There can be many dangers involved for the slaver in the capture of women for slave markets. Accordingly, generally, at any rate, he wishes to take no risks which are not justified.
Too, of course, he has his reputation to consider. When he leads his chain to market he wants it to be a chain of beauties. Too, of course, obviously, he is out to make money on these women. It is thus in his best interest to put up for sale the highest quality merchandise he can obtain. The collar, thus, particularly statistically, is a symbol of excellence and quality, of value, among women. It says, in effect, "Here is a woman whom men have wanted. Here is a woman whom men have found beautiful enough, and desirable enough, to enslave." The slave girl, in her tunic and collar, trembling, kneels in the street before the ornately robed, arrogant, imperious free woman. Perhaps she is even struck or kicked by her. But who, truly, is the superior woman? Many Goreans believe that it is the girl who kneels on the stones.
But, "officially," of course, the functions of the collar are simple. It serves to mark the girl as a slave, and identify her master. The true momentousness here, of course, is not the collar, but what it signifies, the condition of bondage. This condition, also, of course, could be signified in many other ways, for example, by such devices as a bracelet or anklet, or even a ring. But I think that there is no real competitor to the collar.
It is the bondage device, particularly on a girl, par excellence. It is beautiful, and the throat seems the perfect place for mounting the bondage symbol. On the throat it is prominently displayed, for all to easily see. One may see at a glance that she is slave. Too, the throat is beautiful, and soft and vulnerable. How appropriate then that it should be here, in this delicate, prominent and defenseless place that the steel, or the leather or chain, should be placed. Too, where else on the body, that the impossibility of escaping it could be more obvious, could it be placed? Surely the physics of widths dictates such a mounting. But, too, psychologically, where could it be more advantageously placed? Where else on the body might it be placed that its security, its effectiveness and its meaning could be more clearly brought home to its lovely captive?
The collar also, of course, has other utilities. For example, it can be useful in leading her about, either because of its ring, to which a leash may be attached, or in connection with a leash with a snap lock, which can be placed about the collar itself; similarly it is useful, in connection with various forms of hardware, in fastening her to such things as trees and slave rings; her hands, too, can be tied at her collar, making it impossible for her to defend her beauties from the master's assault. Lastly, of course, many animals wear collars; in animals the throat seems a natural place in which to place such an identificatory control and guidance device; the slave girl, too, of course, is an owned animal. Thus it seems appropriate that she, too, wear her device in the same place.
I looked down on the slave before me. She lifted her head to me. It was almost entirely covered by the tightened slave hood. "I thank you for my collar, my Master," she whispered. "I am yours, and I love you." I took her hands in mine and I crouched down, and, lifting them, touched their small fingers to my face. "My Master has removed his mask!" she said surprised. "But then it does not matter," she laughed, wryly, "for I am well and effectively hooded."
I then released her hands and stood before her. Immediately she assumed the position of the pleasure slave.
I looked upon her, at length. She was quite beautiful, the former Miss Henderson, now only a rightless, nameless slave at my feet.
With my hand under her chin I then indicated to her that she should draw herself up from her heels. She did so, this action bringing her body upward and forward, and bringing her knees more closely together. "Master?" she inquired. I then untied the straps of the slave hood. "Am I to be unhooded?" she cried. "But Master is not masked!" I loosened the hood. I might then remove it from her. "Am I to be permitted to see the face of my Master?" she whispered. She put her hands on mine. Her lips trembled. "Truly?" she asked. "Truly?" She felt my hands at the edges of the slave hood. "But wait a moment, Master," she begged. "Let me first kiss your feet!" I permitted this. She put her head down, the slave hood loose on her head. I felt her lips kissing my feet. "I love you, my Gorean master," she said. "I love you, and I am yours." She then lifted her head, the slave hood loose upon it. "Now unhood me, or not, as you will, my Master," she whispered.
I took the hood with my two hands, and, keeping the edges under, getting a good grip on the sides, rolled it an inch or so upward on her face. I could now lift it from her with one motion. Still, of course, as it was placed, she could not see. I looked down upon her. "I love you, and I am your slave, my Gorean master," she whispered.
