Explorers Of Gor

14
A Girl Becomes More Beautiful; I Must Take My Leave Of Sasi

Sasi opened the door.

"Master," she said.

"Prepare a chain for the new girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I do not think Sasi was too pleased when I carried the blond slave over the threshold and placed her on the straw by the slave ring. Gorean slaves, incidentally, are commonly carried over the threshold when they first enter a master's house or place of residence. This is reminiscent of a bridal custom on Earth, of course. That custom, an ancient one, makes tacitly clear the bride's ownership by the male, and has clear implications of capture and bondage. It is natural that the bride desires this ceremony, and will plead for it. The oafish male, commonly, does not even understand what is going on. He should, of course, take her directly to the bed, and throw her upon it, his.

Women wish to be the slaves of their men. What woman would want a man who is not strong enough to be her master?

Not all Gorean slaves, of course, are carried over a threshold. Some are leashed and enter on their hands and knees. Some, perhaps bound and collared, are thrust through. The common denominator of these customs, of course, is that the slave must understand that force, either explicitly or implicitly, is involved, and that she will enter the stronghold of the master, and as a slave, whether she wills to do so or not.

"Is that not the girl from the Palms of Schendi?" asked Sasi. The blond girl. exhausted, was still asleep.

"Yes," I said.

Sasi fastened a short chain to the slave ring, locking it, with its own lock, on the ring. She then, with a key, the same key which would open the chain lock, opened the chain's ankle ring.

"What do you want her for?" asked Sasi. She handed me the opened ankle ring.

"She interests me, at least for the moment," I told her. I shut the ankle ring then on the blond's left ankle. She was secured. Sasi rose and put the key on a hook to one side of the room. Near it, on another hook, there hung a slave whip. From one of the overhead beams, near the side of the room, there was a whipping ring, to which a slave could be tethered, which could be lowered. It was a furnished room. Slaves, it must be understood, are not that uncommon on Gor.

I covered the blond with one of our blankets. The poor thing was exhausted.

"You did not carry me across the threshold," said Sasi.

"You were bound in a blanket, and on my shoulder," I said, "when I entered this room."

"I mean before," she said.

"No," I said, "I did not. I did, however, if you will remember, when first I used you, order you to my blankets."

"I have never forgotten," she said. She shuddered with pleasure, remembering the moment. "I was simply ordered to your blankets," she said.

A similar sort of thing is done sometimes when a master brings home a new girl to a house which is completely empty, if necessary, by prearrangement, and new to her, and orders her to enter alone. "Warm wine," he tells her. "Light the lamp of love. Spread furs. Crawl naked into them, and await me."

"Yes, Master," she says.

She then enters the house, obeying. Not a shackle or a cord is on her body. But few women could be more slave than she, entering fearfully the strange, empty house, and preparing herself for her master's pleasure.

"It is difficult to convey to a man," she said, "the feelings of a woman at such a time."

"They are the feelings of a slave," I said.

"So simply put!" she said. "Yes," she said, "they are the feelings of a slave. But I wonder if a man, ever, will truly understand what a woman's collar can mean to her… I wonder if he, ever, truly, will be able to fathom the nature and depth of the emotions of the woman who kneels at his feet."

"Surely free women, too, have emotions," I said.

"I was free," she said. "I did not know what it was to feel until I became a slave. I was free. There was no need to feel, or be aware. But this has changed since I became a slave. I must now be sensitive to the feelings of others. I have never been so aware of other human beings as now. And I cannot always have my way, and I must yield to male domination. I can be commanded, and I must obey, and be pleasing. This answers to something very deep in me, Master."

"Of course," I said, "to the slave in you."

"Yes," she said, "to the woman, and slave, in me."

"They are the same," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"It is hard to be a man," I said, "until one stands in a relation to a woman. And, I suppose, it is hard to be a woman until one stands in a relation to a man."

"What relation," she asked, "Master?"

"That of the natural order of nature," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I looked at her. "I cannot know well the nature of your feelings," I said, "but I know, and well, that women are deep as well as beautiful."

"We are so different from you," she said. "I fear you will never understand us."

"It is doubtless easier to put you on your knees and push the whip to your teeth than it is to understand you," I said.

"The man who truly understands us," she laughed, "is the first to put us on our knees and make us kiss the whip."

'Take off my sandals," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "Never until I was a slave," she said, "did I feel so helpless, alive and vulnerable."

