John Norman

by Time Slave

  The beating also told her that she was a woman, not worth the severe discipline that might be accorded a male.

  That, too, humiliated her.

  It taught her in a new way that she was a female, only a female.

  She wept, too, because Gunther and William were watching. How could she face them again?

  The last blow fell.

  Gunther pulled her, she still tangled in her dress, sobbing, to her side. Her left wrist was jerked to the vicinity of the iron bar at the head of the cot. She felt it locked again in the cuff that dangled there.

  She was confined as before. The men left.

  She, furious, frustrated, helpless, felt like a punished child. She wept. She was furious at what men could do to women, if they wished. She hated their strength, and her own weakness. They can treat us like children, she wept.

  “I hate you!” she cried.

  Then she was afraid that they might hear her, and return to punish her again. “I hate you,” she whispered. “I hate you.” But mostly she hated herself, that she was a woman.

  How could she ever again face Gunther and William?

  Then she knew how she could face them again, and only how she could face them again, only as a woman-a woman-and one they had seen being beaten.

  Then, after a time, she no longer hated being a woman. She lay on the thin, flat, striped mattress, on her side, her wrist helplessly handcuffed to the iron bar at the head of the simple cot, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her small, luscious, curved body, captive, formed a remarkable contrast to the thin, flat mattress, its linearity, the plainness of the iron cot, on which she was confined. She studied herself in the mirror, her head and hair, the deliciousness of her body, her legs, the slenderness of her ankles. Then no longer did she hate that she was a woman. She found it again, strangely perhaps, a precious thing to be. And she found herself, too, strangely enough, pleased that men were strong enough to do to her what they had done. She found herself, for some strange reason, pleased that one sex was so much weaker than the other. And, perhaps most strange of all, she found herself pleased that she was of the weaker sex.

  She found, as she lay on the cot, captive, handcuffed to it, that the strength of men excited her, that she found it profoundly and unaccountably exciting.

  I love it that there are men, she whispered to herself. I love it. I love it!

  At ten P.M. the door was again unlocked.

  The large black, he who had beaten her, again entered. Lying on the cot, she cringed. But he carried a large piece of bread in one hand and a tin mug of water in the other. Brenda saw, briefly, his companion behind him, before the door closed.

  He approached her.

  She regarded him with fear.

  “Sit up,” he said.

  She did so. She winced.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  She did so.

  He thrust the bread into her mouth, whole.

  He waited until she had, half choking, swallowed it down. Then he held the tin mug for her. She drank.

  Before he left, with his foot, he shoved the wastes bucket to the cot.

  For four days Hamilton saw no one but the blacks, and her feedings consisted of bread and water, each given to her as they had been the first time.

  Sometimes, smiling, she tried to engage them in conversation but they did not speak to her.

  Once, angrily, she cried out, “Speak when you’re spoken to, Boy!”

  He turned, slowly, toward her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry!”

  His hand struck her, knocking her forcibly to her right. She was jerked up short by the handcuff, taut, on her left wrist. He pulled her to her knees at the side of the cot, facing him. “I’m sorry!” she cried. Her lip was cut on her teeth. He pointed to his feet. She kissed them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry!

  “Very well,” said he, “-Girl.”

  He left.

  On the fourth night she said to him, “Please tell them I’ll be good! I’ll be good!”

  “All right,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The next morning Gunther and William arrived at the time of the first feeding.

  Gunther carried a short length of chain, and two padlocks, and William a bowl of warm water, with a towel and soap, and a clean, folded garment.

  “Lie on your stomach on the cot,” said Gunther.

  “Yes, Gunther,” said Brenda Hamilton.

  She felt one end of the heavy chain looped about her left ankle, snugly, and fastened with one of the padlocks. The loose end of the short chain was then looped about her right ankle, snugly, and fastened with the second padlock.

  Gunther then removed the handcuff from her left wrist, and also from the iron bar at the head of the cot.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  Free of the cot, she did so. She heard the heavy links of the chain confining her ankles strike the floor.

  “You will wear the cuff at night,” said Gunther.

  “Yes, Gunther,” she said.

  Gunther slipped the handcuffs, together, into a small leather case, worn at his belt. He buttoned shut the case.

  “And during the day?” she asked.

  “You are shackled,” he said.

  “Yes, Gunther,” she said.

  “Is that not the answer to your question?” he asked.

  “Yes, Gunther,” she said.

  “The experiments are progressing,” said Gunther. “You will shortly be needed.”

  She looked up at him.

  “You will not receive the least opportunity for escape,” said Gunther.

  She put down her head.

  “Do you understand, Brenda?” he said.

  “Yes, Gunther,” she said.

  He then turned and left.

  William smiled, and put down the bowl of warm water, with the towel, and soap, and laid beside them the small, white, folded garment.

  She looked at it.

  “It is identical to the one you are wearing,” he said, “only, of course, it is not filthy, not torn, not marked with blood. It was not dragged through the Rhodesian bush in the middle of the night.”

  “I did not know there was more than one,” she said, numbly, looking at it.