I flung aside the slave hood and, quickly, holding my left hand behind the back of her neck, covered her mouth, pressing it tightly shut, with my right hand. I feared that she might cry out my name, and that it might then be necessary to put her again under the whip, for such an insolence. Her eyes, over my hand, were wild, and incredulous. I held her mouth pressed shut for some time, that she might collect herself and make her adjustments. Then, when her breathing was calmer, though still deep and swift, I released her mouth. I stepped back from her. I saw consternation in her eyes, and confusion and uncertainty. She did not speak. She did not know what to do. She did not know how to relate to me.
To make it easier for her I went to the wall and removed the slave whip from its hook.
"You?" she said. "You are my Gorean master? It was you who did those things to me?"
"Yes," I said. I shook out the blades of the Gorean slave whip.
"The strength, it was yours?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"And it was you who forced slave yieldings from me?"
"Yes," I said.
"I am unclothed," she said.
"Of course," I said. I saw that she thought of turning from me, and covering with her hands, as best she could, her nakedness. But she did not do so. She still did not know how she must behave with me.
"I was whipped," she said. "Did you do that?"
"Yes," I said.
"I was well whipped," she said.
"Of course," I said.
"This collar?" she said, touching it.
"It is mine," I said.
"Yours?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
I saw that she had not yet called me "Master," but, too, I noted that she had, as well, carefully refrained from using my name. She was a highly intelligent girl.
"Surely you will now take the collar off me," she said.
"No," I said.
"Surely you know the meaning of such a collar on Gor," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I cannot take it off myself," she said.
"I suppose not," I said.
"Then how am I to get it off?" she asked.
"You are not," I told her.
"It designates bondage!" she cried.
"Yes," I said.
She drew back, and looked at me. Then she laughed, with rather an uneasy, forced merriment I thought. "What a joke!" she laughed. "What a little fool I was! I thought for a moment that you were serious, that you might have an actual intention of keeping me as a slave!"
I did not bother responding to her.
"It is a joke!" she cried.
"You have been stripped, and collared and whipped," I said. "Does that seem to be a joke to you?"
"No," she said, suddenly, angrily, "it does not!"
"Do you object, in the least?" I inquired.
"No, no," she said, quickly. "Of course not!" I smiled inwardly. How uncertain she was as to her position, and condition. Slaves, of course, are not permitted to object to what is done to them.
She looked at me. "Now you have made me speak to you as though I might be a slave," she chided.
I did not speak.
"Your joke has gone far enough," she said, uncertainly, "now, please, please, let me rise, and take off my collar and bring me clo
thes."
I did not move. She remained on her knees.
"You cannot be serious about keeping me as a slave," she said.
I did not speak.
"You did not keep me as a slave before," she said.
"No," I said.
"See!" she laughed.
"I have no intention of repeating that mistake," I said.
"You cannot keep me as a slave!" she cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I am a woman of Earth, and you are a man of Earth!" she said.
"Men of Earth have often held women of Earth as slaves," I said. "Surely you are aware of this. Historically, slavery has been one of the most widespread and successful of human institutions. Most of the admired civilizations of the past have, in effect, been founded on slavery. Even today, on Earth, slavery is openly practiced in many parts of the world, and, in other parts of the world, it is known that there are men who keep their women secretly as slaves. Seeing a woman on the street it is often difficult to know whether, in the secrecy of her house, she is a slave or not. Too, who knows what will be the future course of civilizations on Earth. It is not impossible that slavery may again become a widespread and significant component in social fabrics, even in those of technological societies. The future is hard to read."
"Then the fact that I am a woman of Earth and you are a man of Earth need not protect me," she said.
"Of course not," I said, "no more than it has protected other women of Earth who, over the long ages, have found themselves placed in bondage."
"I see," she said.
"Incidentally," I said, "I reject not only your contention as being false, and obviously false, but its supposition, as well."
"Its supposition?" she asked.
"That I am a man of Earth, and you a woman of Earth," I said.
"Surely we are of Earth!" she said.
"It is true that our planet of origin is Earth," I said. "Is that all you have in mind?"
"No," she said.
"What else?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "It is hard to speak to you when I am stripped and kneeling!"
"Our realities have now changed," I said. "We are now of Gor."
"No!" she said.
"You lost the entitlements and prerogatives of the woman of Earth when, in a Gorean slave pen, your lovely thigh was branded."
"Please do not speak so explicitly of my body," she said.
"I shall do as I please," I said.
