I found a pan and poured wine into it, shallowly, and put it on the tiles before Elicia who, frightened, putting her head down, drank from it. She lifted her head. "You have made me drink like a she-sleen," she said.
"You are a slave," he said.'
"Yes, Master," she said. He was teaching her her slavery.
"Now," said he, "you will serve me the second wine."
Elicia turned to me, frightened. She knew the second wine which was commanded of her. It was the wine of her slavery. Then she looked to Bosk, terrified.
"I shall withdraw, Master," I said.
"I do not know how to please a man, Master," said Elicia.
I saw this did not please Bosk.
"I do not know how, really, Master," she wept. "Forgive a slave, please!"
"Fetch the whip," said Bosk to me.
I went to fetch the whip.
"I will try, Master!" cried Elicia. Then she looked wildly at me. "Please, Mistress," she begged, "help me! Please help me, Mistress!"
"Does a slave wish assistance?" I asked.
"The slave, Elicia," she said, "begs the aid of Mistress."
I looked to Bosk of Port Kar. "Instruct her," he smiled, "with the whip."
I touched her on the neck with the whip. "Put your head down, Slave," I said. She did so. "Although you are only a slave your master is permitting you to serve him," I said. "This is a great honor." She seemed startled. Then it became clear to her that this was, for her, a slave, an honor. "You have a treasured opportunity," I pointed out, "to serve the master." "Yes, Mistress," she said. "A man such as Bosk of Port Kar," I said, "has many women. Will he keep you for himself, or will he throw you to his men, or sell you or discard you?" She trembled. "If you are not pleasing," I said, "you may be slain." She shuddered. "I will try to be pleasing," she stammered. "Do you wish to serve your master?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "yes, Mistress!"
I pointed to the feet of Bosk. "Hold his feet," I said. "Remove his sandals with your teeth."
She did so.
"Begin now," I said, "to lick and kiss below the left shin." She did so. "Desire to please the master as a slave girl," I said.
"I do," she suddenly said, throatily.
I laughed, and stepped back. She seemed startled. She looked up. There were tears in her eyes. "No!" she said, suddenly. "I did not mean that!"
Bosk laughed and slipped to the furs beside her and threw her on her back. She looked up at him, terrified. "I shall have her instructed in long lovings at my leisure," said Bosk to me. "Obviously she is an ignorant slave."
Elicia squirmed on the furs, the Earth girl in her suddenly fighting to retain her self-image.
"No," she wept. "I am not a slave! I am not a slave!"
Bosk kissed her on the throat, and she closed her eyes. I saw her small hands seize at him.
"I am not a slave," she said to him, her eyes open, sternly.
"Touch her," laughed Bosk to me. "Feel the helpless oil and heat of her."
She cried out in misery.
"Naughty, naughty, Elicia!" I laughed.
She looked at me, in fury.
"You are a slave, Elicia!" I laughed delightedly. I was very pleased to have learned this.
She threw back her head, wildly, twisting it from side to side. Bosk had touched her.
I saw her eyes, wild, trying to retain the image of the Earth girl. Then, suddenly, I saw that she was becoming sensuous, uncontrollable, appetitious. She was fighting the Gorean slave girl in herself. In the arms of a man such as Bosk of Port Kar I did not think her struggle would be successful. He toyed with her resistance, sometimes permitting it to become stronger, sometimes even letting her think she might be able to withstand him, but then again he would begin to induce in her, subtly, the surrender spasms of the female slave. She well knew he was playing with her. "Beast," she wept, "how long will you sport with me?" Many times he brought her to the verge of surrender, teeth clenched, eyes shut, and then let her subside, retaining yet, to her cruel disappointment, a shred of her Earth-girl dignity. "I do not want to be a slave," she would cry. But I could see that her eyes, and her body, locked in his arms, were begging him to complete her conquest. How small she seemed in his arms. "You squirm as a slave girl, Elicia," I observed. "No!" she would cry, in her collar. She tried to hold herself still, rigid, but, when he chose, could not do so. "At his least touch, Elicia," I pointed out to her, "you leap as a slave." "No," she would cry. "No!" But it was clear to me that she wanted him to make her a slave girl. She wanted to be his slave girl. "I will show you," she said to me, "how a woman can resist a man." Then he had rolled away from her, turning his back to her. "I am weary," he said. "I would sleep." I suddenly saw, to my amusement, fear, and keen disappointment, registered on the countenance of the beautiful Elicia. "Master?" she said. She turned to him. She touched him on the shoulder. "Please, Master," she said. "What is it?" he asked. Elicia swallowed hard. I was present. "Please do not stop touching your slave, Master," she said. I laughed, but Elicia was not deterred. "Why?" he asked. "Because I am your slave," she said, acknowledging herself his. I smiled gently, but Elicia did not notice. I saw that she was truly his slave. I felt great happiness for her. "Does the slave Elicia beg the touch of her master?" he asked. "The slave Elicia," she said, "piteously and humbly begs with all her heart the touch of her master, Bosk of Port Kar." He rolled over and seized her. "You are a slave, Elicia," I said to her. "Yes," she said, "I am a slave." Then she cried out to Bosk of Port Kar, "The slave is yours. Take her, Master!" Quietly I withdrew.
