by John Norman
I do not want to faint, she thought.
I must not faint.
I might be beaten.
A girl who had fainted at her tub was commonly lashed back to consciousness, recalled by the impatient, implacable leather to her labors.
She lifted the garment a bit again from the water.
It was the garment of a free woman. How different it was from the small tunics, the camisks, common and Turian, the scandalous ta-teeras, or slave rags, the slave strips, little more than a shred of cloth and a string, so frequently allotted to slaves, assuming that they were permitted clothing.
She herself did not even know how to wear the garment of a free woman.
One of the girls had, two weeks ago, stood and held such a garment before her, posing, in play. “See!” she had called. “Look here! I am a free woman!” We had laughed in relief, at the delight and farcicality of this, but, unfortunately, Gart, unbeknownst to us, had returned. “We shall see if you are free!” he had roared. “No, no, Master, please, no, Master!” she had cried. “Mat!” had cried Gart, and we all fled to our mats. He then took the slave by the hair and drew her sobbing, and crying out, beneath the high ring. In a moment she was on her tip toes, extended painfully, her wrists crossed and bound, tied to the ring. “It was a joke, Master!” she cried. “Have mercy! Have mercy!” “It is not for kajirae to make sport of free women!” he told her. “Never forget that they are a thousand times, an infinite amount of times, your superiors! Now we will see how the joke turns out.” “Mercy, Master!” she pleaded. “Beg the whip to forgive you,” he suggested. “Perhaps the whip will be merciful.” “Oh, dear whip!” she cried. “Please forgive me, dear whip! It was a joke! Be merciful, dear whip! Please forgive me, dear whip!” “What a stupid girl you are,” said Gart. “Do you not know that a whip cannot hear you, that it has no ears?” And he then put the leather to her, and not pleasantly. She spun in her bonds, weeping, lashed. When he had finished he released her and she fell to his feet. “You may now thank me for your beating,” he informed her. She licked and kissed his feet. “Thank you for beating me, Master,” she said.
Gart had then had her crawl back to her tub.
Ellen did not want to be beaten.
She feared that if she fainted she might be beaten.
Surreptitiously Ellen viewed the garment of the free woman. She hoped she had not been too rough with it, in her fear of Gart. It must, above all, not be rent. Even a tiny tear at a seam, she knew, could earn her a beating, but a real beating, not just the two or three strokes that might awaken a girl from a faint.
She heard a girl crying out, a few tubs from her, and, looking over, she saw blond, blue-eyed Nelsa flung on her belly over the water, she gripping the sides of the tub, desperately, to keep from falling into the water. Behind her, Gart had lifted and spread her legs. Ellen shuddered, and looked away.
Ellen was thankful for the device she wore, though sometimes she felt like crying out in misery, because of discomfort, its weight and heat.
She had seen her master only once since the evening in the special room, that so like a room on Earth, in which she had suitably, properly served a lovely supper, stripped.
It had been the morning following that supper, when he had come to her cage, released her, and had her stand, bent forward, gripping the roof of the cage, her back to him, her legs widely spread.
He had been carrying an object whose nature was not immediately clear to her.
Facing away from him, her legs widely spread, she had become aware of him reaching in front of her, and then of two circular, hinged, straplike bands being put about her waist, and then being brought together, front to back, behind her. Another piece of the apparatus dangled before her, but it was, in a moment, on its hinge, drawn up between her legs. She felt the object being jerked about, and, with two hands, being adjusted on her. These three parts of the apparatus were then fitted together, the two side straps over a staple welded to the central portion of the device which had been lifted up between her legs and was now at the small of her back. She then felt the bolt of a heavy padlock thrust through the staple and snapped shut, this holding the pieces of the apparatus together, at the small of her back. When she moved she was conscious of the padlock, its weight, and how it moved, against the three parts it secured in place. Again the object was moved about, and adjusted, with two hands, on her body.
“A good fit,” said a guard.