I said nothing.

"I must untie your sandals," she said. "I must crawl to you, if you wish. I must do anything you want. I am happy."

"Attend to your work," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she had removed the san-dais. She kissed them, and looked up at me.

"Tonight," I said, "before I leave the room, I will pierce your ears."

'Thank you, Master," she said.

"You will then be," I said, "for all practical purposes, irrevocably a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "You do understand us, don't you?" she asked.

"It will improve your price," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

"I think also," I said, "I will pierce her ears, too." I indicated the sleeping blond girl. She had been an agent of Kurii. I decided that I would guarantee, for all practical purposes, that she would remain in a collar on Gor. I would pierce her ears.

I looked over to the sleeping girl, so worn and exhausted. I went over to her and, with one hand, lifted the blanket away from her. She stirred, troubled, sensing the difference in the temperature, the air, upon her skin. "No," she whimpered, softly, in English. "I do not want to get up." How beautiful she was, lying soft and helpless in the straw. She stirred again, and lifted her knee, shifting the position of her shackled ankle. "No, I do not want to get up," she whimpered, in English. She reached down, searching for the blanket. I then held her by the upper arms. "Oh!" she said, half awakening, twisting. But I held her. "Oh," she said, "oh," suddenly, rudely, returning to a slave's reality, then understanding that she lay in straw, her back on a wooden floor, held in the arms of a man. She moved her ankle, frightened, and felt the shackle and chain.

"Who is it?" she asked. I did not speak to her.

"Is it my Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Who is my Master, please," she begged. I said nothing to her.

"Who is my Master!" she cried out, miserably.

"I am," I told her.

"Who owns me?" she begged.

"I do," I told her.

She turned her head to the side, and moaned. Then she again turned her face toward me, its upper portions obscured by the black, knotted blindfold.

"Why are you holding me like this?" she asked.

I said nothing to her.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

I did not speak to her.

"What do you want of me?" she asked. "Oh, no, please," she said. "I am a virgin!" Her lip trembled. "No, please!" she said. She tensed. "No," she said, "please, no, please do not take my virginity like this, not like this. I am blindfolded! I cannot see you! I cannot even see you. I want to see who takes my virginity from me!" Then she cried out, softly, and wept.

"It was your Master, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

I held her very still.

"How sweet and strong it is," she breathed. "And how helplessly I am held. I could not escape now, unless you were to release me."

I did not speak.

"Would Master deign to kiss a slave?" she asked.

I put my lips, gently, to hers, and she lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, and kissed me, and then she put her head back to the straw and the floor.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"This first time," I said, "doubtless it is difficult and painful for you."

"It does not hurt," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"I have never been had before," she said. "I did not know what it was like, to lie like this."

"Do you like it?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "yes, Master." She then held my arms. "Master," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"I begin to feel like I want to respond to you," she whispered. "May I move, Master?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh," she. said, softly, moving, "I did not know it could be like this. Never before have I been locked in a man's arms in this fashion. How sweet it is. How helpless I feel. I am beginning to become excited, Master. I am beginning to become terribly excited, Master!"

She lifted her lips, suddenly, to me, and kissed me, and then she put her head back, and turned it from side to side, lost in her pleasure and in the darkness of the blindfold.

Suddenly she clutched my arms. "Master!" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"We are completely alone, are we not?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Oh!" she cried out in misery. "Oh, no!" Then she asked, "who else is present?"

"Another woman," I told her;.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" she wept "No, not"

"Do not fear," I said. "It is only another slave."

"Behold how the brute abuses me!" she called out "What we women suffer at the hands of such beasts!"

I was startled. Sasi looked at me, puzzled.

"Rape me as a slave," she called out "You will get no pleasure from me!"

That seemed to me highly unlikely.

Then the chained girl lay back, pressing her hands against me, her head turned to the side.

"Have your will with me," she said. "I am inert. I can endure. It means nothing to me."

"Are you being troublesome?" I asked her.

"No, Master," she said.

"Have you felt the whip?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you wish to feel it again?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"You, then," I said, "have my permission to again respond."

"Surely," she said, "you did not think I was earlier responsive to you?"

"You now have my permission to again respond," I said.

"I cannot possibly respond with another woman in the room," she whispered to me. "Surely you must understand that, Master."

"Respond," I told her.

"I am commanded?" she asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes," I said.

"How can you command such a thing?" she asked.

