have been found attractive by men,” she said.
“You?” asked the girl, scornfully.
“Yes,” she said. “Is it so hard to understand, or accept, that men might find your mother an attractive female, a desirable property, a lovely animal, a sex slut of interest, one whom they might think worth taking, or buying, or stealing, one they might think worth owning, one whom they might not mind having on their chain?”
“You, too, then might have to crawl to men,” said the girl, “and serve them.”
“Yes,” said the woman, “and with the same perfection as you, my dear.”
“Absurd,” said the girl.
“I will doubtless be taken my way, and you yours,” she said, “as no more than separate females. I see the thought offends you.”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“I am sorry,” she said. “But I will be owned, as much as you.”
“You would have to please a master, as I!” said the girl.
“Yes,” she said.
“I cannot believe that,” said the girl. “It makes no sense to me.”
“Do you think it will be only your fair self, with all its beauty, which will soon be at the bidding of a master?” she asked.
“But you are my mother,” she said.
“Surely you must understand that I must have been attractive to at least one man, at least once,” she said. She smiled. “Your presence would seem to attest to that.”
“Not necessarily,” said the girl.
“True,” smiled the woman.
“You are my mother,” said the girl.
“Do you think that means my body is now like ice or wood,” she asked, “that I am not a human female, that I do not have feelings, that I do not have needs?”
“You cannot have needs,” wept the girl. “It is improper. You are my mother!”
“Your father did not much care for me,” she said. “Our companionship was arranged, with familial and commercial alliances in mind. I met him only at the ceremony of the companionship. He always shut me away. I do not think that I was such as he would have desperately bid upon in a frenzy of lust, eager to bring me into his collar. Perhaps another man, but not he. I have often wondered if he might not have cared more for me if he could have found me in a market, and picked me out of his own volition, perhaps to satisfy his own desire, at least for a time. Then at least I would have known that he truly wanted me, at least to some extent, at least for a time. He shut me out. He cared more for his business, and his power, than me. I was at best an asset. He put me to one side, so to speak, and he took me for granted, as one might take for granted furniture, or a decor. Too, my beloved daughter, I think you, too, took me too much for granted, as little more than another object in your environment. I have been lonely. I have been terribly lonely.”
“You are my mother!” said the girl.
“I am many things,” she said, “or have been many things.”
“You cannot have needs,” said the girl.
“Look at me,” said the woman. “Do you think a woman so bared and chained, so exposed and dominated, cannot have needs? These things free me to have needs. They free me to be myself.”
“Disgusting!” said the girl.
“All my life,” she said, “I have wanted to kiss, and lick, and serve a man, and love him, and make him happy.”
“Disgusting!” said the girl.
“Now, perhaps,” she said, “for the first time in my life, I shall have the opportunity to do so.”
“I cannot believe you are speaking in this fashion,” said the girl.
“Look at me,” she said. “I have a collar on my neck. I cannot remove it. It attaches me to a chain, with others. I am naked. Men may look upon me as they please. There is a number on my breast. I am 261, among the catches of mercenaries. I will be given away or sold. Do not tell me how I can speak. I am, like you, a woman on a chain!”
“I am afraid, Mother,” said the girl, suddenly. “I am so afraid!”
“We are all afraid,” she said, holding her.
“I do not know what will happen to me,” said the girl.
“None of us do,” said the woman.
“I do not want to be owned,” wept the girl.
“Think of it from the man’s point of view,” she said. “You are quite beautiful. Think of what pleasure men will take in owning you. Think how happy it will make them.”
“I would then have value?” asked the girl.
“Yes,” said the mother. “In time you might even become a treasure.”
“No, no,” said the girl, suddenly. “We must never think of things from the man’s point of view!”
“Why?” asked the woman.
“I do not know!” she said. “But what pleases them, what fulfills them, what makes them so masculine, so powerful and strong, so different from us, must be denied to them!”
“Why?” asked the woman.
“I do not know,” wept the girl.
“To make them piteous and weak, so that we may dominate them?” asked the mother.
“I do not know,” said the girl.
