"Remember the many things I have told you," said Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," we said.
"Are we not too scantily clad, Mistress?" asked Emily.
"Not for pleasure slaves," said Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily. We addressed Teela as "Mistress" for she was, in the house of Aemilianus, first girl.
"You are distressed to appear before the master so exposed?" asked Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," she said.
"Because you like him?" she asked.
"Yes," she said.
"And I think he likes you, too," said Teela.
"Do you, Mistress?" begged Emily, eagerly.
"Yes," said Teela, "but remember that you are to him only as a slave."
"Yes, Mistress," she said.
"Surely he saw you naked when he bought you," said Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily, her head down. Men do not buy clothed women.
"Then you have nothing to hide," said Teela. "Similarly, as a slave, your body is public."
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily.
"Put aside all concern with your own self-image," said Teela. "Your only concern now is the pleasing of your master."
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily.
"Please him well," smiled Teela.
"I shall try, Mistress," said Emily.
"Tiffany," said Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Do you enjoy the house?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress!" I said. Though I had been here only two days, some forty Ahn, I reveled in its contrast with the mills. It was clean, and spacious and quiet, and had lovely grounds, surrounded by a high, white wall, in which was an ornate, barred gate. Here I was well rested and well fed. My duties were light, usually those of a maid, dusting and cleaning, making beds, tidying rooms, and such. Sometimes, too, I helped in the kitchen. I did not have to wear the mill uniform, bearing the sign for the enterprises of Mintar, but wore, instead, usually, a light, white house tunic, similar to that often worn by tower slaves. I even had access to a bath. Similarly my kennel was comfortable and, for a kennel, spacious. I could not stand erect in it but there was more than enough room to stretch out and roll about. The gate in the kennel was a small one. It was barred, and set in the barred side of the kennel facing the corridor. It is common to have one side of a kennel open, except for the bars. The girl is always, you see, to be available to the eyes of the master. He may look upon her whenever he chooses, day or night. The small gate is also common in slave kennels. The girl, commonly, accordingly, enters and leaves the kennel on all fours. She is, after all, an animal. Too, it is useful in various leashing and chaining arrangements. In this house, as in most, the girl is kept naked in the kennel. I did not mind the tiny gate of the kennel, however, or my observability and nudity within it. I much preferred its semi-privacy to the locked dormitory at the mill. Too, its comforter, blankets and pillow were a welcome change from the flat, straw-filled mat and thin blanket on the cement floor of the dormitory.
"Do you want to go back to the mill?" asked Teela.
"No, Mistress!" I said.
"It would be well for both of you, you, too, Emily," said Teela, "to remember that you are both on trial here. You have not been brought here to weave cloth on a loom. And you have not been brought here simply to dust and make beds. Your slavery in this house involves more extended services."
"Yes, Mistress," we said. We had no doubt as to what these more extended services were. About our upper left arms were golden, snakelike armlets. About our left ankles were tied slave bells. Our bodies could scarcely feel the lightness of the slave silk on them.
"You must now decide," said Teela, "whether you wish to serve the pleasures of men, and fully, or you wish to return to the mill. In a sense, you must decide, really, what you are, and how you wish to live. I commend to your attention the noble alternative, to be chosen by all truly free women, of returning to the mill, of returning to the back-breaking, repetitious labor of the loom. The alternative, of course, is so dreadful I scarcely dare mention it. It is to serve men, to belong to them, to be at their beck and call, to be their willing, obedient, eager, shameless, helpless slave."
Emily and I regarded one another.
"Sluts choose the collar and the helpless service of men," she said. "Women who are truly noble and free choose the mill." She looked at me. "Tiffany?" she asked.
"I choose the service of men," I said.
"Then you are a slave and a slut," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. This admission seemed to me very liberating.
"Emily?" asked Teela.
"I, too, choose the service of men," she said, "especially that of Aemilianus!"