"As I have done," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And, further," I said, "you will respond as a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said, miserably. She began to move, timidly, slightly, about me.

"I will try to forget that there is another woman in the room," she said.

"No," I said, "keep it clearly in mind."

"Master?" she said.

"Show her your slave heat," I said.

"But should one not be ashamed of one's passion?" she asked.

"Why?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said.

"Is there any rational reason?" I asked. "I do not doubt there may be many irrational reasons, or causes."

"Perhaps because, in a man's arms, it makes a woman a slave," she said.

'That," I said, "is doubtless true, but it is a reservation which, if pertinent at all, is pertinent only, surely, to free women."

"Yes," she said, uncertainly.

"You are already a slave," I said.

"Yes," she said…

"It is permissible, I suppose," she said, "for a slave to be passionate."

"It is not only permissible for a slave to be passionate," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

I held her very tightly.

"Yes Master," she whispered.

"A slave," I said, "must be passionate."

"Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, 'the slave girl has no choice. She must be passionate."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Moreover," I said, "she is to be proud of her passion. It is one of the most splendid, and beautiful and joyful things about her."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Begin," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She began to move, and try to kiss me.

"Oh, no," she said. "I am too miserable. It is too embarrassing."

"Continue," I told her.

"But if I continue I may become excited," she said.

"You will become excited," I told her.

"But there is another woman present," she said.

"Move," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she sobbed.

"Be proud of your slave heat," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Show her your slave heat," I said.

"Yes, Master," she sobbed. Then, in a few moments, despite her intent, I heard a moan of pleasure escape her. "Oh, no," she added.

"It is not wrong to experience sexual pleasure," I told her.

"But there is another woman present," she said.

"Show her your slave heat," I said.

"Forgive me," she cried out, calling to whoever might be in the room, "I cannot help myself. The Master is exciting me!"

"Master," said Sasi, unable to restrain herself. "Withdraw from her! Let me serve your pleasure!"

"No, no!" said the blond-haired barbarian, clutching me. "He is with me now!" Her lip trembled. "Do not withdraw from me," she begged.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I want to serve your pleasure," she whispered.

"What do you know of serving a man's pleasure," said Sasi. "Beg his forgiveness for disappointing him, and let him seize me in his arms."

"No!" said the blond-haired barbarian. Then she said to me, "I am sorry if I disappoint you, Master."

"You have not yet disappointed me," I said.

"I will try not to disappoint you, Master," she said.

"Let me serve your pleasure, Master," begged Sasi.

"It is now I who am serving his pleasure!" said the blond girl.

"If you call that serving his pleasure," said Sasi.

"Help me," begged the blond girl.

"Lift your body against his," said Sasi, "squirm, kiss!"

The blond moaned with misery. "That is like a slave," she whispered.

"Obey!" said Sasi.

"Is she first girl?" asked the blond.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes, Mistress," said the blond, miserably. Then she obeyed, for she was a slave. From time to time Sasi and I made simple suggestions to the blond who, for the first time, was being ravished. We forced her to cooperate in her rape. I began to grit my teeth.

"Stop moving," I told her.

She stopped moving. But she did not want to stop moving. She clutched my arms.

"My passion is making me a slave," she whispered.

"You are already a slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Passion, technically," I said, "has nothing to do with the imposition of the yoke of slavery. It is, of course, afterwards required of the enslaved woman. Passion is commanded of her."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"The sense in which passion makes you a slave," I said, "is that it puts you in what is in effect a slave's position, helpless, yielding, submitting to the master."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"But you will not even begin to know what true passion is, ignorant girl," I said, "until you have been longer a slave."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"You may begin again to respond now, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she began again to move and, soon, was crying out, softly.

"I think she will be a hot slave," I said to Sasi.

"Yes," said Sasi, "I think so, Master."

"Please do not use those words of me," she begged.

"Say," I told her, " 'I am proud to be a hot slave. "

"I am proud to be a hot slave," she cried out, miserably.

"And you are proud of it, you know," I told her.

She clutched me, startled. Her lip trembled. "Yes," she said, suddenly, "it is true. How incredible! I am proud! I am proud to be a hot slave!"

"Of course," I told her, "Slave."

"No, no!" she said. "I am ashamed to be a hot slave!"

"Whether you are proud or ashamed," I told her, "in any event, you are a hot slave."

"Yes, Master," she said. That could not be denied.

