by John Norman
"Yes, Master," I said. How I loved his arms about me!
"You are a splendid natural slave," he said.
"I knew it even on Earth," I whispered to him. Indeed, I had even wondered, strangely, at times, I supposed, if I might not have been a slave in former lives, in other eras, perhaps in the Ancient World or in the Medieval Middle East, in times more in tune with the true natures of human beings, natures as they really were, in themselves, and not as they might be when denied, thwarted, twisted and perverted by ideological insanities. And, at times, recollecting, or seeming to recollect, such times and places, and their naturalness, and rightness, and their fulfillments and ecstasies, I, lonely and yearning, seemingly an exile in the sexual deserts of my own world and time, had wept. But regardless of the truth or falsity of such things, and regardless of the explanations or reasons for the things which lay so deep within me, whether they were recollective or merely the irrepressible fruits of genetic truths, so anomalous in my own time, so uncharacteristic of everything I had been taught, I had known they had lain within me. That was incontrovertible. I knew that I, who was then Doreen Williamson, had been born for the collar. I had never expected then, however, to wear it. I had never even suspected there was such a world as Gor where, as my capture master, Teibar, had put it, "women such as I were bought and sold."
"Of course," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"What was your master like on Earth?" he asked.
"I did not have a master on Earth," I said.
"You, a woman like you, so obviously a natural slave, did not have a master?" he asked, interested.
"No, Master," I said.
"You were not a legal slave on Earth?" he asked.
"No, Master," I smiled. "I did not become a legal slave until I was brought to Gor."
"Surely the men of Earth are somewhat imperceptive," he said.
"Some of them, perhaps, Master," I smiled.
"Here," he said, "we have made good their oversight."
"That is true," I smiled.
He looked down, into my eyes. "You should have been a legal slave on Earth," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I supposed that was true. But then, too, I supposed that many women on Earth should be made slaves. Certainly I had known many women who might have profited, and considerably, in one way or another, from bondage. Certainly I had sometimes speculated what one or another of them might have looked like, as a slave. Also, of course, I had often considered what I myself might have looked like, as a slave. It was for such a reason, I suppose, at least in part, as well as for the stimulation and truth, and fittingness, of it, that I had made the tiny garment of red silk I had had on Earth.
"But doubtless," he said, "even if you somehow managed to escape the collar on your own world, to be caught and rightfully wear it here, women such as you are almost universally held in bondage on Earth."
"No, Master," I said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"Certainly they should be," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, humbly. It was true.
"Here," he said, "they would wear their collars."
"Yes, Master," I said. I did not doubt that that was true. Here, on Gor, women such as I, surely, would be swiftly sorted out, taken in hand, prepared for sale, and sold.
"But, at least, you wear a collar now, as you should," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You are now, at last, a legal slave."
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened. I was now, truly, here on this world, as I might have been in Ur, or Sumer, or Babylon, or Assyria, or Chaldea, or Egypt, or Greece, or Rome, or Persia, or Barbary, a legal slave, a slave held in full legality.
"Does it frighten you," he asked, "to find that you are a legal slave?"
"Sometimes," I said.
"Does it terrify you?" he asked.
"Sometimes," I said.
"That makes no difference, of course," he said.
"I know," I said.
"You are a slave," he said, "whether you like it or not. That is simply what you are, that and only that. You are absolutely helpless to alter or change your condition in any way, as much as a vulo or a tarsk."
"I know," I said.
I felt his hands on my hips.
Sometimes I was terrified by the collar on my neck, knowing its meaning, knowing that it, like my brand, marked me slave, knowing how it put me at the mercy of masters, knowing that anything could be done to me.
His grip was bold. He was a master, I a slave.
I tried to press my belly against him. His hands prevented this.
"You belong in a collar," he said.
"I know, I know!" I whispered.
"You are a superb collar-slut," he whispered.
"Tupita is your favorite," I whispered, frightened.
"No," he said.
"Who then?" I gasped, his grip tight on me, but holding me from him.
"Doreen," he whispered.
"No!" I whispered.
"Are you so afraid of Tupita?" he asked. "She is only a slave."
"I, too, am only a slave," I said, "and she is first girl!"
"She is losing her grip on the girls," he said. "She may not be first girl for long."
"Oh?" I asked. That interested me, that Tupita might be reduced in rank, to being then only one slut among others, she herself then having to kneel to another girl, be subject to her disciplines, and address her as "Mistress."
"Who would be first girl?" I asked.
"It would not be you," he said. "You are from Earth."
"I do not want to be first girl," I said.
"Too," he said, "you are not the sort of woman who should be giving orders, but taking them."
"I am ready to take your orders now," I said.
"Are you no longer afraid of Tupita?" he asked.
"I am a slave," I said, lightly. "I must obey."
"I think it would probably be Aynur," he said, "who would be the new first girl."
"Not Sita?" I asked.
"She has been too closely allied with Tupita," he said. "Do you think Aynur would make a good first girl?" he asked.
