by John Norman
"It is a function only of the free woman's right to lie, and defraud, others?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "It is possible, of course, for the slave, subjectively, psychologically, to feel that she has committed this treason, for she may, mistakenly, be still regarding herself, implicitly, as a free woman."
"But she cannot, in fact, have committed it, because she is a slave?" asked the girl.
"Yes," I said.
"I understand, Master," she said, bitterly.
"You see," I said, "you were still regarding yourself, implicitly, at least at the moment, as a free woman, or, perhaps better, more narrowly, as retaining at least one of the rights of a free woman."
"I am not to be beaten, am I, Master?" she asked.
"Not at the moment, at least," I informed her.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"The second sense in which you might have intended your remark about betraying yourself, though I think it was not the sense in which you did intend it, would be the innocent sense, quite appropriate for a slave girl, of revealing or manifesting significant aspects of your nature. In this sense, of course, a slave girl has no alternative other than to betray herself. She is under an obligation, and a quite harsh and strict one, to release, manifest and reveal, fully, and in all its depths and facets, the profundities of her nature, the profundities of her femaleness."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"I think now," I said, "it is time to chain you with the others."
"You can just take me and chain me with them, can't you?" she said, angrily.
"Yes," I said.
"You took my virginity," she said. "Does that not mean anything to you?"
"No," I told her.
"It was, after all," she said, "only the virginity of a slave!"
"Precisely," I said.
She squirmed angrily.
"Are you angry?" I asked.
"Am I permitted anger?" she asked, warily.
"I will permit it, for now," I said.
"Yes," she said, "I am angry."
"Your concern is not well-warranted," I said. "Your first having was merely the ungating of a slave, her breaching, her opening, an unimportant prefatory technicality in the history of her bondage."
"Of course!" she said.
"Would you be so concerned about a boar's opening of a she-tarsk?" I asked. She had seen animals of this sort in the streets of Kailiauk, in the dawn of the day following her sale, when she and the others had been marched out towards the Ihanke. They are used, not unoften, in small Gorean towns, to scavenge garbage. Ginger and Evelyn had identified the animals for them. They had also informed them that, in many towns, such an animal might, in a market, bring a higher price than they themselves.
"I am the she-tarsk!" she said. "I am the slave!"
"Do you think that you are important?" I inquired.
"No, Master," she said.
"There, you see," I said.
"Yes," she said, "I see." She lay back, angrily.
There was a narrow rim of light in the east now. The air was still damp, and chilly.
"Do you respect me?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
She gasped, in misery.
"Kiss me," I told her, "fifty times, and well."
"Yes, Master," she said, and began to kiss me about the face and neck. I counted the kisses. There were fifty of them. Then she lay down beside me.
"You used me well, earlier," she said.
"You are a mere slave," I said. "It is simple to use a mere slave well."
"Doubtless girls such as myself are often well used," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"And we must submit, unquestioningly, to even our most contemptuous and brutal usage," she said.
"Of course," I said. "Are you distressed?"
"No, Master," she said. "Not really. It is only that I am not used to being an animal, a slave."
"I understand," I said.
"In your use of me," she said, "you did not give me a name, not even for your use of me."
"No," I said.
"Was that deliberate?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"A clever way to make clear to me that I was only a fondled animal, helpless in your arms."
I did not speak.
"I can scarcely begin to cope with my feelings," she said. "They are so troubled, so tumultuous."
"Speak," I said.
"I must lie there," she said. "I could not escape. I must submit!"
"Yes," I said.
"I was controlled. I was owned!"
"Yes," I said.
"I was powerless," she said. "How you dominated me!"
"You were used with great gentleness," I said, "though also, to be sure, with firmness and authority, as befits a slave. As for domination, you cannot yet even begin to suspect what it is for a woman to be dominated by a master."
"She would be so owned," she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
"Can you understand my feelings of utter helplessness, and humiliation?" she asked.
"I think so," I said.
"I have other feelings, as well," she whispered.
"What?" I asked.
"I cannot believe how I yielded in your arms," she whispered.
"You are merely a slave who yielded," I said. "You have not yet begun to learn, as a slave, what is the nature of true slave yieldings."
"Doubtless I will be taught," she said.
"You are beautiful," I said. "It is not unlikely."
"I had never dreamed that sensations such as you induced in me could exist," she whispered.
"They were largely the result of your own initial responsiveness," I said, "plus the fact that you realized you were a slave. They cannot even form a sound basis, I would suppose, on which you could begin to even remotely conjecture the nature of the feelings and sensations which lie before you. Beyond the sensations which you have hitherto experienced lie infinite horizons."
"I am afraid," she said.