  “You are permitted, of course,” said William, “only one at a time.”

  She looked up at him, then understanding better than before the planning that had taken place.

  “When was it purchased?” she asked.

  “With four others,” smiled William.

  “When?” she asked, looking at him.

  “When you accepted the retainer,” he said, “to come to Rhodesia.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “These garments were here,” he said, “folded and waiting, packed, before your arrival.”

  “When I walked in the gate,” she said, “they were waiting for me.”

  “Yes,” smiled William.

  She put her head down.

  “Don’t put it on,” warned William, “until you are clean and fresh.”

  “Very well, William,” she said.

  “When you are finished,” he said, “knock on ‘the door. I will then bring you water and a shampoo, to wash your hair.”

  Brenda looked at him, gratefully.

  When he left the room she knelt by the bowl and threw off the soiled, tattered garment she had worn. Rejoicing, she cleansed her body of the dirt, the filth, of the bush. She wrapped the towel about her head to keep her hair from her body. She slipped on the new, fresh, pressed, crisp white frock. It was identical to that which she had first worn, thin, very brief, sleeveless. She knocked on the door. “William,” she said.

  The door opened and William entered, with two buckets of water, and a shampoo, and a fresh towel.

  He sat in one of the cane chairs, straddling it, its back to her, watching her wash her hair.

  “The brush and comb,” he said, “when you want them later,
are where you left them.”

  They lay at the side of the wall.

  She knelt before the mirror and ran the comb through her hair, straightening it. She would comb and brush it later, fully, when it was dry. It lay wet and black, matted, straight, beautiful, down her back.

  When she looked at him, he said, “Shave your legs, and under your arms.” He handed her a safety razor, containing a blade.

  She used the soap and water, and the blade, and shaved herself.

  Then she returned the razor, and the blade, to him.

  William picked up the materials he had brought, the buckets, the bowl, the two towels, the other things.

  She stood and faced him.

  “You are very beautiful, Brenda” he said.

  She said nothing.

  “If you are good,” he said, “you will be fed well.”

  She did not respond.

  “Well, Brenda,” he said, “it seems that things are much as they were before.”

  “Yes, William,” she said.

  “Except,” smiled he, “that your ankles are chained.”

  She did not answer him.

  “You have very pretty ankles, my dear,” he said. “They look well in chains.”

  There were only eight inches of chain separating her ankles.

  “Keep yourself clean, neat and well groomed,” he said.

  She said nothing.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  She did.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes, William,” said Brenda Hamilton.

  He turned to leave and then again, for a moment, faced her.

  “Tonight,” he said, “you are to be interviewed by Herjellsen.”

  “What are you?” asked Herjellsen, sharply.

  “A woman,” said Brenda Hamilton. “A woman!”

  “What is your name?” demanded Herjellsen, sharply.

  “Brenda,” she said. “Brenda!”

  Herjellsen leaned back in the cane chair, satisfied. It was only then that Brenda Hamilton realized how different her responses were to such questions than they would have been only two weeks ago. Before, she would have responded unthinkingly, to the first question, “A mathematician!” and, to the second, “Doctor Brenda Hamilton.”

  She knelt before Herjellsen. Her ankles were still chained. But now, too, by Gunther, her wrists had been handcuffed behind her.

  Gunther and William, also on cane chairs, sitting across them, sat to one side, listening.

  “The interview is over,” said Herjellsen, getting up.

  Brenda Hamilton looked up at him, astonished.

  “What do you think of men?” asked Herjellsen, looking down on her.

  “I-I think they are very strong,” said Brenda Hamilton.

  “Do you desire sexual experience?” asked Herjellsen.

  “No!” cried Brenda Hamilton. “No!”

  “Gunther’s report,” said Herjellsen, “suggests otherwise.” Brenda blushed scarlet. She recalled she had, on her knees, begged Gunther to fuck her.

  “That you desire, or do not desire, sexual experience,” said Herjellsen, “is doubtless less relevant to the success of the experiment than whether or not you, yourself, are, by others, found sexually desirable.”

  “Others?” asked Brenda Hamilton.

  “But,” said William, “when a woman does desire sexual experience she becomes, surely, subtly, physically,, more desirable.”

  “You have in mind,” asked Herjellsen, “subconscious body signals?”

  “Yes,” said William, “but even more obvious than that such things as smiling, inadvertent posings and touchings, approaching the male more closely than the culturally accustomed distances.”

  “How do you read her?” asked Herjellsen. He again took his seat on the cane chair. He looked at Hamilton.

  “I have studied her,” said William, “and I read in her body great conflict between resistance and yielding.”

  “I do not find conflict,” said Gunther. “If I snap my fingers, she will lay for me.”

  Hamilton put down her head.

  “I mean more generally,” said William. “For example, today, while I watched her comb her wet hair before the mirror, she was obviously holding herself differently than if I were not present.”

  Hamilton swallowed. She realized she had performed this act differently, when under the eyes of William. She had done it more slowly, more luxuriously, more beautifully, than she would have otherwise.

