by John Norman
I felt the furs thrown back.
"I knew that I would find you here," he said.
"I hope that master is not displeased with his girl," I said. Yesterday night, he had touched my hair, almost tenderly. Then, as though angry with himself, he had slapped me, hard, and sent me to Eta, to be put to work. I had not been displeased, though my mouth was bloodied. This morning I had knelt before him. "I beg rape," I had said. He had looked at me, angrily. "Rape her," he had said to a passing soldier. He had then turned angrily away. In the arms of the soldier, I had smiled. I think I had disturbed my master. I think he was fighting his feelings for me, his desire for me. Then I had cried out with unwilling pleasure, and helplessly caught at the soldier with my nails, and the thought of my master had been, against my will, forced from my consciousness as the soldier brought me, twisting and crying out, to obliterating, overwhelming slave orgasm.
"Perhaps I should have you lashed," said my master.
"My master will do with me what he pleases," I said.
He had not been too pleased with the way I had yielded to the soldier. But I had not been able to help myself.
"Slave," had said my master later, standing over me.
"Yes, Master," I had said, looking up at him, shamed, "I am a slave."
He had then turned away again, angrily. He called Marla to him, to serve his pleasure. She hurried to him. Objectively she was more beautiful than I, with her large, dark eyes, her face, her lovely figure; too, she had superb slave reflexes; but she did not, I thought, succeed in making my master forget me. She did, of course, frighten me, for she was a formidable rival. I resented, and hated her. Too, she did not seem to regard me with affection and delight. She had wanted me named "Stupid Girl" or "Clumsy Girl." I did not yet have a name. But, in spite of the fact that my master, currently, seemed to be much taken with Marla, and that she was clearly the preferred bond girl in our camp, I did not feel that she had managed to negate the moments or the tacit understanding which I felt I shared with the man who owned me. I recalled his anger at my helpless yielding to the soldier; I was only a slave; I had not been able to help myself; yet he had been angry; too, he himself had commanded the man to address himself to the work of my rape; yet he had been angry; too, his concern with Marla seemed to me rather sudden and excessive; he seemed to be too obviously unconcerned with me; I smiled to myself; I think he had been jealous; and I think he was using Marla, certainly a delightful diversion, to try and force me from his mind. She was surely more beautiful than I, but in such matters there are rightnesses which are reciprocal and subtle; it is rather like the matching together of pieces in a puzzle, the startling, unexpected fitting together of components, yielding a whole which is, in its wholeness, more precious than the individual pieces or parts could be in isolation; as beautiful and marvelous as Marla was, she was not I; it was that simple, I believe; she was not I; I, not she, I believe, was the one; I had little doubt he was my natural, perfect master; and I think, too, he had begun to fear that I might be his natural, perfect slave; surely he did not want to think of me as more than just another of his girls; yet I had little doubt that I was becoming to him, in spite of his desires, something more than just another lovely wench whose wrist was fastened on his chain.
He stood beside the furs, and slipped aside his tunic. "Remove the Ta-Teera," he said to me. I sat up, unhooked it, and slipped it over my head, putting it to the side. He joined me in the furs, throwing them over us both.
I could hear cries, it seemed from far off, from the circle of the torch, where the peasant boys sported cruelly with their captured beauties.
Then I was in my master's arms. I moaned with pleasure.
I felt my master's eyes upon me.
"Will you turn me over to the peasant boys?" I asked, apprehensive, in the darkness.
I did not want to be roped and dragged, a captured slave, to the circle of the torch. They would be furious that I had eluded them. I did not know what they would do to me.
"No," said he, in the darkness.
"Then," said I, breathing more easily, "I have escaped them."
"But you have not escaped me," he said.
"No, Master," I said, snuggling more closely to him, "I have not escaped you."
"You ran well," he said. "And you are bold. It took boldness, indeed, to hide, unbidden, in the furs of your very master. For such boldness a slave girl might be much beaten."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But I do not disparage boldness in a slave girl," said he. "A girl who is bold is likely to think of marvels of pleasure for her master which a more timid girl would not dare to even contemplate."
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.
"Too," said he, "the nature of your flight, and your selection of a refuge, indicates high intelligence."
"Thank you, Master," I said.
I felt his hands on the side of my head.
"You are extremely intelligent," he said, adding, "for a woman, and a slave."
"Thank you, Master," I said. What a beast he was. And yet I sensed that my intelligence was indeed far less than his, and that of most of the Gorean men I had met. Gorean males are unusual in their strength, energy and intelligence.
Sometimes this angered me. Sometimes it pleased me.
I did not feel inferior to most Gorean women I had met, either slave or free. Their intelligence, it seemed to me, compared much more closely, statistically, to that of Earth females. Of my master's girls, I felt that only Eta was my superior.
