"Before, he was here when you arrived?"
"Yes," she smiled. "I made him wait."
"But you entered through that door?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "That is the door by means of which I was entered into this room. Appanius, and the magistrates, and others, apparently had entered through the back, or some side entrance."
"There is such an entrance," I said. "It is in the back."
"That must be," she said, "the way I left the premises."
"Why do you think that?" I asked.
"It would be more discreet," she said.
"You were hooded, were you not?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, uncertainly.
"Perhaps you were disoriented," I said.
"I was," she said. "I was hooded. I was terrified. I believe I briefly lost consciousness. I recovered consciousness outside the room, aware of sunlight and air on my body, how frightening that for a free woman, and realized I was being carried, hooded, wrapped in the toils of the net, on a man’s shoulder, carried, carried as produce, or a slave, might be carried!"
"You egressed through the main door," I said. "I observed it."
She flung her small hand before her mouth, in misery. "No!" she cried. "Say not!"
I shrugged.
"So publicly! I? So helpless! So displayed! So visible! To all!"
"You were hooded," I reminded her.
"But I was a free woman!" she said.
"A hooded free woman," I said.
"Still!" she said.
"Is a slave modest?" I asked.
"I was not then only a girl on a chain," she said. "I was not then a slave, Master."
"True," I granted her.
"My body was not then public," she said, "not then as unimportant and scrutinizable as that of a verr or kaiila."
"At least you were hooded," I said.
"Oh, yes!" she smiled.
The hood is an effective device. It is commonly used with slaves. It renders them helpless and disoriented. It is also, of course, effective with captured free women. It engenders a feeling of disorientation, of trepidation, of woeful helplessness, of being completely at the mercy and disposition of the captor. In it women, slave and free, are helpless and easily managed. Slaves are often transported hooded. Why should they see where they are going, or understand where they are being taken? They are slaves. It is amusing to see a free woman knelt and hooded, and then, almost instantly, helpless and disoriented, subside into a fearful, compliant tractability. What else is there to do? Leap up? Run about, blindly? Strike into walls? Invite shackling? Risk cuffings, kicks, the whip? This is particularly the case if her clothing is removed. Removing the clothing of a free woman often produces immediate docility, by itself, particularly if she is knelt, or put to her back or belly. She may then be wary of moving, at all, lest she should inadvertently make of herself an allurement, one of irresistible interest. Denying a woman clothing, of course, too, makes her acutely aware of her femaleness, and, simultaneously, of its meaning and vulnerability, indeed, whether she is free or slave. Even a slave is sensitive to the significance of being ordered to strip. Even she may do so upon occasion with some sense of trepidation. To be sure, the master’s attitude in issuing the command will presumably be informative, perhaps reassuring, or perhaps such as to excite apprehension. Has she behaved well? Is she to be punished? Is the master aware, perhaps, of some slight indiscretion, some small liberty undertaken in his absence? Perhaps an unauthorized departure from his premises, a stolen promenade, luxuriating in the sights and the brisk freshness of the morning air, and only too conscious of, and relishing, and delighting in, the warm, appraising, admiring glances of free men on the street, before whom, in a brief but modest tunic, she walks, supposedly unaware of their attention, but only too well aware of it, in all the delicious, collared, subjugated beauty of her bondage. Many would like to own her, she is sure. But perhaps her master has observed? Is she to be tied and lashed? No, he does not disapprove. He invites her rather to his arms, and she gratefully, joyously, yields herself to him, for she is his alone, as she desires to be. He does admonish her to seek permission before leaving the premises again, and she, trembling, contrite, hopefully having escaped a lashing, squirming, agrees. He has himself a superb slave, and he has been gratified to see the effect of her upon other men. It is always pleasant to know that the superb quality, the desirability, of one’s slave is recognized by others. Gorean men tend to be vain of their slaves, and often take them with them, often braceleted and on their leashes, in their movements about the city. They like to show them off. I suppose they are to be forgiven for this, because they are only human, and the slaves, after all, are lovely properties. Indeed sometimes rich men, in negotiating the city, will have coffles of back-braceleted display slaves neck-chained behind their palanquins. Certainly the loveliest thing a man can own is a woman. Perhaps not the most valuable, but the loveliest. Owning a large number of beautiful slaves is a mark of wealth on Gor, as would be, say, automobiles, boats, houses, or such, on Earth.
But to return briefly to the interesting matter of clothing.
