by John Norman
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But there is no great hurry in the matter," I said.
"No, Master," she said. For now she would continue nameless. Many times, incidentally, a new girl is not immediately given a name. If one doesn't know if she will work out, or be kept, it is sometimes not thought worth the while to waste a name on her. Similarly, sometimes a master waits a few days to name the slave, to see if an appropriate name, one seemingly right for the girl, suggests itself. Most of the time, of course, it must be admitted, the girl, like a pet sleen, is promptly named. It makes it much more convenient to refer to her, and summon her. The name she is given, of course, is a function of the will of the master, and names may be changed, as he pleases. Sometimes, for example, a girl may be rewarded with a lovely name, or punished with an ugly one.
"Thank you, Master, again, and again," she said, "for well teaching me my collar—for treating me as it is appropriate that I be treated—for doing to me what is appropriately to be done to a slave—for my slave rape. You well impressed my bondage upon me. I now better understand my collar. It is how I wished first to be had by you."
"It seemed appropriate for a low slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master." I felt her nibbling at the tunic at my thigh, and kissing, softly, through it. I felt the dampness, the wet, from her small, warm mouth, and, too, through the cloth, the movement of her tongue. "Master did not even remove his tunic," she said.
"Do you object, in the least?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "I am only a slave."
"To your work," I said, jerking my thumb toward the table.
Startled, she rose swiftly to her feet and went to the table, where she, kneeling down, began to gather together the dishes and stack them.
It pleased me to see her, naked and in my collar, engaged in this necessary and menial labor, fitting for a slave. This also gave me the opportunity I desired, unseen by her, to fetch forth from the chest an object which, long ago, I had purchased for her on the great concourse near the wharves.
I moved quietly behind her, as she knelt, working, at the table, the object, in several loops, held between my hands. I then, with one motion, slung the loops over her head and body, and jerked back, straightening her body, and pinning her arms to her sides. "Chain!" she cried. "Master!" She tensed her body and struggled, but only for an instant. I tightened the chains. She ceased struggling. The chains were tight in her flesh. "Master?" she asked. I then lifted the chains from her, and held them out, before her. "It is beautiful," she said.
She saw now that the chains had been the loops of a single, graceful body chain, sinuous and glossy, closely meshed and dark, ornamented with colorful beads of wood, semiprecious stones and bits of leather. Its full loop is some five feet in length, and it can be wound and looped, and twisted and strung about a woman's body in a variety of intricate fashions. It is light and the closeness of its meshing allows it to follow closely the contours of a woman's body. It is unbreakable. It may be worn with or without clothing. By means of small clips, snap clips or lock clips, it may be used to secure as well as adorn a woman. It is to be worn, of course, only by a slave. "It is beautiful, my Master!" she said. "Is it mine?"
"It is mine," I said, "as you are. You own nothing. It is you, rather, who are owned."
"Yes, Master," she laughed, "but did you not buy it for me?"
"For you, or for any other slave," I said, lightly.
"I think I am the slave you had in mind," she said.
"Perhaps," I said.
"The first time you ever looked at me, on the campus of the university," she said, "you looked upon me as though I might be a slave."
"I did?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Do you think a woman does not know when she is being looked upon as though she might be a slave? We are not stupid, my dear Master. Furthermore, you looked upon me as though I might be your slave."
"I was not, at that time, I think," I said, "clearly aware of such things."
"And, in my heart, beneath those ridiculous garments of Earth I then wore, I knew that you were right."
"You would scarcely greet me," I said. "It seemed you would scarcely deign to recognize my existence."
"I was afraid," she said. "Everything was suddenly so different. Can you imagine what it would be for an Earth girl, with all her conditioning, and her education and training, to suddenly recognize that she is a female, and has met her master?"
"Doubtless it would be a troubling insight," I admitted.
"Put the chain on me, Master," she laughed. "I am eager to see how I look in it!"
