by John Norman
I then stood up and stepped back, to observe my handiwork. "An advantage of this tie," I said, "is that a girl may kneel in it comfortably for hours, perhaps beside a master's chair, while he works, and is not yet ready for her."
She pulled a little, almost surreptitiously, at the leather on her wrists, leading back to her ankles. "Is this all?" she asked, timidly.
"I see that there are potentialities of this tie which, as yet, you have not discerned," I said.
I then took her by the hair and threw her forward on the blankets, on her belly.
"Struggle," I told her.
She did so, helplessly. Then she ceased her struggles.
"An interesting perspective on a woman," I said. "Too, bound in this position she is seldom in doubt as to the fact that she is a slave. Too, in time, it can be quite painful." She groaned, and I, mercifully, thrust her to her side. She looked up at me, frightened. "Whereas this tie," I said, "is not good for general security, it is quite adequate for specific security, namely, security in a specific situation, in this case, in the presence of the master or a keeper. For example, under observation, you cannot very well employ your right hand in the attempt to undo the knot on your left ankle. If the tie, of course, is accomplished with chains, then it is also adequate for a general security, an aesthetic and delicious general security, a chain neck leash being added, naturally, to restrict movement." I then put her on her back. Her knees were drawn up and her hands held helplessly at her sides. "Now," I said, "I think you can see one of the main virtues of this tie. The woman is quite helpless, absolutely, and there is not the least impedance to the master's approach."
She seemed to shrink back in the bonds.
"Please, untie me," she said.
I thrust apart her knees.
"Oh!" she said.
I held her knees apart, not permitting her to close them.
"I do not want to be tied like this!" she cried. "I did not know it would be like this. I am too helpless! Please, untie me! Free me! Loosen my bonds! Do not keep me tied like this! No! Please!"
I regarded her.
She looked at me in fear. She squirmed, helplessly.
"What do you know of me?" I asked her.
"Nothing," she said, "only that you are my master."
"What might I do to you?" I asked.
"Anything," she said.
I withdrew my hands, permitting her to close her knees, which she did, immediately, clenching them fearfully together.
"You have tied me like a pig," she said.
"The pig," I said, "is not a Gorean animal. To be sure, you are trussed rather like a she-tarsk."
"You have tied me, then," she said, "like a she-tarsk!"
"Do not flatter yourself," I said, "that you enjoy a status as high as either that of the pig or she-tarsk. Your status is lower than that of either. It is that of the female slave."
"You have bound me, then," she said, "as a slave!"
"Now you speak the truth," I informed her.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.
"Whatever I wish," I said.
She moaned. She pulled weakly at her wrist tethers, fastening her wrists to her ankles.
"Do you begin to sense now," I asked, "what it might be for a woman to be bound by a man?"
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"Can you escape?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"Are you powerless?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "I am powerless, totally."
"What will be done to you?" I asked.
"I do not know!" she wept. "I am helpless. I am a slave. I am at your mercy. It is you who will decide what is to be done with me."
"Perhaps I will whip you, lashing you with my belt," I said. "Perhaps I will kick you, again and again, convincing you of your worthlessness. Perhaps I shall kneel across your body, slapping you, methodically, again and again, until you beg for mercy. Perhaps I shall merely, for my amusement, beat you senseless."
"Please, Master, no," she said.
"Perhaps it shall be the quirt," I said. "Perhaps I shall use the quirt on you, lengthily, as on a recalcitrant she-kaiila."
"No, Master," she said. "Please, no, Master!"
"Are you recalcitrant?" I asked.
"I am not recalcitrant," she said. "I am docile, and obedient. I am ready to please you, and I desire to please you."
"Perhaps I will butcher you," I said. "Perhaps I will take you."
She looked at me, in horror.
"Would you prefer to be butchered or taken?" I asked.
"Taken, Master," she said. "I beg to be taken."
"The taking of a free woman," I asked, "in which, to some extent, her dignity, pride and status are respected, or the taking of a slave?"
"I am a slave, Master," she said. "I beg that of a slave."
I looked at her knees, clenched closely together. "Spread your knees apart, widely," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Now beg," I told her.
"I beg," she said.
In moments it was necessary to thrust her hair, balled and wadded, into her mouth, and I put my hand, too, over her mouth. Her eyes were wild. She kicked wildly at the pliant, braided black leather, again and again. Then, mercifully, I unbound her limbs and I let her straighten her trembling body in the blankets. With one finger I pulled the wet hair from her mouth. She was gasping, and shuddering. I held her closely for a few minutes, that she might, while thus warmed and sheltered, make some adjustment to this new dimension which she had discovered in her being.
"What was it?" she whispered.
"It was a small one," I reassured her.
"What was it?" she whispered.
"It was the first, I think, of your slave orgasms," I said. I then rose from her side and threw her the tiny slave tunic. "Put it on," I said. She did so, and I then lifted her gently in my arms and carried her to the chain. I put her down there, on her side, softly, in the grass. When I lifted the opened collar to place it about her throat, she put her hands on my wrists, and softly kissed my hands. She looked at me, her eyes wondrous, and soft.