"I like high intelligence in a slave girl," said my master.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
Then I cried out, and held to him, my lips parted, for he had touched me.
"You leap like a she-tarsk," he said.
I bit my lip.
"That is because you are intelligent," he said. "I suppose you did not know that," he said, "for you are of Earth."
I gasped, and could not speak, for the sensation which he was inducing in me.
"Intelligent bodies," he said, "are far more responsive. Your very intelligence makes you the more helplessly a slave."
I clutched him.
"It pleases me to own intelligent girls, such as you," he said. "Intelligent girls make excellent slaves," he observed.
"Perhaps, Master," I said.
"Do you doubt it?" he asked.
"No, Master!" I said. "No, Master!"
"Good," he said.
"Please, Master," I said. "I cannot resist you!"
"Be silent," he said.
"Yes, Master," I wept.
"It is more pleasurable to control and dominate them than stupid girls," he said. "They are more stimulating to own. They are greater prizes."
"Yes, Master," I said. "Yes, Master!"
"Too," said he, "one profits more from their ownership than from that of a duller girl. They are brighter, more skillful, more imaginative, more inventive. An intelligent girl can do many more things and do them better than a duller girl. She follows commands easily; she learns swiftly. Her performances, in their variety, intricacy and depth, can approach brilliance. She learns well, and continues to learn, in her intelligence and sexuality, how to please a man. Too, in her depths of emotion, feeling and sensation, these associated with her intelligence, she is easier to manipulate and exploit."
"Please, Master," I begged, "take me!"
"Remain immobile," he said. "Do not move so much as a muscle."
I gritted my teeth. "Yes, Master," I whispered. Every bit of me wanted to cry out and explode. I held myself absolutely rigid. I wanted to explode. I was not permitted to move.
"Too," said he, "an intelligent girl, a highly intelligent one, such as yourself, is capable of truly understanding her slavery. A dull girl has no true insight into the bondage relation. She knows she is a slave. She recognizes the institution, and is cognizant of its legalities. She is familiar with chains, and has worn them; she sees the whip, and has felt it. But does she truly understand her slave
ry?"
"Forgive me, Master," I said, barely able to speak, "but any woman who is a slave truly understands her slavery."
"Is this true?" he asked.
"In the belly of her," I said, "any woman who is slave knows her slavery. It has naught to do with intelligence, but only with being a slave and a woman. It is an indescribable, helpless feeling in the belly of us, being owned. One need not be intelligent to have this emotion, nor to respond, nor to feel."
"Perhaps," he said.
I wanted to scream. "Please, Master," I said.
"Do not move," said he.
"Yes, Master," I said, obeying.
I held myself rigid. Could the peasant boys have been more cruel?
"You do not think," he asked, "that the dull woman confuses slavery with the chains and the whip?"
"No, Master," I said. I moaned in helplessness. "I am not now chained," I said. "I am not now being whipped. But I could not be more a slave than now if I were chained to a whipping post and the lash being laid upon me. I am owned. I am completely in your power. I dare not even move. I must obey. This could be understood by any woman in my place."
"But perhaps," said he, musing, "your understanding of your slavery, in virtue of your intelligence, your sensitivity, is much more intense, much deeper and richer than would be that of a duller woman?"
"Perhaps, Master," I said. "I do not know!"
"Do you wish to be permitted to move?" he asked.
"Yes," I wept. "Yes! Yes!"
"But you are not yet permitted to move," he said.
"Yes, Master," I sobbed.
"It is pleasant to own a beautiful Earth woman such as you," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"To whom do you belong?" he asked.
"To you! To you, Master!" I said.
"But you are of Earth," he said. "How can you belong to a man?"
"I belong to you, to you, Master!" I said.
"In the past weeks," he said, "you have begun to disturb me."
"Master?" I asked.
"Do not move," he said.
"No, Master," I sobbed.
"I do not understand it," he said. "It is very strange. Today I grew angry with you, and you had merely behaved as a slave."
He referred to my yielding to the soldier in the morning.
"I am a slave, Master," I said. "I could not help myself."
"I know," he said. "Why then should I be angry?"
"I do not know, Master," I said.
He then touched me, and I cried out.
"Do not move," he said.
"Have mercy on your girl, Master!" I begged.
With his touch he had again brought my sensations to the point at which I wanted to shatter and writhe and scream, and yet I must remain at his side, immobile, absolutely motionless.
"You are not important," he said.
"No, Master," I said.
"You are a worthless slave girl," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You can be bought or sold in any market," he said, "for a handful of copper tarsks."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Why then," he asked, "do I concern myself with you?"
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"You may move, Slave Girl," he said.