"Vain slave," I said. Then she stood and I, from behind, looped the chain about her. She hurried to one wall, where there was a full-length mirror, and, turning and posing, and adjusting the chain on herself, she examined herself.
"It is beautiful," she said, turning. "How I pity poor free women who cannot wear such things." Then she looked at herself, frontally, and, skeptically, tilting her head one way and another, experimented with the chain, varying its lines, loopings and tensions. She adjusted it with her small hands with meticulous care and fastidious taste. "I think I would bring a high price," she said, not taking her eyes from the mirror.
"In a market," I said, "you would not be sold in the chain."
"Even so," she said, "if I were a man, I think I might buy me."
I did not respond.
"Of Shirley, Peggy, Lola and myself," she asked, "who is the most beautiful?"
"Most men," I said, "would probably pay most for Shirley, as most men would regard her as the most desirable, if not the most beautiful. Then I would think that Peggy would bring the next highest price, and then Lola, and then you."
"I would be last?" she asked, still looking in the mirror.
"I think so," I said, "clearly."
"But surely some men would find me attractive," she said.
"Of course," I said.
"I think I would bring a good price," she said.
"You might," I said.
"You do not find me unattractive, do you, Master?" she asked, lifting her hands to her head and throwing back her hair, regarding herself.
"You are being kept," I pointed out, "at least for the time."
"You do find me attractive, don't you, Master?" she asked, turning to face me.
"You are not found to be entirely displeasing to my senses," I said.
She swiftly came to where I stood and knelt down before me, and kissed my feet, and then lifted her head, looking at me. "That pleases me, my Master," she said.
I then lifted her to her feet, but did not permit her to press her lips to mine.
"Do you like the chain?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said, "it is beautiful."
"It is not expensive," I said. "It is a common piece of slave jewelry."
"Fit for a low slave," she smiled.
"It also has certain features of which you might not be immediately aware," I said.
"Oh!" she said. Then she tried to pull her wrists apart, from behind the back of her body. "I am chained!" she said.
"Yes," I said. With the small clips, using convenient portions of the chain, I had fastened her hands behind her. With the clips, of course, she may be chained by the hands and feet, and waist and neck, in almost any conceivable position.
"I now see why free women do not wear these things," she smiled.
The chain was now secured with snap clips, which are usually perfectly adequate, as the girl, as she is chained, cannot reach or undo the snaps. I had also, however, purchased a set of lock clips, which are useful in some chaining situations or out-of-doors, where, say, one would not wish a stranger to be able to gag the slave, undo the clips and carry her off from where, perhaps, she has been chained to a post. The body chain I had purchased, though efficient, and attractive and sturdy, was not an expensive one. Some such chains, of course, such as those sometimes worn by high slaves, are quite expensive, being of
gold and set with such stones as rubies, sapphires and diamonds.
She moved away from me, and turned before me. "Am I pretty in your chain?" she asked.
I wanted to scream with pleasure, the little she-sleen! How well the little beast knew what she was doing! What a slave she was.
"I see that you think I would bring a good price," she said.
I clenched my fists.
"You do find me quite attractive, you know," she said.
I said nothing.
"Masters find it so difficult to conceal their desire," she laughed.
I said nothing.
"I am helpless, you know," she said, trying to pull her wrists apart.
"I know," I said.
"May I approach Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She came and stood quite close to me, within the circle of my space, close, as a slave may stand to her master. Her nearness was almost overwhelming. I thrust her back. She regarded me, amused, observing me scrutinizing her bared beauty. She knew I owned it.
"Doubtless I am now to be unchained," she said, "that I may attend to my domestic labors, clearing the table, and such, but then, perhaps, it was not for that reason that Master chained me so helplessly. Perhaps he has other plans in mind for me. I know that he need not reveal to me his intentions with respect to me, but, naturally, I am curious."
"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira," I said.