Clothing, for a free woman, functions as police and guardsmen, walls or barriers, shelter and shielding. Deprived of it, of its protections, of its loftiness and emblematicity, of its comfort and reassurance, of its pretense and status, she is much other than she was before. She is suddenly smaller, and very female. Such cultural securities and societal defenses removed, she becomes acutely aware of her slightness, her softness, her womanness, her vulnerability. The matter of nudity has different psychological dimensions, of course, for free women and slaves. Nudity for the stripped free woman is often attended with misery and distress, embarrassment and shame. She may even try to cover herself until the switch or strap informs her that such is not permitted. Certainly she feels acute vulnerability. She is utterly exposed. She has been stripped, by the will of men. This is meaningful for her, as it would be for any woman. Nudity for the slave girl, on the other hand, is usually a quite different matter. She is used to being naked and in her collar. She is accustomed to being bared before masters. As a slave, and animal, she knows she is not even entitled to clothing. That is made clear to her by her culture. She may rejoice if it, even a scrap of rep-cloth, is permitted to her. Vulnerability, of course, is common to the sisters, one free, one bond, but these are, in a sense, different sorts of vulnerability. In the case of the free woman her vulnerability is likely to dismay and terrify her. In the case of the slave her vulnerability is likely to be sexually stimulating to her, experienced as it is in the context of the collar, and associated as it is with the necessity of absolute submission, of perfect, instantaneous, unquestioning obedience. She is not unoften kept naked, particularly in private, and thinks nothing of being bared to her master. As he is master, why would he not have her so? She is, after all, his slave. Accordingly she finds pleasure in being naked, as his collared animal, before him. She knows she is vulnerable, totally so, and feels it keenly, but loves it. What both women have in common is the hope, scarcely recognized by the free woman, a hope she would doubtless vehemently deny, that men will be pleased with what they see. One is free, one is bond, but both are women.
"I gather," I said, "that you were not pleased to be carried publicly through the streets, doubtless as an example of what might befall a female who had dared to transgress the couching laws of Ar."
"Scarcely," she said.
"It still bothers you?"
"Certainly," she said. "I was not then a slave."
"But it would not bother you now?"
"Certainly not," she said. "I am now a slave."
"I see," I said.
"Such things are fitting for slaves," she said.
"True," I said.
"But not for free women!" she insisted.
"Perhaps," I said. I myself would have had no hesitation in applying such a treatment, indeed, such a pleasantly salubrious therapy, to many of the proud free women of Gor. They, lik
e many women, could in my view derive a considerable profit from such an experience. To be sure, Goreans tend to take their free women very seriously, though perhaps not as seriously as the free women are inclined to take themselves. The status of free women on Gor, particularly those of the upper castes, I note, is extremely high. It is much higher on Gor, for example, than it would be on contemporary Earth, where almost all women are free. When all, or most, women are free, there is obviously not much of a contrast between the free and slave. Indeed many women of Earth are not even really conscious of their freedom. It is so familiar to them they think little of it. This changes dramatically, of course, if they find themselves in a collar on Gor. In short, when all, or most, women are free their freedom tends to be invisible, so to speak; it tends to be taken for granted, and affords no societally significant distinction. In this way the average woman of Earth has little practical understanding of either freedom or bondage. Thus, the radical chasms involved are not sensed, or appreciated. I suppose this is the primary reason why the status of the free woman on Earth is so low, so unimportant, so familiar as to be meaningless. Contrariwise, I suppose it is reasonably clear why, given the nature of the culture, and the societal actuality of the contrast between free and slave, the status of the free woman on Gor is so high, so meaningful. If the Earth girl is brought to Gor and marketed, of course, she will become acutely aware of the distinction between freedom and bondage. Let her kneel in her collar before a free woman of Gor and she will soon become well apprised of the difference. Another difference, of course, is that the free woman on Gor is almost certain to have a Home Stone, and the free woman of Earth will not. That, too, gives the Gorean free woman status, and its lack on the part of a woman of Earth places her much on the level of animals and slaves.
"Not only was it an embarrassing and fearful journey, a scandalously unpleasant and confusing plight," she said, "but I could not even speak, or cry out."
"The hood contained a slave bit and gag," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"You were helpless," I said, "miserable, confused, disoriented."
"Yes!" she said.
"Excellent," I said.
"Excellent?"
"Certainly," I said.
"I did not even know where I was," she said, "until I was unhooded, and found myself chained by the neck in a magistrate's cell."
"Splendid," I said.
"Master?"
"You had broken the couching laws," I said, "delicious slut. Had you not done so, you might not have been reduced to bondage. Had you not been reduced to bondage, I would not now have you in my collar."
"It pleases you, does it not," she asked, "that I am in your collar?"
"Certainly," I said.
"A girl is pleased," she said, "that her master desires her in his collar."
"Did I not," I said, "I would rid myself of you."
"Of course, Master," she said.
I looked at her.
She suddenly shuddered with pleasure.
"It makes me happy if I have pleased my master," she said.
I said nothing.
"I love being a slave, Master," she said.
"And you should be a slave, little tasta," I said.
"Yes, my master!" she said.
"The collar is perfect on you," I said.
"Yes, yes, my master!" she said.
What female, I wondered, does not wish to be so excruciatingly desirable that a man will take her in hand, dominate her, and own her. What fool, who wants her, would not have her in his collar? And does she not wish to be so wanted that nothing less will satisfy him? Can she conceive of being so desirable? Does the slave in her not long for her master? Does she want, truly, an accommodating weakling, or a master? To which will she be more sexually responsive? To which must she be more sexually responsive? She wishes to be so intensely desired that he will be content with nothing short of her enslavement. He wants her so much that he will own her. Can a woman of Earth even understand that? I think so. What a tribute to a woman that a man will collar her, that he will make her his slave. How beautiful and exciting must she be! Many is the woman of Earth who doubts that such men exist. But on Gor they learn they do. Earth has ill prepared many of the lovely slaves brought to Gor for the men of Gor. On Gor they discover men such as they did not know existed, human men, but lustful, powerful men, men of intellect and unswerving will, strict, uncompromising men, men who will literally own them, men who will keep them for themselves, literally possess them, as the lovely animals they are, who will keep them as strong men will keep the most desirable of women, as theirs, in absolute bondage, men before whom they rightfully sense they can never hope to be more than obedient, amorous slaves. For they will be owned by Gorean masters.