"I come from a far world," she said. "The girl from that world is ashamed. The girl on this world, the slave, is not ashamed. She is proud." She put her head to the side. "How shamelessly proud she is," she said.

"The girl from the far world," I told her, "no longer exists. What exists now, in her place, is herself transformed, herself become a beautiful slave at the mercy of a master."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What is the name of your former world?" I asked.

"It is called Earth," she said. "Have you heard of it, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Her women are not unknown in our markets."

"Oh," she said.

"They make excellent slaves," I said.

She said nothing.

"Do you find that hard to believe?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. Then she lifted her lips, and kissed me. "Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"You took my virginity," she said. "Now, I beg you, consummate your will upon me."

"Do you beg as a slave?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I beg as a slave."

"Beg," I told her.

"Take me," she begged. "Make me yours. Have me, as your slave."

"Do you yield," I asked her, "fully and completely, and as a slave?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered. "I yield, fully and completely, and as a slave."

I then took her.

"I thought it might be you, Master," she said, lifting her lips from my feet.

I had removed her blindfold.

It was now the sixteenth Ahn, several Ahn after I had taken the slave's virginity.

"From the first instant I saw you," she said, "I dreamed of being your slave. Now it is true."

"Help Sasi clean the dishes," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She put her fingers to her ears, and turned her head, from side to side, looking at the rings in her ears.

"They are very beautiful," she said, regarding herself in the mirror.

They were of gold, about an inch in diameter. I had pierced her ears, and put her in them.

"How glorious it is to again see," she said. The blindfold lay discarded, to one side. She was no longer shackled to the slave ring.

Seeing my eyes upon her, she knelt. "Am I beautiful, Master?" she asked.

"Almost," I told her.

She looked, kneeling, in the mirror. "I do not wish to sound vain," she said, "but I think that I must be as beautiful as almost any woman upon Earth."

"You doubtless are," I said. "But are you as beautiful as a Gorean slave girl?"

"Surely, Master," she said, "that would depend on the Gorean slave girl."

"Do you think you are as beautiful as the general run of Gorean slave girls?" I asked.

She put down her head. "No, Master," she said, "I do not. I did not know such women could exist, until I saw several in Cos, when I was free, and some on the wharves of Port Kar and Schendi, after I myself, sold in a market, became a slave." She looked at me. "Sometimes," she said, "it seems almost wrong that a woman should be so beautiful and desirable."

"Why?" I asked.

"I do not know," she smiled. "Perhaps it is because I am not so beautiful and desirable. Perhaps it is because men are so fond of them. Perhaps I am jealous of their beauty and desirability, and am envious because they, and not I, are found so attractive by men."

"It is natural for the ugly to find an error in beauty," I said.

"I am not ugly, am I?" she asked.

"No," I said, "you are not. Indeed, you are almost beautiful."

"I wonder if Gorean men, such as yourself," she said, "understand how fortunate they are, that there should be such women on their world."

"Are their not plenitudes of such women on your world," I asked, "beautiful and desirable who, loving and helpless, beg to serve and please?"

"How you Gorean beasts," she said, "take naively for granted the glorious riches at your disposal."

I shrugged.

She looked at me. "How ir it," she asked, "that on your world things are not as on my world?"

"Gorean men are not weaklings and fools," I said.

She looked at me.

"They have not chosen to surrender the dominance which is the blood and backbone of their nature."

She swallowed hard.

"They keep it," I told her.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes, what?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What of me?" asked Sasi. "Am I not beautiful? Are not my earrings lovely?"

"Yes," I said, "you are beautiful, and your earrings, you little she-sleen, are marvelous upon you." Sasi's earrings, too, of gold, were the same as those of the blond-haired barbarian.

"Thank you, Master," she said. Sasi was in a good mood. After I had had the blond this morning, early, upon returning from the tavern of Pembe, I had slept for several hours. But when I had awakened I had contented her slave appetites. We had then eaten, from foods which she had, during my rest, I having given her a few coins, purchased in Schendi. Some of this food I gave to the blond who, at that time, was still blindfolded. I thrust it, some bread and fruit, in her mouth, while she had knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. This is something done with a girl in her first feeding, or feedings, and may, upon occasion, be repeated. She is fed as an animal, and from the hand of the master, and while in the position of the pleasure slave. This helps to reinforce the centrality of her condition upon her. This helps her to understand what she is.

"At least," smiled the blond, "I am almost beautiful."