“Yes,” had said her master.
“Master?” she had asked.
“You have not been given permission to speak,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” she had said.
Because of the narrowness of her waist, and the natural flare of her hips, she could not hope to elude the device.
She wore the iron belt.
“Send her to the laundry,” had said her master.
****
When she had been presented to Gart, and performed obeisance before him, had kissed his feet and had begged to be permitted to serve in the laundry, he had growled in rage, regarding her. He had thrown her to her side and examined, in detail, the device she wore.
“What is this?” he had snarled.
The guard had merely shrugged.
Ellen, lying frightened on her side, locked in the device, at his feet, had no delusions with respect to the work-master’s displeasure.
A glance at the room, as soon as she had entered, she almost suddenly overcome, almost suddenly fainting, from the heat and the steam, had shown her, almost as through a hot fog, that there were several girls in the room, that they were naked, that many were apparently lovely, and that all were kneeling, sweating, their hair streaming down, limp, working at tubs.
Ellen had been struck with horror at this environment. Then she had knelt down, performing obeisance.
“How am I to tub this one?” asked the work-master.
“Tub the others,” suggested the guard.
“A virgin?” asked the work-master, incredulously.
“I think so,” said the guard. “As you can see, she is quite young, little more than a girl.”
“Kneel up,” ordered the work-master.
Ellen assumed position.
“I do not like virgins,” the work-master informed her.
Then Ellen cried out, cuffed, struck to the side. She could not maintain her balance, but fell to her right side. She could taste blood in her mouth, from her lip.
“To my feet,” said the work-master. “Beg my forgiveness for being a virgin.”
Ellen went to her belly before him, her lips over his feet. “Forgive me for being a virgin, Master,” she said. “Please forgive me for being a virgin!” Then, fearfully, terrified before this man, she kissed his feet.
He stepped back then, angry, but mollified.
“We will get her a mat and put her to a tub,” he said.
****
Ellen drew back, suddenly, crying out, for a stream of hot water, poured from a ewer, streamed into her tub, almost scalding her.
“Please, Mistress!” protested Ellen. She was the least in the laundry, because of the youth of her body, and that she was newest at the tubs. Accordingly, she must address her sister laundresses with such respect, though they, too, were but slaves.
“Why did you look when Gart put me to his pleasure?” demanded Nelsa.
“I looked away, Mistress!” cried Ellen.
“Not soon enough!” said Nelsa. “Do you think I like being put to the pleasure of such a brute?”
“Perhaps, Mistress,” said Ellen. “Surely I have seen you wriggle well, lifted at the tub, his arms about your legs.” Nelsa was certainly one of Gart’s favorites.
“I hate him!” said Nelsa.
“Is that why you whimper, moan and cry out as you do?” asked Ellen.
“I cannot help it if he masters me,” said Nelsa, angrily.
“Then you must be a slave,” said Ellen. “No!” cried Ellen.
Nelsa had lifted the ewer of
boiling water.
“Stay on your mat!” said Nelsa.
“Please, no, Mistress!” cried Ellen.
“You will not be so pretty when you are a mass of scar tissue!” snarled Nelsa. “Stay on your mat!”
“Please, no, Mistress!” cried Ellen.
“Do not be stupid, Nelsa,” said a shapely redhead, kneeling at a nearby tub. “Let the child alone!”
“Do your work,” snapped Nelsa.
“If you damage her you will be boiled alive,” said the redhead.
“Look,” said Nelsa. “She has moved part way from her mat. Gart must hear of this!”
Ellen scrambled back, that she might be on her mat, fully. For once she wished that Gart was in the room. She looked upward, apprehensively, at the poised ewer.
Then Nelsa lowered the ewer.
“You think you are so special, little she-urt,” said Nelsa to Ellen, “because you are belted! Well, there are many ways in which a slave can give pleasure to a man. And you are not in lock-gag!”
Ellen did not know what an urt was.