"I did not know it could be like that," she said.
"It was only a small thing," I said.
"There could be more?" she asked.
"You have not yet begun to learn what it can be, to be a slave," I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
I then snapped the collar about her throat.
"You are done with me, are you not?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"So simply?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
And thus was the former Miss Millicent Aubrey-Welles, once of Earth, once a debutante, once a lesser scion of position and station, of wealth and power, once an element ensconced within an economic and social elite, once a lovely occupant of society's highest tiers, now a property on a beautiful, savage world remote from that which was once her own, returned to the common chain. She was then again in coffle. A girl may be taken from the chain, perhaps to be used, or worked. A girl may be returned to it. They are slaves. It is done with them as masters please.
"May I speak?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Did I please master?" she asked.
"You are a new and ignorant slave," I said, "but your body is of interest, and I speculate that you will eventually prove to be not without promise."
"Doubtless I should thank master for his speculation," she said.
I shrugged.
"And now you are going to leave me here, like this—on a chain, one small, female beast among others?"
"Yes," I said.
"You cannot treat me like this!" she said. And then she said, "Forgive me, Master. I may, of course, be treated as masters wish."
I looked down upon her.
She had much to learn. Did she not know there was a chain on her neck?
She looked up.
"It meant nothing?" she asked.<
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"Nothing," I said.
"And now you are done with me?"
"Yes."
"You put me to your purposes, and now you are done with me, so simply?"
"Yes."
It was nothing, merely a favor for Grunt, of course, opening one of his new slaves, for the pleasure of men.
"Master!" she wept. "Master!"
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do not finish with me so soon," she said.
I smiled.
I had, of course, been heedful of her for Ahn.
This is not unusual. Goreans often make use of their slaves for Ahn, devoting, say, a morning, an afternoon, an evening, a day, to her lengthy and detailed ravishments. Making love is something Goreans do, not something they get over with. Whereas the slave may be used as a snack, and often is, as a bite seized upon the run, so to speak, a simple convenience to be put over a chair or flung to the floor, she may also find herself constituting a number of courses, so to speak, in the master's banquet. In between these courses she may serve in many ways, usually under the vigilance of the master, who enjoys watching her; in the interstices of her more obvious intimacies she may cook, launder, sew, embroider, arrange flowers, prepare Bazi tea, play the kalika, dance, model tunics and chains, and so on. And of course she may be used in her intimacies, in so far as her entire life is not in its way an intimacy, in a variety of situations, places, positions and ties. Also, of course, at least among Goreans, she is treasured as an aware, sentient mind as well as a stripped, collared body. It is the whole woman they want, her naked body, and her naked mind. All is important to the master, and cared for by the master, and all is to be open to him. Her most intimate thoughts and feelings are of interest to him, and are to be as revealed to him as her perhaps supine, spread-eagled, chained body. It is pleasant, for example, to talk with one's slave, to have lengthy, stimulating conversations with her, perhaps concerning art, politics, literature, philosophy, history, and such, or even the small events and interests of her day, she perhaps kneeling leashed before one, stripped and back-braceleted, or perhaps kneeling at one's feet, naked and collared, perhaps polishing one's leather.
In all this, of course, she does not for an instant cease to be slave. In all this she is reminiscent of the beautiful, educated female slaves of the ancient world who were purchased for the pleasure and delight, intellectual and carnal, of sophisticated, demanding masters.
There was a rattle of chain as she thrust her head down to the grass. "Train me more," she begged. "I beg to be put to further use. I have strange feelings in my body. I am uneasy! I am restless! I do not understand my feelings! Hold me! Handle me! Handle me! I beg it! Touch me! Touch me! Train me, if you wish! I beg to be further trained!"
"You are experiencing merely the restlessness of the handled slave," I said.
"Assuage my feelings, please, Master," she said.
"No," I said.
She regarded me, aghast.
"But you have done this to me!" she said.
"You now understand a little better," I said, "what it is to be a female slave."
She clutched the chain on her neck. She jerked at it. It was on her well.
"This, too, then," she said, bitterly, "is part of my training—leaving me like this—with my feelings—is it not?"
"Certainly," I said.
"Masters are cruel," she said.
"It is not yours to question," I said, "but to submit."
"I do, of course," she said. "Have I a choice?"
"No," I said.
I was well pleased with her. She had done well. Now let her cope, as she could, with the new dimensions and horizons which had arisen within her, dimensions and horizons within the new sentient worlds of her experience, the worlds of her mind, body, emotions and imagination. Too, now let her ready herself for the hands of others.
"I sense," she said, bitterly, "that I may soon be ready to crawl to a man."
"You are coming along well, Girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she moaned.