"To your feelings of humiliation and helplessness, then," I said, "we may also add the emotion of fear."
"But I have other emotions, other feelings, too, Master," she said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"Eagerness," she said, "pleasure, curiosity, excitement, sensual arousal, a desire to please, a desire to serve, a desire to be owned and mastered, a desire to be true to my basic and radical femaleness."
"I see," I said.
"Never before tonight," she said, "have I, now only a nameless slave, felt so much in contact with my femininity. I have learned tonight that being a woman is a real thing to be. It is not a biological triviality. It is not an insignificant, regrettable concomitant of a genetic lottery. It is something real and important in itself, something precious and wonderful."
"I agree," I said.
"And it is not to be a man," she said.
"No," I said. "I do not think so."
"Strange," she said, "that I should have learned this only stripped, and in the arms of a master, and on a world far from my own."
"It is not strange that you should learn this on a world far from your own," I said, "for your world is like a distorting lens, perverting even the most conspicuous lineaments of biological reality, nor is it strange that you should learn it as a stripped slave. Your stripping, particularly as it was done by a man, or at the command of a man, should put you in touch with certain female realities, such as your beauty, and its softness, and its subjectability to male domination; it should also, through exposure, and through various, subtle skin stimulations, heighten your vulnerability and sensitivity; this will enable you to feel more keenly and enable you to understand, more clearly, certain basic truths, such as the differences between men and women, and that you, whatever you are, are not a man."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Lastly, and most importantly," I said, "you find yourself a
slave. Female slavery is the institutionalized expression, in a civilization congenial to nature, of the fundamental biological relationship between the sexes. In the institution of female slavery we find this basic relationship recognized, accepted, clarified, fixed and celebrated. A civilization, you see, need not inevitably be a conflict with nature. A rational, informed civilization can even, in a sense, refine and improve upon nature; it can, so to speak, bring nature to fruition. Indeed, a natural civilization might be the natural flowering of nature itself, not an antithesis to nature, not a contradiction to nature, not a poison nor a trammel to it, but a stage or aspect of it, a form which nature itself can take."
"I fear even to understand such thoughts," she said, "let alone consider whether or not they might be true."
"Consider the case of the female slave," I said. "She was once a primitive, brutish female, innocent of legalities but, in effect, owned. She is now, commonly, a collared, embonded beauty, properly marked as merchandise, effectively displayed and marketed, and owned in the full right of law."
"Yes, Master," said the girl.
"Who can doubt but what here civilization, as nature's refinement or expression, has wrought an improvement?"
"Surely, no one, Master," whispered the girl.
"Too, you will note that civilization has increased the control of the girls and the effectiveness of bondage, the marking, the identification of masters, the papers of sale, and so on. Escape, then, for all practical purposes, becomes impossible."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And you are such a girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"I am now going to put you with the others," I said. I stood up, thrusting the blankets to one side. She drew her legs up, feeling the coldness of the air. I looked down at her, she looking up at me. She was very beautiful.
"I am at your feet," she said.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"Very feminine, very female," she said.
"How do you explain these feelings?" I asked.
"That I am a woman, at the feet of a strong man," she said, "one who dominates me, one who masters me, one whom I must obey."
"You do not speak like a woman of Earth," I said.
"I have learned much on Gor," she said, "and I have learned much this night."
I looked down at her, arms folded.
She put out her fingers, touching the dark blankets. Then, again, she looked up at me. "It is where we belong, isn't it, Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I have always known it in my heart," she said, "but I never thought it would come true."
I went to pick up her tunic. I felt the blades of wet, cool grass cut at my ankles. I tossed her the tunic. She knelt, holding it. It was tiny, in her hands. On it, dark and wet, moist in its fibers, were the marks of dew.
She clutched the tunic, looking at me. She did not draw it on.
"I am no longer a virgin, Master," she said.
"That is known to me, I assure you," I said.
"I am now only a full and opened slave," she said, "no different from other girls, one, like them, readily available at the master's least desire."
"Yes," I said.
'I am not sore, Master," she said.
I nodded.
"But that does not make any difference, does it?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Master," she whispered.
"Perhaps now you should garb yourself," I said.
"This is garb?" she asked, smiling, holding out the tunic. "It is scarcely a scanty rag."
"It leaves little doubt as to your charms," I admitted.
"It does not even have a nether closure," she said.
"It is not supposed to," I said. "Do you know why?"
"That I may be reminded that I am a slave," she smiled, "that my vulnerability may be heightened, that I may be immediately available to masters."
"Ginger and Evelyn have taught you that," I said.
"They have taught us many things," she said.
"What about intimate secrets of slave love-making?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"The little she-sleen are doubtless guarding such secrets from you," I said. "I shall speak to Grunt in the morning. It will not prove to be in their interest to persist in this particular reticence."