"I think so," I said. "She would be strict, but, I think, she would be fair."
"That, too, is the estimation of Hendow," he said.
"I think it is true," I said.
"You have great respect, it seems," he said, "for the judgment of Hendow."
"He is my master," I said, guardedly. I did, in fact, have great respect for the judgment and intelligence of Hendow. Gross and loathsome as he might be, I had never, after our first interview, doubted his probity and acumen, nor, more significantly, from my point of view, his insight and native shrewdness. My most secret thoughts seemed to be open to him. He could read me like a book, or a naked, frightened slave.
"And he purchased you," said Mirus.
"Yes!" I laughed.
I felt his thumbs at the sides of my belly.
"I like these rounded bellies on women," he said. "In them a man may lose himself with pleasure. I do not like those firm, flat bellies on women."
I said nothing. I felt his thumbs. They were not hurting me. I was pleased, of course, that Mirus, such a man, and such a master, found my sort of woman, one running more to the statistical norms of the human female, pleasing, as I wanted him to find me pleasing. Firm, flat bellies are less popular in women with Gorean men than among the men of Earth. Perhaps the Goreans find such bellies rather too much like those of boys, or young men. I do not know. Before her sale a girl is sometimes even forced to drink a liter or so of water, to round her belly more. I had had to do this in Market of Semris. Similarly, and perhaps for similar reasons, Gorean men tend, on the whole, it seems, to prefer normal-sized, lovely breasted, sweetly thighed women, with broad love cradles, as opposed to unusually tall, breastless, narrow-thighed women with narrow hips. Accordingly, such women, regarding themselves as unusually desirable by Ea
rth standards, probably have little to fear from the slaver's noose, unless they can compensate in other ways, as by an unusual beauty of features or an extremely high intelligence. A woman who regards herself as a beauty on Earth might, accordingly, find herself laboring in the public kitchens or laundries on Gor. She would then have to learn, from the beginning, so to speak, and perhaps lengthily and painfully, how to please men as best she can, within her imposed physical limitations. And some of these girls, I understand, eventually, in spite of these limitations, become jewels and treasures to their masters. The most important criteria for slave selection, however, I suspect, are such things as having extremely strong female urges and incredibly profound emotional depths.
"Perhaps Master desires to remove the belt from me," I said. "As I am bound, I cannot do so."
"Do you know that you are beautiful?" he asked.
"Some men have been kind enough to tell me so," I said. "I do not know, of course, if they are correct or not."
"They are correct," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said. It pleased me if Mirus should find me beautiful. He was a strong and handsome master. I wanted to serve him.
"Are you familiar with the ratings posted in the baths?" he asked.
"I have heard of such things," I said, reddening.
"In several of them," said he, "you now hold highest ranking in the tavern of Hendow."
"Higher than Inger?" I asked. "Than Aynur, than Tupita?"
"Yes," said he. "In some of them, at least."
"I am not better than them, really," I said. "I am sure of that."
"That is for men to decide," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.
"But," said he, grinning, "you are probably right. You are all, doubtless, ultimately, very similar. You are all marvelous slaves. Such ratings are notoriously subjective. Some women will appeal more to one man, and some to another. Too, you are newer, and thus fresher to the tastes, and this perhaps accounts at least in part for your position in the rankings. When your popularity has crested you will perhaps subside to being merely another luscious and marvelous slave."
I looked at him.
"Too, you are a dancer," he said, "and this has undoubtedly improved your position. Many dancers, even plainer ones, hold high rankings."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But one thing is certain," he said, "such rankings, even granting their subjectivity, and their silliness, and all the nonsense and absurdity associated with them, point to something, and that is your beauty and desirability."
I looked at him, frightened.
"You are one of the most beautiful and desirable slaves in Brundisium," he said.
"I am in your grasp," I whispered.
I would have pressed my belly against him but I could not do so. He held me from him. I would have reached forth to touch him, but I could not do so. My hands had been bound behind my back, by his will.
"Hendow has received several offers for you," he said, "excellent ones, but he has not sold you."
I was startled. So simply I could change masters!
"Do you wish to know their nature?" he asked.
"Curiosity," I said, humbly, "is not becoming in a kajira."
"Very well," he said.
"Please! Please!" I begged.
"Two of them were from other tavern owners," he said. "But several have been from private individuals."
I wondered what it would be like to have a private master. I would surely try to serve such a one well. Almost all girls hope, someday, to have a private master.
"What were the amounts?" I asked, eagerly.
"You are a slave, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said.
"One was for seven tarsks," he said.
"Seven!" I cried. "I am not worth so much."
"True," he said. "I myself only offered five."
"Five!" I cried.
"Yes," he admitted.
"You made an offer on me?" I asked, delighted.
"Yes," he said.