"You, too, then, are a slave and a slut," said Teela.
"Yes, Mistress," said Emily.
"But that you would shamelessly choose to be pleasure slaves over noble mill girls does not mean that masters must see fit to accord you such a slavery. It is up to you to prove to them that you have the aptitude, the talent, the dispositions, the desires and reflexes to be even considered for such a slavery."
"Yes, Mistress," we said.
"I am going to send you forth now on the floor," said Teela. I heard the slave bells on my ankle jangle. The sound, sensuous and barbaric, startled me. "If you are not both found sufficiently pleasing," she said, "both of you, and certainly you, Tiffany, will be back in the mill by tomorrow night."
"Yes, Mistress," we said. I found myself wishing that Aemilianus had found me as fetching as he apparently had Emily. I thought my trial was likely to be harder than hers.
"Mistress!" said Emily.
"Yes?" asked Teela.
"Tiffany and I are self-confessed sluts and slaves. You have forced us to face this truth about ourselves, and admit it."
"Yes?" said Teela.
"What of you?" asked Emily. "You are lovely, and beautiful, and in a collar. What are you?"
"A bold question," said Teela.
"Forgive me, Mistress," said Emily.
"I, too, of course, am only a slave and a slut," said Teela. "And I love it!" Then she kissed us both. Then she drew back from us. "You will be slaves out there before free men," she said. "Too, there will be no free women present. Revel in your womanhood and manifest it shamelessly!"
"Yes, Mistress!" we said.
"Go forth, Slaves," she said.
"Yes, Mistress!" we said and, with a jangle of slave bells, hurried to join the other girls on the floor.
* * * *
"Your knees," I whispered to Emily, "open them."
"Thank you, Tiffany," said Emily, spreading her knees. The knees of the pleasure slave, when she is in a kneeling position, are to be kept open before the master, and, indeed, before all free men. Emily, in the same room with Aemilianus, was still struggling with her modesty.
"I do not understand all this sudden shyness, all this reserve, on your part," I whispered to her. "In the mill, you opened your knees before him unbidden."
"He would have bidden me to do so," she said, tensely.
"I suppose so," I said. Certainly he had ordered me to spread my knees. "But you did it unbidden," I said. She was, after all, at least at that time, not a pleasure slave. The open-kneed position is usually required of a pleasure slave. It helps to remind her of what she is.
"I could not help myself," she said. "I was trembling, and dazzled. He was the most exciting, attractive man I had ever seen, so handsome, so well spoken, so civilized, so refined."
"He doubtless has a whip in his quarters," I reminded her.
"Of course," she said.
"So why," I asked, "this tendency to close your knees when he is in the room?"
"I love him," she said, plaintively. "I want him to respect me."
"If you truly love him," I said, "you should spread your knees even more widely before him."
"Do you think so?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "A slave does not compete as a free woman."
&nb
sp; "Be silent, you two little fools," said Teela, coming over to us.
"Yes, Mistress," we whispered.
Actually I did not think the men were much noticing us.
To be sure, one would not wish to be sent to the kitchen to be stripped, tied and switched, if only as a matter of principle.
But it is hard for girls not to speak to one another. This is true even when they wear collars.
To be sure, one supposes that a suitable decorum is expected amongst serving slaves.
The men, I thought, were more tolerant than Teela. This was understandable, of course, for, in the final consideration, she was responsible for us. It is not unusual for a master to allow a girl some latitude within the borders of her bondage. His primary concern, after all, is that her service is instantaneous and perfect. He can always, at a word or glance, bring her to her knees, and her lips to his feet. It is an ill-kept secret that most masters are quite fond of their slaves. And who would not be fond of such an incredible source of pleasure? But she is to be kept under strict discipline, and, if she fails to be pleasing in any way, she must expect to be rebuked, most often with the lash.