"When you have a regular master," I said, "if you are exquisitely perfect in your service, he doubtless will well, and frequently, content you. Certainly he will not want you whimpering and moaning, and stammering, about his domicile. To be sure your needs will flame regularly, and thus you will continue to be much at his mercy, rather as in the matter of food and drink."
"I am ready to crawl to a man now," she whispered. "To you, Master."
"Rest now," I said.
"Men are so much stronger than we," she said. "We are smaller, softer, slighter. The verdict of nature is clear. Clearly in nature they are the dominant organism. In health, they are the fit rulers in the kingdom of our species. In nature they are sovereign; they guide, nurture, and rule us, and we love and serve them. I respond to their strength, to their domination. I love it that they are here themselves. It is rewarding to me, and fitting, that I submit, and serve. This gives me pleasure. Deep, authentic, reassuring pleasure. It fulfills me. It makes me happy to please and serve them. I am not a man nor do I wish to be. I want to be different from them. I want to be myself. I no longer wish to pretend to be what I am not."
"Get some sleep now," I said. "We will trek tomorrow, and you will have burdens to bear."
"What of the blood on my thigh, Master?" she asked.
"Do not disturb it," I said.
"But the other girls will see it," she said.
"So they will know that you have been opened," I said.
"Master!" she said.
"Let them then envy you your opening," I said.
"Perhaps they will," she said, softly, "—as I have been in the arms of one such as you."
"Of any man," I said.
"What you have done, and how you did it, and as you are leaving me now, still informatively desirous, still informatively restless," she said, "has been, I think, a kindness."
"Absurd," I said.
"No," she said. "It is a kindness."
"You are only on the brink of your slave needs," I said.
"I fear them then, muchly, Master," she said.
"But they will also prove to be the source of inordinate pleasures," I said. "You will find them ingredient in submission, love and service."
"Love?" she said.
"Surely," I said. "But there may often be only the submission, the fear, the ecstasy, the lash—the being of the slave in the power of the master."
"I think it would be hard to be a slave and not love one's master," she said. "Is it not common for an animal to love its master?"
"Perhaps," I said.
"And surely the master," she said, "might in time become fond of the slave. Is it not common for a master to care for what he owns? Is what he owns not special to him, and precious to him? Does he not relish it, rejoice in it, protect it, and guard it? Is it not possible then that a master might, in time, grow fond of an animal, if he owns it, and if it is pretty, and pleasing, and attentive, and loving and devoted?"
"Let us speak of other things," I said.
"You have been brutal with me," she said, "and harsh, and uncompromising, well treating me as the slave I am, but, too, I think, in your way, you have been kind."
I cuffed her to the grass.
"Do not insult the master," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she smiled. "Forgive me, Master."
"Do you know, ultimately," I asked, "who will prove to be your one best trainer?"
"No, Master," she said.
"You, yourself," I said, "the girl, herself, eager to please, imaginative and intelligent, monitoring her own performances and feelings, striving lovingly to improve and refine them. You yourself will be largely responsible for making yourself the superb slave you will become."
"Master?" she asked.
"The collar," I said, touching it, "is put on from without, but what it encircles, the slave, comes from within."
"Master?" she asked.
"Slavery," I told her, "true slavery, comes from with
in, and you, my lovely little red-haired beast, I assure you, as was evidenced by your behavior and performances this night, are a true slave. Do not fight your slavery. Allow it freely and spontaneously, candidly, sweetly and untrammeled, to manifest itself. It is what you are."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"That, too," I said, "will save you many bouts with the lash."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I prepared to leave.
"Master," she said.
"Yes?" I said.
"I am still uneasy," she said.
"Much was done with your body this night," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Squirm in the grass for a time," I said. "Sleep will overcome you. In the morning you will be much the same as before, except for lingering memories, which will better ready you for the service of masters. To be sure, you will never again see men as you did before. And when you have a regular master your needs will place you much at his mercy."
"I want to serve a man, and be so at his mercy," she said.
"You are beginning to learn your basic, radical, primitive and biological womanhood," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I then turned about and left her, on the chain. "Master!" she called, but I did not turn back. She would stay there, on the coffle, where I had put her. She was only a slave.
I returned to my blankets and lay down again, to sleep for a few Ehn before the camp began to stir.
Nothing of importance had transpired. I had merely done a favor for Grunt, my friend, opening a slimly bodied, red-haired girl for him, one of his slaves.
To be sure, she was pretty, and first on the coffle.
14
It is a Good Trading;
Pimples;
I Learn Something of the Waniyanpi;
Corn Stalks;
Sign;
Grunt and I Will Proceed East
The red-haired girl cried out in pain and fear, struck from her knees back in the grass by the plump, scornful woman of the red savages, a sturdy-legged matron of the Dust Legs. She looked up at her in terror. Slave girls know that they have most to fear from free women.
"Wowiyutanye!" hissed the Dust-Leg woman at the frightened girl lying on her side in the grass before her.
"Yes, Mistress," said the girl in Gorean, uncomprehendingly.