“So that we can pretend we are more like them?”
“I do not know,” said the girl.
“As a free female you might, if you wished, for whatever purposes, hatred or envy, the seeking of power, or whatever it might be, attempt to do them such hurt, such insidious and grievous injury, but such terrible and grotesque crimes, for which legal penalties are not even prescribed, my lovely daughter, when you are a slave, will not be permitted to you.”
“I am afraid to be a slave,” she said.
“We all are,” said the mother.
“I do not understand slaves,” said the girl.
“You understand them only too well,” said the mother.
“Why is it that so many of them, owning not even a bowl for their food, or their rags and collars, seem to be among the happiest of women, so radiant and fulfilled?”
“They have masters,” she said.
“Mother,” said the girl, timorously.
“Yes, my daughter,” said the mother, encouragingly.
“This morning, near noon, on the Avenue of Adminius, I was forced to call a man Master.”
“So, too, were we all,” said the mother, soothingly. “It is just their way of accustoming us to obedience, and what lies before us.”
“I was made to beg—to beg to be put on a slave chain!” said the girl.
“Several of us were made to so beg,” said the mother.
“You?” asked the daughter.
“Yes,” said the mother.
“And you did so?”
“Certainly.”
“How they humiliate us!” wept the daughter.
“They are men,” she said.
“Men are beasts,” said the girl.
“They are what they are,” she said, “—men.”
“Beasts!”
“Doubtless,” said the mother, kindly.
“They are unfair, powerful, uncompromising, dominant beasts!” said the girl.
“They know what they want,” said the mother.
“It seems that it is we they want, such as we that they want!”
“Yes,” said the mother, gently. “And they will have us, collar us, own us, buy and sell us.”
“They seem to believe that we exist for their service and pleasure!” said the girl.
“Perhaps that is what we do exist for,” said the mother.
“I do not understand,” said the girl.
“We are females,” said the mother.
“They think of us as slaves!”
“Perhaps,” said the mother, “that is what we are, or should be.”
“Mother—”
“Yes?”
“May I tell you someth
ing?”
“Surely.”
“When I begged to be put on the chain—I do not know how I should tell you this—I felt a strange, incredible, shocking appropriateness or rightness about my petition. How dreadful of me, how wrong of me, surely, how incomprehensible it was! Yet it seemed to me somehow that I was such as should so beg. Why was this? Was it because I was naked, and kneeling, and my hands were tied behind my back? Was it because I then seemed a slave to myself? And when I understood that I had been found acceptable for the chain, that I would be put on it, I felt a sudden, inexplicable profusion of relief, a surge of love and gratitude! These things suffused my whole body! And when, moments later, the chain was locked on my neck I felt another sudden, inexplicable surge of pleasure, of love, of gratitude and joy. How terrible I am! I was not taught so! How could I feel such things! How terrible I am! I was naked, I could not break the chain. Yet I was not then discontent! What can it all mean?”
“Do not concern yourself,” said the mother.
“What does it mean, Mother?”
“Perhaps that a conflict has been resolved, that a war is over, that the darkness of a long night has at last been dispelled.”
“I am afraid.”
“That you may meet yourself?”
“Mother!”
“That is not so terrible,” she said.
“There was something else,” she whispered. “Something worse!”
“Yes?” asked the mother.
“I had to kiss a man’s whip,” she whispered.
“So, too, did we all, I am sure,” said the mother, kindly.
“But it is worse,” she whispered. “I fear to speak.”
“Tell me,” said the mother, soothingly, taking the girl’s head upon her breast.
“I had feelings, different feelings,” said the girl. “I had never felt just those feelings before.”
“I understand,” said the mother.
“When I felt the stout leather thrust against my lips, I trembled,” she said. “Then, as bidden, I kissed, and licked it, lingeringly. I looked up at him. I saw the ferocity, and the strength, and the uncompromising determination, in his eyes. Then, again, I bent to my work. I felt thrilled to the quick. My belly became hot. My thighs flamed. I felt wet.”
Mercenaries of Gor Page 20