“The mat does not know that,” I said.
“It is my hope that you know it,” she smiled. “Oh!”
“I have forgotten it,” I told her.
“Be kind!” she said. “I am not a slave!”
“You will be treated as I please,” I said, “and exactly so. Now be silent.”
“I have strange feelings,” she whispered. “I feel that I should call you Master.”
“Do not do so,” I said. “That is only for slaves.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “—Master.”
“Very well,” I said.
“Oh, yes!” she cried, softly.
* * * *
“Never let me go,” she wept, clinging to me.
I thrust her back, gently, to the mat, disentangling her from me.
“Let me hold you,” she begged.
“Not now,” I said. “Keep your arms at your sides.”
“In your arms—” she said, “in your arms—!”
“It is not I,” I said. “It could have been any man. It is rather that you were ready.”
“Encircle my throat with steel,” she said. “Lock it on me! Make it so I cannot remove it! Heat an iron! Brand me! Put a slave mark in me! Do it! Do it! It is what I am! Burn that truth into me. Let me wear it in my hide, emblazoned there, whether I will it or not, for all the world to see. Let me be rightfully marked, publicly and permanently, that men will know to rightfully deny me freedom, that they may never again make so foolish a mistake as to grant me freedom, and that all may know what I am, and only and rightfully am, a slave! I beg it!”
I kissed her, gently.
“How could men make so foolish a mistake as to grant me freedom?” she wept.
“It is not unusual,” I said. “Many slaves are free.”
“I want a master, and the opportunity to fulfill myself as the slave I am in my heart! I want to yield all to a man! Is this too much to ask? Is it to be denied me? Do not deny this to me! It is what I need and want! It is me!”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Brand me,” she begged.
I kissed her, gently.
“Be my master!” she begged.
“No,” I said, gently.
“I want a master! I need a master!”
“You are free,” I reminded her.
“I must have a master!” she said. “I must have a master!”
“You are free,” I told her.
“Be my master!” she begged.
“No,” I said.
“I want to be a love slave,” she wept, “commanded, owned, helpless, utterly powerless, controlled with perfection, yielding all.”
“You are free,” I whispered.
“I am prepared to be a love slave!” she said.
“Keep your hands at your sides,” I said.
Her small hands and arms writhed at her sides. “I want to touch you. I want to hold you!” she said.
“Keep them at your sides,” I said.
“Be my love master!” she begged.
“You are a free woman,” I reminded her.
“Please, please be my love master,” she begged.
“Doubtless he somewhere exists,” I said. “But I am not he.”
She moaned.
“Do not be so overwhelmed,” I said. “This is only a simple initiation into the world of the senses.”
“Simple?” she asked. “Initiation?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I did not know there was anything in all of life like this,” she said.
“And you are not yet even a slave,” I said.
“I want my love master,” she moaned.
“Search for him,” I whispered. “Perhaps you will find him—after a thousand collars.”
“Let me hold you,” she begged.
“You may do so,” I said.
She put her arms about me, pulling me toward her, that I be pressed against her softness.
“Ohh,” she said. “You are strong again.”
“You are very beautiful,” I explained.
* * * *
“You are calm now?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “you have calmed me.”
“A woman sometimes finds her first experience, of the sort you had before,” I said, “before the last one, that is, one of unusual emotional impact, at least compared to what she has hitherto experienced.”
“I understand,” she said.
“So, then,” I said, “now that you are in a calm frame of mind, and are fully rational, and the experience is at some distance, what are your feelings?” I asked.
“They are quite simple,” she said.
“Yes?” I said.
“I want to be collared. I want to be branded. I want to be a slave.”
“I see,” I said.
“Do you think a woman can forget such an experience?” she asked. “That she is stupid, that she cannot remember it in the belly of her, that she is incapable of learning from it?”
“No,” I said.
“It is what I now know I am,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“And you knew it before, did you not?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I suppose some men are better than others at seeing the slave in a female,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said. To be sure, some men are quite remarkable at this. Certain slavers, for example, at a glance, find it easy to assess slave potential. Otherwise, I suppose, it would be very difficult to explain their unusual success in deciding which women, even of women in crowds, and veiled and clad in the robes of concealment, are likely to be the most beautiful and make the best slaves, and those women, of course, are the ones most profitably stalked. It is their business, of course.
“Oh,” she said, “you are not calming me now!”
“Oh?” I said.
“No,” she said. “You are exciting me! You are doing it to me again! How dare you! I am a free woman! Is this how you want me, as an irresponsible, helpless, whimpering, moaning, squirming animal, unable to help herself, leaping and crying out, half mad, beside herself with passion, responding almost as a slave in your arms?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Beast!” she said.