"Perhaps," I said, "You will someday become beautiful."

She looked at me.

"Women grow in beauty, and slavery," I told her.

She looked in the mirror. "Beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "I think that someday you may find that you have become beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl."

Her eyes were startled.

"Yes," I said, "I think that possibly one day you will find that you have become exquisitely beautiful and desirable, and that your least movement, that of even a wrist or hand, or smallest expression, will be tormentingly attractive to a man. You may then tremble in terror, for you will have become a beautiful Gorean slave girl."

"I am afraid," she said.

"Of course," I said.

"I am afraid to be beautiful," she said.

"Naturally," I said. "But I am afraid you will not be able to help yourself."

"But as I become more beautiful, and desirable," she said, "I would become more helpless, more a slave, more than ever at the mercy of these mighty men of Gor."

"Yes, I said, "of course. You would be then only their helpless, beautiful slave."

"How fearful," she said.

I said nothing.

"Do you truly think I might become beautiful?" she asked. She lifted her hair over her head, straightening her body, and regarded herself in the mirror.

"Yes," I said.

She then removed her hands from her hair. Behind her, her hair came, falling, to the sweetness of her shoulder blades. This was a bit short for the hair of a Gorean slave girl. Their hair, as is required by most masters, is usually somewhat long. There is more that can be done with long hair, both with respect to adding variety to the girl's appearance and in the furs, than with short hair. Sometimes the girl is even tied in her own hair. Most importantly, perhaps, long hair is beautiful on a girl, or surely, at least, on many girls. Too, many masters enjoy unbinding it, before ordering a girl to the furs. Unbinding a girl's hair, on Gor, incidentally, is culturally understood as being the act of one who owns her. A free woman, captured, whose hair her captor unbinds, usually the first time by the stroke of a knife, a precaution against poison pins and other devices, knows full well by this act that she will soon be made his slave. Many Gorean masters, incidentally, shape and trim the hair of their own girls. This is less expensive than having it done in a pen. Too, it is pleasant to cut the hair of a girl one owns. She generally kneels, a wrap of rep-cloth about her shoulders, while this is done. Beneath the wrap of rep-cloth, of course, she is naked and in the position of the pleasure slave. When one is through with the cutting it is then convenient to have her.

She looked at herself, kneeling, in the mirror.

"The earrings are beautiful," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. She brushed her hair back with her two hands and, turning her head from side to side, her finger tips at her ears, again regarded herself.

She had the vanity of a lovely slave.

"What do you see in the mirror?" I asked.

"A slave girl," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"A girl to be bought and sold, and abused for a master's pleasure.

"Of course," I said.

"I may not be beautiful," she said, "but I am delicate and lovely, am I not?"

"Yes," I said, "you are."

"Could you truly bring yourself to put me beneath your heavy and uncompromising will?" she asked.

"Certainly," I said.

"You could, and you will, won't you?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Could you whip me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"It is a strange feeling, being a slave," she said.

"You will grow used to it, Slave Girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I went to her, behind her, standing there, before the mirror.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"A slave girl," she said, "at the feet of her master."

I put my hand in her hair, and turned her head, from side to side. Then I stopped.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"A slave girl, at the feet of her master," she said, "his hand in her hair, commanding her, making her do what he wishes."

I then, with my hand in her hair, turned her to the side and bent back her body, exposing, as she knelt there, helpless, the lovely slave bow of her beauty.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"A displayed slave," she said. I did not release her. Suddenly she said, "No! Oh, no!"

I waited for a full moment, holding her helplessly there, letting her see well whatever it might be that she saw. And then I released her. She knelt there, terrified, shuddering, before the mirror.

"What did you see?" I asked.

"It is hard to explain," she said, shuddering. "Suddenly, for a fearful moment, I saw myself as incredibly beautiful, as beautiful as I might someday be, but the beauty was not the cool and formal beauty of a free woman, something I can understand, but the hot, sensuous, helpless beauty of an owned slave, and I was the slave! And, too, for a moment I thought I understood how such a woman might look to a man. It was so frightening! How we must fear that they might simply seize us and tear us to pieces in their lust! Then suddenly I understood the brand and collar, the whip, the chain! Of course they would brand us, marking us as their own. Of course they would put us in steel collars, which we could not remove! Of course they could chain us to their walls and slave rings! Of course they would use the whip unhesitantly upon us if we were in the least displeasing!"