"Are you happy?" I asked.
"In my bondage," she said, "overwhelmingly so. A slave is what I am, and truly desire to be. I now recognize that it is what I have always wanted, all my life. It is a dream come true for me. I want to love and serve, unstintingly, rightlessly, will-lessly, giving all of me to another. In my bondage I am happy, and fulfilled. I feel so feminine, so natural!"
"But I suspect," I said, "it is another’s collar you would prefer to wear."
She looked down, reddening. What a lovely slave she was.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"It is done," I said.
I looked down upon her.
She was in love. Why should I lash her for that? She was only a slave, a pathetic little property in the helpless ownership of others. See her collar. Such live for love.
"It must be nearly time," whispered Marcus.
"Good luck," I said to the girl.
Marcus preceded me. We would leave through the back. "Remember the sleen," I said.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
How marvelous she looked, slave, the collar on her neck!
How right is bondage for women!
In a moment or two Marcus and I were on the street, outside the room.
"There!" said Marcus.
"The hooded fellow, in the robe?" I said.
"That is our friend, I am sure!" said Marcus.
"It is his size, at any rate," I said. The golden sandals, too, suggested it was he for whom we were first waiting.
"He is going between the buildings," said Marcus. "He will use the back entrance."
"I trust that Lavinia will not be too disappointed," I said.
"Why should that be?" asked Marcus.
"Nothing," I said.
"He will think he has at least an Ahn alone with her," said Marcus.
"Even if he is not in the least interested in her," I said, "Lavinia knows what to do."
"Why should he not be interested in her?" asked Marcus. "She is a well-curved slave."
"It is just an apprehension," I said.
"You certainly went into it in great enough detail," said Marcus.
"It is important to be thorough," I said.
"I never saw a woman get undressed so fast," he said.
Marcus was referring to aspects of my training of Lavinia, in the insula, a training intended, in part at least, to abet my plans.
"It may have to be done between the sound of a footstep and the bursting open of a door," I said.
"I myself prefer a more graceful, sensuous disrobing on the part of a female slave," he said.
"I would generally agree," I said, "if there is time." It is a delight, of course, to have a slave disrobe before one, gracefully, sensuously, displaying herself, revealing her master's property to him. Women are excellent at this sort of thing. They seem to have an instinct, or a natural sense, for it. And I think that they are not always averse to noting the effects of their unveiling upon the master, to note how they, in this revelation of their beauty and loveliness, can drive him wild with desire. In such things I think a slave has great power. Yet, in the end, it is still she who is owned. In slave pens, incidentally, girls are trained to disrobe, and, indeed, robe gracefully. Sla
ve girls are not permitted to shortchange their beauty. They must fulfill its promise. There is something to be said in favor of the swift disrobing in certain contexts, of course, aside from its more unusual employments, as in plans such as mine. For example, a master, whip in hand, may order a slave, usually a new slave, to disrobe instantly, and then robe, and then disrobe, and so on. This may be done fifteen or twenty times in a row. This is useful in teaching her that she is now a slave. It also, of course, gets her used to disrobing before her master. Another use is when the slave desires to surprise her master with her beauty, perhaps before begging use. She might then utilize a particular moment to disrobe, perhaps one in which he has merely turned away. When he turns back, she is naked. She then kneels before him.
"Ah!" said Marcus. "What a shame!"
"What is a shame?" I asked.
"The poor fellow will have almost no time with her," he said.
"Yes," I said. "Here, if I am not mistaken, comes Appanius, and he has men with him."
"You will approach him?" asked Marcus.
"Certainly," I said.
"Hold!" I said, angrily, stepping forth. "Are you Appanius, he of the well-known house of Appanius?"
"Who are you?" said he, angrily.
"By my armband you see I have authority to stop you," I said, not pleasantly. Both Marcus and I, of course, as we usually did, wore our armbands, signifying our status as auxiliary guardsmen. A major advantage of this, of course, is that it entitled us to go abroad openly armed.
Appanius lifted his staff, angrily.
I took no note of the raised staff. I could, of course, at that point, have killed him. My codes permitted it.
"Tread softly, Appanius," warned one of his retainers. There were four such with him. They, too, carried staffs. Other than this, however, in accord with the weapons laws, they were not armed. Two also carried chains.
"You have been questioned," I reminded Appanius.
He lowered his staff, angrily. "Yes," he said, "I am Appanius, of that house, best known for his agricultural enterprises."
"Do you own a disobedient, wayward slave?" I asked.
"I do not understand," he said.
"I have a little slut named Lavinia," I said.
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