With a wanton cry I pressed myself against him.
"You see," he said, "the women of Earth are natural slaves."
"Yes, Master," I wept.
"You are obviously only a common girl," he said.
"Yes, Master!" I cried softly.
I began to lick at him beneath the chin and kiss him. I clutched at him. I wept and laughed and writhed, holding him.
"Only a common girl," he said. "Only a common slave."
I put my tear-stained cheek against the hardness of his chest, holding him. I could feel the hair on his chest between his body and the softness of my cheek. "Yes, Master," I whispered.
"You do not even have a name," he said.
"No, Master," I said.
"Of what importance is a nameless animal?" he asked.
"None, Master," I said.
"How can you be of interest?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"And yet you are a pretty little animal," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"I shall conquer you," he said.
"You have conquered me long ago," I said.
"I shall conquer you anew," he said.
"Every time you look upon me, or touch me," I said, "I am conquered anew." I felt his chest beneath my cheek. I held him in the darkness. "I am your conquest, fully and completely, Master," I said. "I am your slave."
"Perhaps my slave should have a name," he said.
"As Master wills," I said.
He took me by the shoulders and lifted and turned me. He put me beneath him. I felt the furs and the ground beneath my back. I felt his arms about me. I moaned as my body received and clasped him.
"Do not move," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I wanted to yield.
"I shall name you," he said.
I lay in the darkness, helpless, imprisoned in the strength of his arms, waiting to learn whom I would be.
"The name," he said, "for you are a common girl, and worthless, should be an unimportant name, one plain and simple, one fitting for a valueless girl, an ignorant, branded she-slave such as you."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You are even a barbarian," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Some men," he said, "enjoy putting a barbarian girl through her paces."
"Put me through my paces, I beg of you, Master!" I wept.
"Do not move," he cautioned.
"Yes, Master," I wept. I so wanted to yield to him. I was on the brink of yielding, but he would not let me move. It was as though I wanted to burst.
"I myself," he smiled, "enjoy putting any girl, civilized or barbarian, through her paces."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Did you know," he asked, "that in the throes of slave orgasm there is no difference between a civilized and barbarian girl?"
"No, Master," I said.
"It is interesting," he said. "In slave orgasm they are spasmodically identical."
"We are all women, only women," I said, "in the arms of our masters."
"Doubtless that is it," he mused.
"Permit me to yield!" I begged.
"Do not move," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, through gritted teeth. I was so much his! Why would he not have me?
"You speak Gorean with an accent," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master," I begged.
"Do not change," he said. "The accent becomes you. It marks you as different and makes you more interesting."
"Perhaps that is what Master finds interesting about his girl," I said.
"Perhaps," he said. "But I have owned barbarian girls before."
"Other girls from the planet Earth?" I whispered.
"Of course," he said. "Do not move."
"No, Master," I said. Suddenly I resented and hated those other girls from the bottom of my heart. How angry and jealous I was!
"The little slave is angry," he said. "Do not move."
"No, Master," I said.
I lay in the darkness, in his arms, trying not to move.
"What became of the Earth girls whom you owned before me, Master?" I asked.
"Was a slave given permission to speak?" he asked.
"Forgive me, Master," I said. "May a slave speak?"
"Yes," he said.
"You owned other Earth girls," I said. "Where are they?"
"I do not know," he said.
"What did you do with them?" I asked.
"I have had five such women, not including yourself, my dear," he said. "I gave two away, and sold off three."
"Gave?" I asked, aghast. "Sold?"
"Yes," he said.
"But they were persons,"
I said.
"No," he said. "They were slaves, like you."
"Are you going to sell me, or give me away?" I asked.
"Perhaps," he said.
I moaned. He could do what he wished, of course.
"Did they love you?" I asked.
"I do not know," he said. "Perhaps. Perhaps, not."
"Did they protest their love to you?" I asked.
"Of course," he said. "That sort of thing is common among slave girls."
"And yet you gave them away, or sold them?"
"Yes."
"How could you do that, Master?" I asked.
"They were only slaves," he said in explanation.
I uttered a cry of anguish. I could be discarded as easily. "You were cruel," I said, "Master."
"How can one be cruel to a slave?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "How can one be cruel to a slave?"
"You're crying," he said.
"Forgive me, Master," I said.
We lay together in the darkness, I not permitted to move. I heard the peasant boys finishing with my sisters in bondage. Afterwards they would be put in slave hobbles.
"What was your barbarian name?" he asked.
"Judy Thornton," I said, "Master."
"How came you into my possession?" he asked.
"You won me in challenge, Master," I said. "Then you made me your slave."
"Ah, yes," he said. What a beast he was, me so naked, so helpless in his arms.