She knelt before the mirror, shuddering. "Perhaps now," I said, "you understand, in some small particular, what it is for a woman to be attractive to a man."

"They want us," she whispered, frightened, "literally."

"Yes," I said.

"They want to own us," she said, "own us!"

"Of course," I said.

"I did not know such desire, such lust, could exist," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"And I could be owned by such a man," she said. Then she looked up at me, and then, suddenly, put down her head. "And I am owned by such a man," she said, trembling.

"And what do you feel of this?" I asked.

"Nothing on my own world has prepared me for this, Master," she said.

"There is a stain of blood on your thigh," I said.

"My Master took my virginity," she said.

"You are now a red-silk girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, "I am now a red-silk girl."

"Whose red-silk girl?" I asked.

"Your red-silk girl, Master," she said.

I walked back to the center of the room and turned, facing her. She knelt before the mirror.

"Stand up," I told her. She did so.

"Turn and approach me," I said. "But I am naked," she said.

"Do you wish for me to repeat a command?" I asked.

She turned white. "No, Master," she said. She then approached me, and stood quite closely before me. She had not been taught to stand this closely before me. She knew, instinctively, in the circumstances, where she would stand. This pleased me for it indicated, whether she knew it or not, that she was a natural slave. This distance, of course, was not cultural for her. She came from a culture which requires a significant distance, usually a yard or more, between male speakers and as much, or more, between speakers of the opposite sex. Yet she knew readily, or instinctively, or intuitively, or naturally, or somehow, that she should be, in these circumstances, standing as she was before me, at a distance where I might, if I wished, without inconvenience, simply take her in my arms.

She looked up at me. "Master?" she asked.

The Gorean slave girl, incidentally, will space herself from her master quite differently in different situations. For example, if she is somewhat farther away, it is easier for her to display herself in all her beauty; if she wishes to wheedle for his caress she may approach quite closely; if she is receiving instructions she may kneel a few feet away; if she is begging to serve his pleasure she may kneel at his feet, perhaps kissing them, and holding his ankles; obviously, too, a girl who fears she is to be disciplined will commonly hang back; sometimes, too, a girl will fear to approach too closely until the master, by an expression or small sign, indicates that she is not in obvious disfavor and may do so.

I took the head of the blond-haired barbarian in my hands and looked at her. She lowered her eyes. How magnificent it is to own a woman! What can compare with it?

I turned her head, from side to side. How exciting were the earrings, penetrating the soft flesh of her ear lobes. I looked at the tiny wires vanishing in the minute punctures and then emerging, looping her ears, as though in a slave bond, making them the mounting places from which, thus fastened upon her, by my will, dangled two golden rings, barbaric ornaments enhancing the beauty of a slave. I smiled to myself. On Earth I had thought little of earrings. Yet now, in the Gorean setting, how exquisite and exciting they suddenly seemed. Perhaps then, for the first time, I truly began to sense how the Gorean views such things. Surely these things are symbolic as well as beautiful. The girl's lovely ears have been literally pierced; the penetrability of her sweet flesh is thus brazenly advertised upon her very body, a proclamation of her ready vulnerability, in incitement to male rapine. And when she wears the earrings, he can see the metal disappearing in the softness of her ear, literally fixed within it. Her flesh is doubly penetrated, her softness about the intruding metal, before his very eyes. The wire loop, too, or rod, when it emerges from the ear and, by one device or another, fastens the ring upon her, may suggest her bondage. Too, if the ring itself is closed, perhaps it suggests her susceptibility to the locked shackle, say, a wrist ring or slave bracelet; would there not, in the two rings, be one, so to speak, for each wrist? It is little wonder that Gorean free women never pierce their ears; it is little wonder that, in the beginning, it was only the lowest and most exciting of pleasure slaves who had their ears pierced; now, however, it is not uncommon on Gor for almost any pleasure slave to have her ears pierced; the custom of piercing the ears of a slave has now become relatively widespread: it has been done in Turia, of course, for generations. Too, of course, the ring is an obvious ornament. The girl placed in it has thus been ornamented. Ornamentation is not inappropriate in a slave. Lastly, the ring is beautiful. Thus it makes the slave more beautiful.

I held her head still, and lifted it, that it might face me. She opened her eyes, looking up at me. "Master?" she asked.

I looked down at her.

"You are a legal slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"But what you do not yet know," I said, "is that you are also a true slave, a natural slave."