“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Yes!” This time it seemed it had taken her hardly any time at all. Her reflexes were clearly honable.
* * * *
“Shhh,” I said. “Someone is passing by, in the passage between the buildings.” To be sure, they couldn’t see us where we were, unless they had entered this particular side passage and followed it to its termination.
“The shops may be open on the Avenue of Turia by now,” I said.
“Yes,” she said sweetly, her head on my chest.
We could see the sunlight on the walls high above us. It was now warm between the buildings.
“What time do you think it is?” I asked.
“The eighth or ninth Ahn,” she said.
“Probably,” I said.
“How will I get home?” she asked. “There will be many people about now? Will you buy me robes and a veil and bring them back here?”
“Do not count on it,” I said.
“Do you think the free woman you tied at the slave ring has been freed by now?” she asked.
“Probably,” I said. “I do not know.”
“Do you remember the second time I kissed you,” she asked, “the time when you told me that if a slave had not kissed better than that she would have been whipped?”
“Yes,” I said. That was the time she had tried to strike me, and I had not permitted it, but instead had punished her. I had shortly thereafter carried her to the slave mat.
“Is that true?” she asked.
“It depends on many things,” I said, “such as the master, the familiarity of the girl with her collar, for example, has she yet learned how to kiss, and the mood, the situation, and so on.”
“But some slaves,” she said, “might have been whipped
for not kissing better than that?” she said.
“Certainly,” I said.
“How do I kiss now?” she asked, kissing me.
“Much better,” I said.
“As good as a slave?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Oh?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “You will not kiss as well as a slave, until you have become a slave, and then, probably, only after you have learned your collar for a few months, and perhaps even have had some training. Also, there is a whole indefinable modality to the kisses of slaves, that has to do with bondage and that they are literally the properties of the master. It is an entirely different sort of kissing from that of a free woman.”
“I understand,” she said. “Perhaps one day I will be a slave. And then I will kiss like a slave.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I know that I am a slave,” she said. “I have learned it here, on this mat, in this place.”
I said nothing.
“So what should I do?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What does a free woman do,” she asked, “when she learns she is a slave?”
“You are free,” I said. “The decision is yours. But beware of certain decisions, for if you make them, you would then no longer be free. Your decisions then might rather be concerned with such things as how to best please your master, within certain latitudes which he might permit you.”
She was quiet, her head on my chest.
“The self-enslavement decision is an interesting one,” I said, “for it is a decision which is freely made, being made by a free individual, but, once made, it is irrevocable, for the individual is then no longer free, but only a property.”
She lifted her head. She was then on her elbows beside me. Her breasts were lovely. “You could take me to a slaver’s, and sell me,” she said.
“True,” I said.
“Do so!” she said.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because it amuses me to treat you like a slave,” I said.
“Beast,” she said, and put her head down again on my chest.
“You could turn yourself in, to a slaver,” I said.
“True,” she said.
“You call upon him, dressed in your finest veils and robes of concealment,” I said, “probably first having made an appointment. That would be a common courtesy. He may, after all, be a busy man. Then, in the privacy of his office, as he observes, you strip yourself. You do this as gracefully and as well as you can, without training. You reveal yourself to him, completely. You are absolutely naked. He will presumably put you through some simple slave paces, forming some conception of your capacity to move well before men. In the process of this, you are, of course, being assessed. You then, when permitted, kneel. You then humbly beg his permission to bind yourself into slavery before him, thereby making yourself a slave, and, in the context, submitting yourself to him as your first master. You keep your head down, and await his decision. In your case, I am sure the decision would be affirmative. Various things might then happen. He might have you sign a slave document, in the presence of witnesses. As soon as your signature is on the document, of course, you are a slave. On the other hand, he might proceed even more simply. He might merely have you utter a formula of enslavement, though, again, doubtless in the presence of witnesses, who might sign a paper certifying their witnessing of your declaration. Let us suppose you utter such a formula. The simplest is perhaps, ‘I am a slave.’ You are then a slave. He will perhaps then say, ‘You are my slave.’ This claims you. You are then his slave. This is sufficient in the context for in that context you have been momentarily an unclaimed slave, who may be claimed by the first free person who chooses to do so. Too, in this case, there are, of course, no counterclaims to be adjudicated. He is there first, so to speak. His claim is fully warranted, unchallengeable and legally indisputable. This is again done presumably in the presence of witnesses, who may be asked to certify their witnessing of the action. You might then say, though it is not necessary in the context, for you are, anyway, by this time, clearly his slave, ‘I am your slave, Master.’ By this utterance you officially acknowledge him as your master. It is sometimes thought that this sort of thing is good from the slave’s point of view, that she hears herself say this. It is legally unnecessary, but it is sometimes thought to be a psychologically useful act on the part of the slave. She, in this pronouncement, at any rate, clearly acknowledges that she knows who owns her. This, too, of course, may be attested to in writing by the witnesses. There is then little left to be done with you, except perhaps to take you below, to the pens. There you will presumably be branded and fitted with your first collar. You might also then be given your first whipping in order that you learn almost immediately to fear, and terribly fear, the slave whip. You might then, afterwards, when you can eat, be given a handful, or two, of moist slave gruel. You might also be permitted to lap some water on all fours from a pan, or from a puddle, where it has been poured onto the floor. You might then be chained in a training kennel. In the morning I suppose your training might begin. On the other hand, perhaps you would be simply shipped out of the city to a distant market, there to be put on the block for your first sale.”