Gently, with his foot, Bosk of Port Kar awakened me. I had lain asleep at the foot of the curule chair in the outer room.
"It is nearly midnight," he said to me. "I must be away."
"Yes, Master," I said, rubbing my eyes.
Elicia knelt behind him. Her hands were tied behind her back.
He would take her to the roof and tie her over the saddle of his tarn, carrying her away to Port Kar.
I looked at her.
Her. dark hair was loose about her shoulders. I could see the gold of the earrings almost hidden in the hair, the steel collar on her throat. There is something vulnerable, sensuous and soft about a female slave. She was beautiful in her bondage.
"May a slave speak?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
She looked up at him, his slave. "I know," she said; "that I am to be taken to Port Kar and will there be assiduously interrogated."
"Yes," he said.
"I will speak all I know," she said.
"That is true, Slave," he said.
"But then?" she begged. "What then, when I am emptied of information and can be of no further use to you in your strategies? What then will be done with me? Will I then be bound and thrown to the urts in your canals?"
"Perhaps," he said.
"Is there no hope for my life?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "You are beautiful," he said to her, in explanation.
"I will try to be pleasing," she said. She pressed her lips to his thigh. She had been well conquered.
I had little doubt the beautiful Elicia, even when rendered valueless in the conflicts of worlds, would be kept for the pleasures of men; again I looked upon her; no longer was she a high agent of a mysterious power of interplanetary proportions; she was now only a lovely, bound Gorean slave girl.
"On your feet, Slave," said Bosk of Port Kar to Elicia.
She rose lightly to her feet.
In his hand he had the gag he would fix upon her before taking her to the roof.
"Please, Master," she begged. "A moment, please, Master."
He stepped back.
Elicia approached me, her hands tied behind her, the collar on her throat. "We are both now slaves," she said, "Judy."
"Yes," I said, "Elicia."
"The college seems far away now," she said.
"Yes," I smiled.
"I love you, Judy," she said, suddenly.
"I love you, too, Elicia," I said.
I embraced her, holding her, her arms bound behind her. We kissed.
"I wish you well," she said, "Slave."
"I wish you well, too, Slave," I said.
Then, from behind, Bosk of Port Kar thrust the wadding in her mouth and secured it in place. She faced me, gagged.
Bosk of Port Kar then tied my wrists behind my back. He then gagged me, as he had Elicia. "Your throat," he said, "is for the collar of another." I could not question him, for I had been gagged. He then said to me, "Kneel," and I knelt. "Cross your ankles," he said. I did so. Then, with the loose end of the fiber which bound my wrists, he tied my crossed ankles together, fastening them, thus, to my wrists. Some six inches of strap separated my bound wrists and bound ankles. He then, not speaking further, freed the door of its control chain, slung his gear about his shoulder and, taking Elicia by the arm, conducted her through the portal. I heard them climbing the stairs to the roof.
I knelt alone on the tiles before the opened door. It was after midnight. I was a gagged and bound slave.
In time I heard steps approaching, climbing stairs to the level of the compartments.
My heart leaped. I knew the step.
Clitus Vitellius stepped into the threshold. He looked at me, troubled. I wanted to cry out my love for him, the helpless, vulnerable love of a female slave.
He looked down at me, angrily. I did not understand his anger.
He untied my ankles and I lay before him on the tiles. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I could not do so. I was gagged. Angrily he crouched down and, by an ankle, drew me to him, half under him. With his hands he thrust up the brief skirting I had been permitted as a female slave, and, ruthlessly, used me. I threw back my head, reveling in his touch. Swiftly he finished with me and, cutting a length from the loose end of the strap which bound my wrists, rebound my ankles. My wrists and ankles were no longer bound to one another. I looked at him. There were tears in my eyes. I loved him. I wanted to tell him of my love. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. He did not remove the gag. He did not permit me to speak. He threw me to his shoulder and carried me from the compartments.
27
I Kneel In The Yellow Circle
I lay at his feet, like a pet she-sleen, he, Clitus Vitellius, in his compartments, sitting in a curule chair. His hands were on the arms of the curved chair. He stared moodily out the window, at the towers of Ar.
I rose to kneel before him. "Master," I said. I did not think I could dissuade him. I wore a brief street tunic, his collar.
I put my head upon his knee. I felt his hand in my hair. There was a tear in my eye.
"You trouble me," he said.
"I am sorry," I said, "if I have displeased you."
"I do not understand the feeling I have toward you," he said. He held my head between his hands, and looked down at me. "You are a mere slave," he said.
"Only your slave, Master," I said.
He thrust me from him, to the floor. I looked up at him.
"And you are of Earth," he said, "only a wench of Earth, collared and enslaved."