She put her head down, not responding.
"You were then only a girl of Gor, and a slave," I said.
She looked up, angrily. "And I seem to recall," I said, "that on the Street of the Writhing Slave, you cried out, confessing to me, that she in my arms was now naught but a Gorean slave girl."
She looked at me, angrily. She bit her lip.
"And, as I recall," I said, "she cried herself mine."
She looked at me, in fury.
"Have you forgotten?" I asked.
"No," she said. I was pleased to see that she was too shrewd to lie to me.
"But however you are pleased to view these matters," I said, "it makes little difference to me, whether we think of ourselves as being of Earth or Gor." I looked at her, naked before me. I fingered the slave whip. "Our realities, in either case," I pointed out, "remain much as they are."
"As an Earth man could own an Earth woman, you could own me on Gor?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"May I get to my feet?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
"You cannot own me!" she cried.
I did not deign to respond to so foolish an assertion. Did she not know that she was a branded, collared Gorean slave girl?
"Oh, I know you could own me," she laughed, uneasily, "but I know that you will not choose to own me."
"Why not?" I asked.
"You knew me from Earth," she said.
"That will make the owning of you all the more delicious," I said.
"'Delicious'?" she said.
"Yes, 'delicious'," I said, "my beauty."
"'_Your_ beauty?'" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "'_my_ beauty.'"
"You speak of me as though I were a slave," she said, resentfully.
"You are a slave," I told her.
"But you will free me!" she cried.
"If that were my intention," I said, "it seems strange that I have just put my collar on you."
"But that was surely a joke, a cruel jest," she said.
"Feel the collar," I said.
She lifted her hands to the collar.
"Is it heavy or uncomfortable?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"It is a woman's collar," I said. "But it is close-fitting, of inflexible steel, and securely locked."
"Yes," she said.
"You have worn such collars before, have you not?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"You are familiar with them, and their effectiveness?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Have I offered to remove it from you?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Can you remove it?" I asked.
She looked at me.
"Try," I said.
Pathetically she struggled with the collar. Then, after a moment, she ceased her useless struggles. "No," she said, her fingers still hooked within the locked, obdurate band, "I cannot remove it."
"You may then fairly assume," I suggested, "that it has been fastened upon you."
"I know it has been fastened upon me," she cried. "I cannot get it off!"
"What sort of collar is it?" I asked.
"A slave collar!" she cried.
"Precisely," I said.
"Is it not a joke?" she whimpered.
"No," I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
"I am beginning to grow impatient with you," I said. "Perhaps you should be lashed."
She shrank back. "But you have brought me to our house," she said.
"Not our house," I said, "_my_ house."
"You would keep me as a slave in the very house where once I was free?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "But I have made certain improvements, bars and certain security devices, for example. Also, I have put in a new and stouter kennel for you and a new slave ring at the foot of my couch."
She looked at me, aghast.
"It is my hope that you will like them," I said.
"What sort of man are you?" she asked.
"One who will own you, fully," I told her.
"Then I am to understand," she said, "that it is possible that you might, in all seriousness, choose to keep me as your slave?"
"The choice is already made," I said. "It was made long ago."
"And what did you choose?" she asked.
"Are you stupid?" I asked.
"I am not stupid," she said.
"You speak as though you are stupid," I said. I wondered if, truly, she was stupid. If so, it would lower her value, considerably. I was growing weary of her fencings, her inanities, her protests. Did she think she was a free woman? Perhaps she must soon be reminded that she was a slave. That could be easily done.
"This is Gor," she said. "The choice, of course, is yours, totally." She looked at me, angrily. "What did you choose for me?"
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Freedom," she said, "respect, honor, dignity."
"No," I said.
"--Slavery?" she asked.
"Yes, I said.
"--Full slavery?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her, "total and complete slavery."
"I see that you must be taught the character and will, and the intelligence and power, of a woman of Earth," she said. She rose to her feet. "Take this collar off my neck, fellow," she said. "Do it now!"
I looked at her.
"I am calling your bluff," she said, "--Jason." Then suddenly she screamed, struck by the Gorean slave lash, her body stripped, stumbling across th
e room, striking against the wall, at whose foot she fell. She looked up at me, in terror, from the foot of the wall.
Norman, John - Gor 16 - Guardsman Of Gor v2.txt Page 25