There are several varieties of lock-gags. One common variety consists of a short, leather-sheathed metal chain which, at its center, passes through a heavy ball-like packing. The packing is thrust back in the slave’s mouth, over the tongue, filling the oral orifice, making it impossible for her to do more than moan or whimper. The two ends of the short chain are then drawn back, tightly, back between the teeth, this holding the packing in place. The ends of the chain are then taken back about the sides of the neck and brought together behind the back of the neck where they are fastened together with a small padlock. The gag’s dislodgment must then, since it is locked on the slave, await the master’s pleasure. Another common variety of lock-gag involves a pair of narrow, rounded, curved, hinged rods, the hinge embedded in a heavy, leather, ball-like packing. This packing, as before, is inserted into the slave’s mouth and thrust back, over the tongue, denying her any capacity to speak. The rods, which are back, between the teeth, holding the packing in place, curve back about the sides of the face and meet behind the back of the neck, where the ends may lock together, or, if a padlock is used, be locked together. An advantage of a lock-gag is, of course, that the slave, while totally unable to speak, may yet attend to whatever other duties her master may set her. To be sure, a simple tie gag, which the slave is forbidden to remove, has the same effect. Too, of course, her mouth may be simply taped shut. Similarly, more mercifully, and at greater convenience to the master, she may be “gagged by the master’s will.” In that case she is simply forbidden to speak, save perhaps for moans and whimpers. She may, of course, speak later, once she has received permission to do so. If the slave is in lock-gag, one understands, there are certain pleasures she is unable to give the master. Doubtless it was with respect to these pleasures that the remark of Nelsa had reference.
“I do not think that master would approve,” whispered Ellen, frightened.
She would have loved to have pleased her master in this intimate fashion, and had dreamed of begging to do so, but Gart, or another, would surely be a different matter.
Giving the master such pleasures, and many others, is fitting for a slave.
“So you think I wriggle well?” said Nelsa.
“It seemed so to me, Mistress,” said Ellen.
“And how do you wriggle, little belted pudding?”
“I have never wriggled, Mistress,” said Ellen.
“Men can teach you to wriggle,” said Nelsa.
Ellen put down her head.
“So you think I am a slave?” asked Nelsa.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen, shyly.
“Do you think I can help how I now am?” asked Nelsa.
“I am sure I do not know, Mistress,” said Ellen.
“Do you not understand, you stupid little virgin, how men can enflame a woman, can make her helpless, can make her crave their least touch?”
“Perhaps if she is a slave,” said Ellen.
Nelsa’s hands tightened on the handle of the ewer.
“Do not hurt her,” said the redhead.
“She was off her mat,” said Nelsa. “I will tell!”
“You, too, have been off your mat when Gart was not in the room,” said the redhead. “And if you tell, we, too, can tell!”
There was assent to this from several of the slaves at the tubs.
One was an auburn-haired beauty who claimed to have once served the pleasure of Chenbar of Kasra, Chenbar the Sea-Sleen, Ubar of Tyros. More likely, some said, she had served in a prison on Tyros, and had been periodically cast to the prisoners, and handed about, amongst them, to reduce their unruliness. Ellen supposed both stories might be true. Perhaps the woman, who was very beautiful, had once served in the pleasure gardens of Chenbar, but had then in some small way displeased him, or perhaps he had merely tired of her. Later, as others might replace her in her prison duties, she might be sold on the mainland, and thence south. Another was a lovely slave of mixed blood, whose eyes bore the epicanthic fold. Another was a black woman with a chain collar and disk. It was said she had already been spoken for by a black merchant. Two others were sisters from a city called Venna, taken when returning from a pilgrimage to the Sardar Mountains. They would presumably be separated in the markets.
“You, too, will learn to beg and scratch, little tasta,” said Nelsa to Ellen.
Ellen did not know what a tasta was. Later she learned that it was a confection, a small, soft candy mounted on a stick.