"Yes, Master," I said, softly.
He stood, angrily. He had, in the past days, treated me with great brutality.
"I fear you," he said, suddenly.
I was startled.
"I fear myself," he said, angrily. "I fear you, and myself," he said. He glared down at me.
I shrank back from him, for I was a slave.
"You make me weak," he said, angrily. "I am a warrior of Ar."
"A slave laughs at her master's weakness," I shouted, angrily.
"Fetch the whip!" he cried in fury.
I ran to the whip and brought it to him, kneeling before him, thrusting it into his hands. I looked up at him, angrily. His hand seized my tunic at the neck and shoulder and prepared to tear it from me, that I might be hurled to the floor at his feet, to be put writhing beneath the sharp discipline of his domination. His hand was on my tunic, the whip was uplifted. Then he released my tunic and threw the whip from him. He held my head between his hands. "Oh," he said, "you are an interesting and clever slave! That is one of the reasons you are so dangerous, Dina. You are so clever, so intelligent."
"Whip me," I begged.
"No," he said, angrily.
"Does Master care for Dina?" I asked.
"How could I, Clitus Vitellius, a captain of Ar, care for a slave?" he demanded.
"Forgive a girl, Master," I said.
"Should I free you?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said. "I could not then help myself. I would oppose my will to yours. I would strive against you."
"Do not fear," he said to me. "I am Clitus Vitellius, of Ar. I do not free slaves."
On the way to the Curulean we stopped at the Belled Collar. There Clitus Vitellius untied my hands, that I might, as though I were still a paga girl there, serve him.
"Will you not force me to the alcove?" I asked him.
"She-sleen," he smiled, sipping his paga.
I saw Slave Beads serving men. It was early afternoon.
"I was quite good as a paga girl," I said.
"I do not doubt it," he said.
Various of the girls whom I remembered, and Slave Beads in particular, had, with the permission of Busebius, the tavern master, spoken with me and kissed me. I think several of them envied me my master, but I informed them that I was being taken to the Curulean, there to be sold.
"Do you need a slave girl, Master," asked Helen, the Earth-girl dancer at the Belled Collar. She put out her hand, timidly, to touch his knee. "Buy me," she whispered. "I will serve you well." He cuffed her sharply back, bringing blood to her mouth. She looked up, frightened, from the floor. "Dance for us, Earth wench," he said. Her accent had betrayed her. "Yes, Master," she said. Before the table, to the music of some four musicians, Helen, commanded, danced before a Gorean master. There were tears in her eyes. Then he dismissed her, and she fled away. I was not displeased.
I saw Bran Loort entering the tavern with a basket of vegetables. He saw me, and looked away. He went to the kitchens. He did small work at the tavern.
"Where is Marla, Master?" I asked. I had regarded her as my greatest rival where Clitus Vitellius had been concerned.
"I sold her to a slaver," said he, "who specializes in the training of dancing girls."
I remembered Marla's long dark hair, her beautiful face, her stunning figure. She would look well, belled, in the dancing sand, I thought. She would be a marvelous dancer.
"I gave Eta," said Clitus Vitellius, "to the guard, Mirus."
"I am pleased, Master," I said. I remembered the young, blond giant, Minis, how he had put her on the coffle in Tabuk's Ford. I had seen they had been intensely attracted to one another. Now he owned her. I thought Eta would be extremely happy. I was much pleased for her. Mirus, I had thought, had been the most attractive of the men of Clitus Vitellius, saving himself, of course.
"Slave Beads, as you know," said Clitus Vitellius, "is now owned by Busebius."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Lehna, and Donna and Chanda," said Clitus Vitellius, "I gave to two of my men, Lehna to one, and Donna and Chanda to the other, for good service in war."
I nodded. It is not unusual among warriors to bestow beautiful slave girls as rewards for good service or valor. Slave girls make lovely gifts.
"Are we to leave soon for the Curulean, Master?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "But first I am awaiting the arrival of a friend."
"May I ask whom, Master?" I asked.
"Only if you wish to be whipped," he said.
I was silent.
"But you know him," said Clitus Vitellius.
I looked at Clitus Vitellius, curious. But I did not ask. I did not wish to be whipped, certainly not before the other girls. There are diverse philosophies of discipline. Some masters believe a girl should be whipped only privately. Others believe she should be whipped whenever and wherever she deserves it, immediately, while her offense, such a
s it is, is fresh in her mind. Clitus Vitellius, perhaps wisely, believed it depended upon the girl and the context. Sometimes punishment is much more effective when a girl must wait for it. Generally a girl is not whipped before another girl who is owned by the same master. They only know, when the door is closed, that their sister in bondage is to be whipped. That is enough for them. I had little doubt, however, that Clitus Vitellius, in the present context, would hesitate to whip in the Belled Collar itself. He knew I would not care to be exposed and publicly put under the leather here where I had worked, and certainly not before the girls I knew. To be whipped with Helen watching, for example, would be almost unspeakable agony. I was very quiet.
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