And, interestingly, most slaves care deeply for their masters, and commonly love them, profoundly, with every fiber of their gratefully embonded hearts. I suppose it is hard not to fall in love with a man who gives you great pleasure, who fulfills your needs, who cares for you, who feeds, shelters and nurtures you—and masters you.
I noted that Emily oriented herself toward Aemilianus, and spread her knees widely. She then lowered her head, submissively.
In what a lovely way, I thought, may a slave mutely beg.
We knelt side by side at one side of the room. What little serving was being done was now being attended to by the other girls. How beautiful they were. And how natural, and perfect, and right, and fitting it seemed that they, in their slightness and beauty, were serving men. I knelt there, with Emily, to one side, my knees open, in pleasure silk, a collar locked on my neck, a barbaric, golden, coiling ornament on my upper left arm, slave bells tied on my left ankle. I knelt there, ready to serve. How strange it was, I thought. How far I had come! How far away, now, seemed the perfume counter in the department store on Long Island, the photographer's studio, my apartment. I remembered that pretty, mercenary, greedy little clerk at the perfume counter. She was no longer free. She had now been made a collared slave girl. She had once been Miss Tiffany Collins. She was now an animal, and nameless in her own right, but masters had seen fit to put the name "Tiffany" on her.
I thought the world had dealt with her rather appropriately.
I thought she was now, in a sense, where she belonged, and as she belonged.
"Tiffany," whispered Emily.
She had raised her head.
I glanced about.
Teela did not now seem to be noticing us.
"Yes," I whispered.
Could she not keep her eyes from the young master?
To be sure, the commonest position for a pleasure slave has her head raised. In this fashion the beauty of her face is well revealed, and her subtlest expressions can be well read, and, on her part, she is more aware of her surroundings, cognitively and emotionally, and is thus better prepared to serve. Too, the raised-head position well displays the collar. Much, of course, depends on the master. The lowered head position is beautiful, and it well symbolize vulnerability and submission. Most masters, I think, mix positions, not only with respect to the attitude of the head but of the arms as well. The usual position is have the palms of the hands on the thighs, but some masters prefer the hands clasped behind the back, or behind the head, and so on.
In mentioning these things, one might also call to mind an aspect of these matters which is cultural to the Goreans, but is likely to overlooked by those not familiar with their culture. It is as follows: The Gorean free woman is commonly veiled in public. Indeed, one of the fearful things that can occur to her, if she is captured or enslaved, is that she is likely to be "face-stripped," as the saying is, that the delicacy of her facial beauty will be revealed, that her features will be disrobed, literally exposed to public view. This is momentous for the average Gorean woman, as it would not be for the average woman of Earth. The average woman of Earth doubtless finds this an interesting cultural oddity, but it is of enormous significance, I assure you, for the average Gorean woman. Indeed, many Goreans, learning that most women of Earth, on their native world, go about unveiled, infers that they are all shameless slaves courting a collar in which they should be rightfully placed. This observation then, I suspect, sheds some additional light, at least from the Gorean point of view, on the raised-head position of the pleasure slave, namely, that her features are publicly, blatantly displayed. Animals, for example, are not veiled. On the other hand, I have spoken to some Gorean girls who have fallen slave and I learn, to my interest, that most are delighted to be freed from the layerings, the heat and general discomfort, of veiling. Some reasons, I gather, for the veiling of free women, aside from questions of modesty, is to mark their distinction from slaves and render them less likely to be targeted by, and predated upon by, professional slavers, who, it is supposed, will, considering the risks involved, be then more likely to direct their attentions to slaves, whose charms are more easily ascertainable. It might also be noted that raids to acquire women are not the domain exclusively of professional slavers. It is almost a sport among Gorean young men, to hunt and capture a woman of a hostile city and bring her back to one's own city as a stripped slave. It is not unusual for a young tarnsman to essay this feat as a first adventure. And even free women are well aware of these virile sports, and understand that in a very serious sense their culture understands them as females, and thus as prizes. It might be noted, lastly, that a woman who is stolen from a given city, if she has been enslaved, should she somehow find herself again in her native city, will still be a slave. She has worn the collar. She will continue to wear it. She is a slave.