Ellen pulled back, suddenly, softly crying out, shielding her face as Nelsa, in a sudden, plunging stream, too close to her, water splashing and hissing, emptied the ewer into the tub.
“Get to work, slave,” sneered Nelsa.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen. Then she cried out with pain. “It is too hot, Mistress,” she said. “I can not put my hands in the water!”
Nelsa had turned away.
Another slave, an exotic, bred for stripes, put more laundry beside her.
Ellen looked up in misery. There was so much!
She shrank down beside her tub, on her mat. She wished it was night so that she might be alone in her bin, with her blanket.
She supposed that women of low caste must do their own laundry.
Why had her master put her here, in this terrible place, she wondered. Perhaps she was being punished, but for what? Had she been put here for instructional purposes, that she might better understand her bondage? Why did he hate her so? Or did he hate her? Or could there be another reason? I must be special to him, somehow, she thought, that he has done this to me. Then she thought, fearfully, but perhaps I am not special to him, at all. Perhaps he does not even think of me. Perhaps I am here because I am not special at all. Perhaps I am to him only another meaningless slave. No, she said, I am here because it amuses him to put me here, his former teacher, one he perhaps found, to his irritation, troublesomely, even disturbingly attractive, to put me here in this terrible place, here in the laundry, miserable, sweating, no more than a naked work-slave, set to the meanest and lowest of duties. But he brought me to this world, she thought. He remembered me. I think he wants me! Yes she thought, wants, as a man wants a woman, or rather, she thought, thrilled, as a master wants a slave. Oh, I hope so, I hope so! I love him so! He is my master! She lay on her side, on the mat, beside the tub. She felt the heavy device locked on her body. She lightly traced with her finger the narrow curved plate between her legs, with its curved, long, slender, saw-toothed opening. The saw-toothed edges were sharp. Twice, in cleaning herself, she had cut herself. Then she had learned to go above and behind the edges, pulling the belt down and away a little. This can be managed by pulling it down an inch or so at the waist, but then, of course, it can go only so far, being stopped by the width of the hips, which she had, more than once, abraded. He put the belt on me, she thought, happily. Oh, I hate it, for its weight, its clumsiness, its bulkiness, its embarrassment, its inconvenience, but does it not show that
I am special to him? Is he not keeping my virginity for himself? Or, to use the vulgar Gorean expression, at least as applied to slaves, does he not wish to be the first to open me?
At this point she pauses briefly in the narrative.
The saying is given more fully, commonly, as “open for the uses of men.” She adds this, it occurring to her that some who read this might feel that she was overly delicate, or insufficiently explicit or informative, at this point. She fears she might be chided for a lack of candor, and perhaps with the leather.
She was glad Gart was not in the room.
There was much laundry beside her tub, but he would have no way of knowing, upon his return, that it had not been just placed there.
Surely Kiri, the exotic, would not volunteer this information. If explicitly questioned, of course, she must, kneeling, head to the floor, tell the truth.
She wished that it was night and that she was in her cement bin. It was so much cooler there. The blanket gave her some protection from the cement. The bins had no gates or ceilings. Their walls were about four feet high, but one could not see over them once one had been chained by the neck to the ring at the back. The chain was about two feet in length. One could do little more than rise to one’s knees, perform obeisance, and such things. The girls were forbidden to speak to one another when in their bins. This rule tended to be scrupulously kept, for it was difficult to tell, chained low as one was, when a guard might be in the vicinity, behind the bins. One would dread, looking up and back, seeing the sight of his upper body and angry frown suddenly appearing, looming, over the back wall of one’s bin. Soon he would appear in front of the bins, with his whip, and the errant slaves, to their dismay, their pleas for mercy unheeded, would be appropriately admonished. In the laundry Gart was more tolerant, though he did not encourage frivolous discourse. When he was absent, of course, the frenzy of work slowed and the buds of conversation, warily, timidly, began to open.