"Granted, Master," she said, "but, as you must understand, in certain situations, as when a woman finds herself naked and chained before a man, a certain amount of curiosity on her part regarding her fate is almost inevitable."
"I think it is time to throw you in your kennel," I said. "There you may ponder your cleverness." I seized her angrily by the arm and pulled her, stumbling, toward her kennel. "No, Master!" she cried. "Please, no!"
In moments I had thrust her into the low, cement, steel-barred kennel. She scrambled about, on her knees, on the blanket on the cement floor, her hands chained behind her, to face outward, just as the steel-barred gate clanged down, locking, in front of her. I saw the shadows of the bars on her face and body. She thrust her face, and beauty, against the bars. "Please, Master," she begged, "don't kennel me!"
"Why not?" I asked.
She regarded me, through the bars, her face pressed close against them. She was on her knees. A girl cannot stand in the kennel. Its low ceiling, about four feet in height, does not permit it. She drew back, slightly, from the bars. "The kennel is cold, and hard," she said.
I turned away.
"Master," she cried, "please don't go!"
I turned again, to face her.
"I will try to be a good slave," she said, "humble, docile, loving and obedient."
Again I turned from her.
"Master," she cried, "let me beg for what I want!"
I turned to face her.
"Let me beg on my belly for what I want!" she said, her face pressed against the bars, tears in her eyes.
I went to the gate of the kennel and unlocked it, and flung it upwards, and stepped back.
The slave then, on her belly, squirmed forth from the kennel. I stepped back five paces, that she must follow me. Then she lay before me, submitting and prone, on the tiles.
"Did you wish to speak?" I asked her.
She lifted her head. "I beg your touch, Master," she said.
I looked down upon her. The depth, extent and distribution of sexually active areas on the female body is, of course, considerable. Indeed, in sexual arousal, her entire body can become sensitized, and, so to speak, sexually vulnerable and flammable. Her sexual response can become one of the entire squirming, yielding, overwhelmed organism. When a woman yields it is all of her that yields. Her response, of course, is far more than crudely physical. It constitutes a psychophysiological ecstasy, a rhapsody of being owned and had. Her sexual response, thus, is far more than a simplistic response to physical stimuli. It is a function of an entire situation and condition. It is, thus, perhaps, that the female slave, knowing herself slave and owned, attains sexual heights and depths, orgasms and totalities of response, forever denied, in the nature of things, to her ignorant sisters, cool and inhibited, smug in their prides and freedoms. The slave girl, in effect, is the woman in her place in nature. It is there, in her own place and world, and there only, that she can attain her biological destiny, that she can find her total female fulfillment. Free, she is enslaved, the prisoner of inhibitions, artifices and conventions; enslaved, she is free, liberated to the self-fulfillment of her deepest nature. Free, she is enslaved; enslaved, she is free. That is the paradox of the collar.
"I am the only woman in the house, Master," said the slave.
I did not speak.
"Do not lock my softness away from you tonight, in the kennel," she begged. "Let it be near to you."
"Do you have sexual needs?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Do you want them satisfied?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Do you confess yourself to be a lowly and passionate slave?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "I am a lowly and passionate slave."
"One who is eager to please her Master?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I looked down at her, on her belly, her small hands chained behind her. The passions of the female slave are a mystery to many free women who, unaroused and sexually inert, never collared and owned, cannot even understand them; to most free women, of course, the passions of the female slave are not so much a mystery as a source of envy and fury; she senses that they, deep and precious, making the slave so helpless and vulnerable, are far beyond anything which she herself possesses. Sometimes, perhaps, twisting on her couch at night in frustration, the free woman may dimly sense what it is to be an aroused slave, a woman so much at the mercy of men, and so precious and beautiful to them; the free woman clenches her fists and moans; the slave may throw herself to the feet of men and beg to please them, as she cannot.
"Master, Master," whimpered the small slave, lying before me.
I looked down at her. Her passions had been well ignited. This had been done, doubtless, by her condition, and by masters. She was a slave.