I wondered what it would be like to be owned by Mirus. Slaves often wonder what it would be to be owned by this man, or that. I found him extremely attractive. If he purchased me, I would certainly try to serve him well. Of course, too, any man who purchased me I would have to serve well, and, indeed, as I was a Gorean slave girl, in so far as I could, perfectly.
"I am not worth five tarsks," I laughed.
"True," he said.
"Why, then, did you offer so much?" I asked.
"I was drunk," he said.
"Tonight," I said, "I am not scheduled to return to the floor."
"I know," he said.
"Master prepared the schedules," I laughed.
"Yes," he said.
"Summon me to your quarters," I whispered. "I will show you that maybe I am worth five tarsks after all!"
"Perhaps I will summon Tupita," he said.
"No, Doreen," I said.
"Did you know that Hendow is thinking of placing restrictions on your use?" he asked.
"Why would he do that?" I asked.
"I think he is fond of you," he said.
"I am pleased, if my master finds me pleasing," I said.
"Has he never ordered you to him?" asked Mirus.
"No," I said.
"Interesting," said Mirus. "Normally he disciplines new girls well."
I shuddered. I had no doubt that Hendow, my master, could discipline a woman well. He seemed remote, and mighty. He was the master of the entire tavern, and of all the girls. There were twenty-seven of us. I was terrified of him.
"But I do not think he will really put restrictions on your use," he said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I do not think it would be good for your discipline," he said.
"I understand," I said. In relationships between men and women, it is a common observation that the relationship tends to be improved considerably when the woman is subject to his usage. When she knows that a fellow may, if he wishes, simply hurl her to his feet and put her to woman uses, she is likely to behave rather differently toward him than toward one who does not have this power over her.
"You have not displeased him lately, have you?" asked Mirus.
"Not to my knowledge," I said. "I hope not."
"Something is going to be done to you," he said.
"What?" I asked, apprehensively.
"But if you have not displeased him lately," he said, "I gather that it is not being inflicted as a punishment."
"What?" I asked.
"You haven't heard?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"A leather worker is coming to the tavern tomorrow, with his kit," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought someone would have told you."
"What?" I asked.
"It is nothing to fear," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"It is done to many slaves," he said.
I looked at him, frightened.
"You have not displeased Hendow?" he asked.
"I do not think so," I said.
"That is what I thought," he said. "Then it is being done merely to improve you, to make you even more desirable."
"Please, Master," I said, "I am a helpless slave. What is to be done to me?"
"Hendow is going to have your ears pierced," he said.
I looked at him, disbelievingly.
"It is true," he said, gravely.
I tried not to laugh.
"What is wrong?" he asked.
I laughed, unable to help it, out loud, in his grasp.
"I do not understand," he said.
"That is all?" I asked.
"All?" he asked. "Do you not understand the gravity of this?"
"I always wanted to have my ears pierced," I said. "Only I never had the courage."
"You wanted it?" he asked, startled.
"Yes," I said.
"What a slave!" he breathed.
; "Oh?" I asked. To be sure, I was a slave, in my heart, as well as now, on this world, whether I wished it or not, such, and helplessly such, in all public legality.
"Surely you know that if such a thing were done to you," he said, "no man thereafter could look upon you except as a slave."
I laughed. "I am a slave," I said.
"It is so barbaric," he said.
"Perhaps," I said.
"How exciting you will be with your ears pierced," he said.
I smiled.
"You do not mind?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Interestingly enough," he said, "once it is done, afterwards, few girls mind. Indeed, many are thrilled with what has then been done to them, and are eager to display themselves to men in their new condition, and delight and revel in the new ornaments which they may then wear, so excitingly enhancing their appearance."
"I can understand that," I said.
"You see," he said, "it makes available to them a diverse and fantastic array of new adornments."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"How beautiful you will be in such adornments!"
"It is my hope I will be pleasing to masters," I said.
"You must understand, of course," he said, "that there are dangers inherent in having your ears pierced."
"What dangers, Master?" I asked.
"Those attendant on having been made additionally desirable to strong men," he said.
"I understand," I said. I had recognized, of course, that such things as my garb, or lack of it, my brand, burned into my body, my collar, which I could not remove, placed on me by men, and such, and, above all, my condition, that of slave, had made me far more sexually stimulatory to men than I would otherwise have been but I had never, along the same lines, given much thought, or at least in detail, to the idea that, in this culture, similar effects might be consequent on things which, from the point of view of a girl from Earth, were as simple and familiar as having pierced ears or wearing earrings. To be sure, pierced ears, and wearing earrings, were stimulatory, too, I was sure, even to men of Earth, or, at least, to those who were capable of responding to such things, the piercings of the woman's flesh, with its allegory of penetration, of her appropriate submission to the mastery, and the use of these piercings, marking and recollecting them, to mount upon her beautiful adornments. I had sensed the barbaric and sexual connotations of these sorts of things on Earth, and, perhaps because of them, had always feared to have my ears pierced there. Here, of course, it was going to be done to me, whether I wished it or not. I was not discontented. I was, indeed, extremely pleased.