"Is not Aemilianus handsome?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said. That was certainly true.
"I want to crawl to him," she whispered, "and beg to serve his pleasure."
"Do not break position," I warned her.
"No," she whispered.
"Beware of Teela," I said.
"She is not watching," said Emily.
"Perhaps he will let you serve him later," I said.
"I hope so," she whispered. "I hope so!"
"You like him," I observed.
"I think that I am his love slave," she whispered.
"It is too early for you to know something like that," I said. I did not know, of course, whether it was or not. Sometimes these things can be told at a glance.
"I want him to whip me," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I love him," she said.
Then, at a glance from Teela, across the room, we were both quiet.
I was pleased that she did not have a Do-not-forget-there-is-a-switch-in-the-kitchen look. Teela, I think, was a good first girl. She, too, after all, wore a collar.
It was not as though she was a free woman. I would have been miserable to be in the charge of such. I recalled the free woman from Venna. And at that time I had not even been a slave!
Was it my fault if men, the virile beasts, preferred appetitious, needful, luscious slaves to unpleasant, egotistical, sexually inert free women?
I was somewhat upset. The men had had, on the whole, a very decorous supper. I had thought, given our garb and bells, that we might have been expected to serve in more exacting and intimate fashions than we had been called upon to do. The supper, on the other hand, had apparently been a rather normal one. To be sure, the men, being men, and no free women being present, had had the supper, for their pleasure, served to them by beautiful, revealingly clad women, collared slaves.
I glanced over at Emily. She could not keep her eyes off Aemilianus.
Some women desire occasionally, or at least once, to
be whipped by the man they love. This has to do, it seems, with deep psychological feelings, feelings probably connected with the woman's desire to submit and fulfill her biological destiny, this perhaps being a manifestation, within the human species, of the dominance/submission ratios endemic in nature. This involves, of course, an intense sentient interaction with the lover. Intense emotions, sensations and feelings are involved. In this situation the woman, who desires to surrender and yield, understands that she is now at the mercy of the lover, and is helpless under his will. It gives her an opportunity, too, of course, to show the lover that she, in her love, and in the intensity of her feelings, offers herself up to him.
I had once been Tiffany Collins, of Earth. I was now a collared slave girl on Gor. I touched the collar. It was light, but, too, it was efficient and inflexible. I supposed it would not do to tell anyone but I loved it on me. I felt, somehow, it belonged on me. It was right, I felt, somehow, on me. But, too, sometimes I was terrified to wear it. I knew that it meant that I was owned, and at the mercy of men.
I knelt there. I was no longer free. I could now be bought and sold. I must obey.
My major fear now was that I might be sent back to the mill.
I, and, indeed, the other girls, had been given little or no opportunity to prove to the masters that the slave bells tied on our ankles were not an inadvertence or a mistake. At various times during the supper I had tried to be attentive to one man or another, and as a slave, and as my belly had seemed to beg, but, each time, I had been brushed away or dismissed. I had been rejected. This stung my vanity, as well as increased the frustrations of my scorned femininity. I feared, too, it betokened that I, perhaps found insufficiently pleasing, might soon be returned to the mill.
I watched the men, talking, and finishing their liqueurs. I watched, too, the one or two girls still in attendance on them. They were beautiful, in their grace and serving. How perfect and natural it seemed that they should be serving. I touched my collar. Women by nature belong to men, I thought, and I am a woman. Why had men on Earth, I wondered, allowed themselves to be tricked out of their sovereignty by man-hating and vicious women, abetted by frustrated, weakling males? When will they take us again in hand, I wondered, and own us? But the men on Earth, with few exceptions, I feared, were lost to manhood.
Kajira of Gor Page 34