"Do not kennel me, Master," she begged. "Sleep me at your slave ring."
I smiled. The girl whom I had known on Earth, now my nameless slave on Gor, had begged to be slept at my slave ring.
"Chain me by the neck at the foot of your couch, my Master," she begged, "as you might a she-sleen. You need not even touch me. It will be enough for me, if I am merely allowed to lie near you."
"On your feet," I told her.
Swiftly she scrambled to her feet and stood before me. I looked at her, and she, swiftly, deferentially, put down her head. "Now you are beginning to be pleasing," I told her.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
I touched the side of her face, gently. She lifted her head. "Perhaps I will deign to touch you," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered.
"Strip me," I said.
"But I am chained!" she cried, trying, futilely, to pull her wrists apart.
I smiled.
"Forgive me, Master," she laughed. "I am such a stupid slave!"
Then she fell to her knees before me and, with her teeth, untied the sandals and removed them from my feet. She then stood, and, bending over, her hands helplessly chained behind her, bit and pulled at the knot in the cord that belted my tunic. When she had freed this knot she went behind me, first to my left shoulder, and then to my right shoulder, and, with her small, fine teeth, drew the tunic from my body.
"Ohh," she said, softly, "Master is beautiful."
"I cannot be beautiful," I said, rather irritatedly. "I am a man. I might be good-looking, or handsome, perhaps, but I cannot be beautiful. And even such things, I suspect, would be rather controversial."
"To me," she said, "you are lean, and strong and beautiful."
I looked at her, angrily.
"And you own me," she smiled.
"That, at least, is uncontroversial," I said.
"Shall I heel my Master to his bedroom," she asked, "or does he desire that I precede him?"
"I shall carry you," I said.
"As Master wishes," she said, breathlessly.
I put my hands on her.
"Oh!" she said.
I then rubbed my fingers and smelled my hand. "Slaves, too, it seems," I said, "sometimes find it difficult to conceal their desire."
"Yes, Master," she laughed.
"Oh!" she said. "You are going to carry me like this," she asked, "upside down and in front of you?"
"Yes," I said, "and as I ascend the stairs slowly, you will please me."
"Yes, Master," she laughed.
At the top of the stairs I stopped, and shuddered, and cried out.
"Perhaps I should have gagged Master," she said.
I then carried her, over my shoulder, into the bedroom, to throw her to the foot of my couch, beneath the slave ring.
21
The Slave Ring;
The Whip is Kissed;
Black Wine;
A Slave is Named;
Ecstasy
How small and soft she was, and how beautiful, lying in my arms, on the furs of love, at the foot of my couch, in the soft light of the ravishment lamp.
About her throat, over the slender, identificatory collar, a heavy, thick iron collar had been locked, with a heavy chain, leading to the stout loop of the slave ring, some eight inches in width, fixed in the foot of the couch.
"I am so happy, my Master," she said. "I am so happy."
Her first taking had been on the floor of the bedroom, she still locked in the body chain. I had then relieved her of its restraint, that the evening might properly begin.
With her own hands I had forced her to spread the furs of love and light the ravishment lamp. I had then had her kneel at the foot of the couch, and had chained her by the neck to the slave ring. I had then had her kiss the whip. I had then again taken her.
Before this last having of her she had lain on her back on the furs crying out with joy, feeling the heavy collar on her throat, and the weight of the chain that fastened her by the collar to the slave ring. "I cannot slip it," she had said, trying to force the collar from her. "No," I had said. "The chain is so heavy!" she had purred. "It will hold you well," I had told her. Then she had risen to her hands and knees. She had reached out and touched the slave ring with her right hand, and then she had crawled to it, and kissed it. She had then turned to face me, on all fours, the chain dangling down from her collar. "I love being chained to your slave ring," she had said. I had then drawn her towards me and thrown her on her back. "Yes, Master," she had whimpered, eagerly throwing her legs apart.