“My sale,” she whispered, excitedly.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you think I would bring a good price?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”
She shuddered with pleasure.
“I think I will take you home now,” I said.
“I thought you would not take me home,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I will do so.”
“Why this sudden change of heart?” she smiled.
“I am not sure,” I said. “Perhaps it is because I now know you better. Perhaps it is because it is now later in the day.”
“Or perhaps there is another reason?” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I am not sure.”
“Bind me, and take me instead to a slaver’s,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“I would not have the courage to turn myself over to a slaver,” she said. “I would be afraid.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I could be killed,” she said.
“If you are obedient and pleasing,” I said, “there is usually little to fear, other than the normal rigors and exactions of bondage.”
“Surely they are fierce enough,” she said.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. Not all masters were pleasant with their properties.
“But I could be killed,” she said.
“You are in far greater danger of being killed as a free woman,” I said. “Just as it would not occur to most men to kill a pet sleen or a kaiila, it would not occur to them to kill a slave. She is, like other such domestic animals, not a person, but a property. She, like them, has certain sorts of work to which she may be put, and very pleasurable work often, and, like them, has her many values and uses. If a city is taken, while free folks may be fleeing about, and be subject to indiscriminate slaughter, she is likely, instead, to be secured and protected. She is, you see, like the sleen and kaiila, part of the clearly understood spoils of victory. Surely you can understand that you yourself, for example, might make delicious booty.”
“I?” she said, softly. “Booty?”
“Yes,” I said, “if you were slave.”
“I understand,” she said, trembling. I saw from the way she said this, so softly trembling, so thrilled, that she belonged, truly, in a collar.
“To be sure,” I said, “the slaves in such a situation would be well advised to be as obedient and pleasing as possible.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Particularly as the killing lust might still be upon the men.”
“I understand,” she said.
“But slaves are generally well trained in placatory behavi
ors,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“And they serve well, naked, in the victory orgies,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“But then even free women may be used in such orgies,” I said.
“I do not think they would long remain free,” she said.
“No,” I said. “That would presumably be their last night of freedom.”
“Do they serve naked at the orgy, as do the slaves?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Are such women sometimes enslaved before the orgy?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, “presumably that they will then understand the totality of what will be expected of them at the feast. Too, some commanders think this is an excellent introduction to her new condition for a former free woman.”
“They are probably right,” she said.
“We must get you home soon,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“You are tempting,” I said.
“But if I were a slave,” she said, “I would be subject to penalties.”
“Yes,” I said. “The master would own you.”
“I could even be killed,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
She was silent.
“It is one thing, of course,” I said, “to be subject to penalties, and it is quite another for them to be inflicted.”
“That is true,” she said.
“For example, it is one thing to be subject to the whip, and to know that that subjection is quite real, that the master can, and will, whip you, and well, if you are not pleasing, and something else to be actually whipped.”
“I understand,” she said.
“The analogy is not perfect between the whip and more serious penalties, of course,” I said, “for the girl, or most girls, will presumably never experience any of the more serious penalties, such as, say, being penalty branded as a thief or liar. On the other hand, she presumably will, upon occasion, some girls more than others, as needed, have an ample bodily and mental experience of minor penalties. For example, on occasion she will probably be whipped. Indeed, some masters believe that an occasional whipping is good for a slave, that it helps her to keep in mind that she is a slave. Too, she might be occasionally subjected to various other minor penalties, usually as needed, or as thought to be beneficial, such as close chaining, the slave box, the assignment of unpleasant and repetitious tasks to her, the forcing upon her of plain or unpleasant foods, parading her through the streets naked, on a leash, and sending her on errands naked, perhaps on all fours. To be sure, such things may also be done to a girl for no particular reason, but merely at the master’s whim. She is, after all, his.”
Mercenaries of Gor Page 49