"Yes, Master," she said, frightened.
"They will teach you, and the other jewels on the coffle, all they can, and quickly," I said. "Failure will be cause for discipline—for severe discipline."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"An ignorant free woman is a commonplace," I said. "An ignorant slave is an absurdity."
"You mean I am actually to be taught how to please a man, trained?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "trained, as the lovely animal you are."
She looked at me, frightened.
"And I advise you to learn your lessons well," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are doubtless familiar, from your former world, with arts such as sewing and cooking, commonly thought appropriate for women," I said.
"Of course, Master," she said.
"Can you cook and sew?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "Such arts, I thought, were for lower women."
"You will learn them," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But beyond such arts as cooking and sewing, arts commonly thought appropriate for women, arts with which you are familiar, there are, obviously, many other arts. It should thus come as no surprise to you that among these other arts should be certain delicate, delicious and intimate arts, arts particularly appropriate to the female slave."
"I suppose not, Master," she said.
"You are not a wastrel free woman," I said. "You are a slave. You must earn your keep."
She trembled.
"Why do you think you were purchased?" I asked.
She put her small hand before her mouth, fearfully.
"Take your hand away from your mouth," I said. "I would see the lips of the slave."
Swiftly she lowered her hand.
"Straighten your back," I said.
She did so.
"The free woman," I said, "lies down, and waits to see what will happen. The female slave kneels beside her master, and begs to please him. The free woman deems it sufficient that she should exist, the slave girl, on the other hand, is expected not only to exist, but to excel; indeed, she fears only, commonly, that she may not be sufficiently marvelous for her master. It is little wonder that most men find the free woman, in her inertness, her ignorance and arrogance, boring. It is little wonder that most men prefer to order her rival to their furs, the helpless, collared, curvaceous, lascivious, feminine slave."
"I was once a free woman," said the girl.
"There is hope for the free woman," I said. "She may be put in a collar, and stripped, and made subject to the whip. She may then, enslaved, be trained, too, for the pleasure of men."
"Yes, Master," whispered the girl.
"Training, then, should not come as a surprise to you," I said. "It is quite natural for female slaves to be given training."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Expect, then, to be trained," I said.
"I shall, Master," she said.
I regarded her.
Suddenly she flung herself on her belly across the dark blankets. She reached to my left ankle and holding it with her small hands, began to kiss at my foot. "Slaves may beg to please their masters, may they not?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I beg to please my master," she said. Her lips were warm and soft on my foot.
"I am not your master," I said.
"All free men are my masters," she said, "as all free women are my mistresses."
"That is true," I granted her.
"I beg to please you, as my master," she said, "and, indeed, tonight, in these blankets, you are my master, for it is you who have
opened me and to whom I have been consigned in these hours for your pleasure."
It was true. I was her current use-master. In these hours, in my blankets, she must be to me as my own slave. In these hours, in my blankets, for all practical purposes, I owned her.
I felt her tongue.
"Consider me," she whispered, "for your renewed pleasure."
It is pleasant, as you might well imagine, receiving such attentions from a woman. It is particularly pleasant, I assure you, when she is a slave, for then she is owned, and you may do with her what you wish.
"Please, Master," she begged.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Slaves such as I are not trained only by women, are we, Master?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Many Goreans believe that the finest of slave trainers are men, and that only a man with a whip, and total power over a woman, can properly teach her to be a slave."
"Do you have a whip, Master?" she asked.
"My belt will do," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But, in my opinion," I said, "this is oversimple. I believe that other women, particularly if they are slaves themselves, can be superb slave trainers. Many slave houses, of course, maintain both male and female trainers. My own theory is that if a girl is to have but one trainer, it is doubtless best for that trainer to be a man, for the girl, in her bondage, is almost certain to have to relate primarily to men, to please, placate and serve them, and so on. On the other hand, I think it is also undeniable that a girl can learn much from another girl, one who has survived, and is surviving, as a slave."
"Surviving?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "for the slave girls who are not pleasing are commonly killed."
She put the side of her head fearfully down on my foot.
"Be pleasing," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But most girls," I said, "not only survive as slaves, but thrive as slaves."
"Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "You may find this hard to grasp now, but most girls, as you will learn, once they discover its authenticity and inescapability, blossom joyously, submitted, in their bondage; in it they occupy their place in nature; in it, subject to the authority and power of strong men, owned and mastered uncompromisingly as mere slaves, they obtain their deepest biological self-realization, their ultimate fulfillment. In it, in their place in nature, they become women, as outside of it, they cannot. As the true woman is the true slave, no woman can become a true woman who is not a true slave."