  “That is natural,” said Herjellsen. “It is only a young female posing before a young male.”

  “Look at her now,” said Gunther. “See the shoulders, back, the belly tight. She is presenting herself to us, even now, as a female.”

  Hamilton put down her head and wept.

  “Do not weep,” said Herjellsen. “It is natural female display behavior. It is quite healthy.”

  Hamilton looked up at him.

  “The only thing to be ashamed of,” said Herjellsen, “is the guilt.”

  Hamilton regarded him, red-eyed.

  “You are really quite beautiful,” said Herjellsen. “Straighten your body, put your shoulders back, draw in your stomach, thrust out your breasts.”

  Tears in her eyes, Hamilton did so.

  William whistled. “A beauty,” he said.

  And suddenly Hamilton was no longer ashamed to be beautiful before men. That right was hers. She was a female. She would be beautiful, boldly.

  “A true beauty,” said William.

  Hamilton looked at Gunther.

  “A slut,” said Gunther.

  Hamilton tossed her head, and did not retreat. She looked away from him, her head in the air. She remained beautiful.

  “Excellent,” said Herjellsen.

  He turned to William.

  “How do you read this woman’s attitude toward Gunther?” he asked.

  “She desires him, intensely,” said William. His voice was flat.

  Hamilton did not look at Gunther.

  “Some women,” said Gunther, “who do not desire sexual experience, are extremely attractive. Their very coldness, their haughtiness, is a taunt to the blood, a challenge. It is great sport to take them, and reduce them to whining, panting whores, to break them to your will, to make them beg for your touch.”

  Hamilton swallowed, painfully. Her shoulders fell forward. She bent forward, her head was down. She was again only a chained, handcuffed girl kneeling before men, at their mercy.

  “Weakness, and fear, too,” Gunther was saying, “can enhance a woman’s sexual attractiveness.”

  “Among mammals,” said William, “one is the aggressor, one the aggressed upon. This is the sexual equation. In most species of mammals, if not all, it is the male which is the aggressor. Sexual aggression in the female commonly neutralizes male aggression and makes consummation of the sexual act impossible. It is a common device used by women hostile to men, to prevent intercourse and insult and punish the male. In their own mind, and in his, if he is uninformed, she appears to be eager for sexual experience and he appears to be unable to satisfy her, or to be impotent. With another woman, of course, he functions normally.”

  “I encountered, twice, such women,” said Gunther. “I beat them.”

  “Scarcely gentlemanly of you, old man,” said William.

  “After they were beaten,” said Gunther, “they responded perfectly.”

  “Abjectly?” asked William.

  “Yes,” said Gunther, “and with numerous orgasms.” He looked at William. “They only wanted to find a man stronger than they were. Strong women, they wanted stronger men, men strong enough to make them women, strong enough to subdue them, completely.”

  “And you were that man?” asked William.

  “Yes,” said Gunther. “In their hearts, like all women, they wanted to submit.”

  “And you made them submit?” asked William.

  “Yes,” said Gunther, “I made them submit.” He looked at William
. “I made them submit to me-completely.”

  “And doubtless they loved it?” asked William.

  “That was not my concern,” said Gunther.

  “What was your concern?” asked William.

  “Their submission,” said Gunther.

  “Did they seem pleased?” asked William.

  “They were obedient,” said Gunther, “and had numerous orgasms. They wished me to keep them with me, on any terms. One was rich.”

  “You see, Gunther,” said Hamilton, “I am not the only woman who is attracted to you.”

  “You were not spoken to,” said Gunther.

  “Forgive me, Gunther,” whispered Hamilton.

  “Weakness and fear, as I said,” said Gunther, “can enhance a woman’s attractiveness.”

  “They provoke the aggressor,” said William.

  “What of servility, and submissiveness?” asked Herjellsen of Gunther.

  “Yes,” said Gunther, “particularly if they are enforced upon her-if she is given no choice.” Gunther regarded Hamilton. “Women revel in groveling,” he said.

  “That is not true!” cried Hamilton.

  “Be silent,” said Gunther.

  Hamilton put down her head. Something deep within her stirred. Though she hated the thought, she knew that she was pleased to have been so sharply commanded. Gunther had given her an order, a strict one. It excited her to obey him.

  “What of helplessness?” asked Herjellsen of William.

  “Yes,” said William, “helplessness in a woman tends to provoke sexual aggression; it stimulates the male. This expresses itself, of course, in countless ways. She needs him, say, to open a window, carry a bag, move a heavy object. Both he and she are conscious of her weakness; she must ask his favor; he readily performs the tasks; she now owes him and she, being weak, being a woman, has only her body with which to pay him. She responds with sexual favors; in the civilized situation, these are trivial-smiles, words of gratitude, an entire body attitude of gratefulness. That the male wants these favors is indicated by his customary fury, should she offer monetary payment. It is her `thanks’ alone he wants. Naturally. Her ‘thanks,’ of course, are a culturally accepted, little understood, muchly desired by the male display of her femaleness before him. Symbolically, he has had her; winning her smile is for him surrogate for the possession of her body.”