"I come from a world," she said, "where women are not slaves."

"Is that the world called 'Earth'?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I have heard," I said, "that on that world women are piteous slaves, only they lack masters."

"That lack," she said, "in my case, on this world, will surely be made up."

"Yes," I said.

I released her head and held her, then, by the upper arms.

"I will obey you," she said, softly. "I will do anything, and everything, that you might want."

"That is known to me," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, tossing her head, a bit irritably.

"Would you like to be made more beautiful?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, lightly, "if it is my master's wish."

I then released her, and she stood there.

I went to the side of the room and picked up my sea bag. I threw it to the center of the room. She looked down at it, puzzled. It was of heavy blue material, canvas, and tied with a white rope.

"Lie down upon it," I told her, "on your back, your head to the floor."

She did so.

"No, please," she said, "not like this." It is a common position for a disciplinary slave rape. In it the woman feels very vulnerable, very helpless.

I then took her.

"No," she wept, in English, "have you no respect for my feelings? Am I nothing to you?"

I stood up. I had, by intent, given her no time to respond, other than as a brutalized slave, no time to feel, other than as a girl unilaterally subjected to her master's pleasure. She looked up at me, miserably.

"Crawl now to the mirror," I told her, "on your hands and knees, and regard yourself."

Miserable, she did so, her hair falling before her face, trembling, her sweet breasts pendant. She lifted her head, and gasped, looking in the mirror.

"Do you see?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, and then wept, her head down.

"Lift your head again," I said, "and again look."

She did so.

"Do you see?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, weeping, "the slave is more beautiful than before." She then put down her head again, crying.

"Crawl now to the straw, by the slave ring," I told her. "Lie down there, drawing your legs up."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then went to her, with a blanket, and threw it over her, but not yet covering her head.

She looked up at me, so vulnerable and delicate, so helpless and frightened. "I am more beautiful now," she said. "But how? How could it be?"

"It is the result of an inward change in you," I said, "outwardly manifested in expression and bodily mien."

"But what?" she asked.

"Speak your feelings," I told her.

"Never before," she said, "did I feel so helplessly owned."

"That has something to do with it," I told her.

"You subjected me so casually, so forcibly, to your will," she said.

"That, too, has something to do with it," I told her.

"You are my Master, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You can do with me whatever you want, can't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"And you will, won't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I love being owned," she said, suddenly.

"Of course," I said, "you are a woman."

"If a woman loves being owned," she said, "must she not be a natural slave?"

"Answer your own question," I told her. "You are the woman."

"I dare not answer it," she whispered.

"Do so," I told her.

"Yes," she whispered, frightened, "she must be a natural slave."

"And you are a woman," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Draw your conclusion," I told her, "out loud."

"I am a natural slave, Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

She looked up at me. "Never, never did I think I would admit that in my life," she said.

"It takes great courage," I told her.

There were tears in her eyes.

"But, as yet," I said, "it is largely only an intellectual recognition on your part. It is not yet internalized, not yet a part of the totality of your being and responses."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Nonetheless, the intellectual recognition, abstract and superficial as it is, is a useful first step in the transformation of your consciousness, and the freeing of your deepest self, with her profundities of emotions and needs."

"My deepest self is feminine," she said.

"Yes," I said, "it is only your present consciousness which has been to some extent masculinized and, to a larger extent, neuterized. Beneath the patterns, the trainings, the roles, lies the woman. It is she whom we must seek. It is she whom we must free."

"I am afraid to be feminine," she said.

"You will be punished for femininity on this world," I told her, "only by free women."

"Free!" she laughed, miserably.

"They think themselves free," I said.

"Could I dare to be a woman on this world?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her.

"But what if I wish to crawl to a handsome man, and beg to obey him?" she asked.

"On this world," I told her, "you may do so."

"But would he not then, as a gentleman, scandalized, lift me hastily to my feet, embarrassed, implicitly belittling me, and encouraging me to the pursuit of masculine virtues?"

"Would you fear that?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Is that why you would hesitate to crawl to a man?" I asked.

"Of course," she said.

"On this world, as a slave," I said, "you need have no fear."

"What would he do on this world?" she asked.

"Perhaps instruct you in the proper way to crawl to his feet," I said.

"Oh," she said.

"If you did not do so beautifully enough," I said, "he might whip you."

"Whip me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She looked at me.

"Gorean men are not easy to please, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Masculinity and femininity are complementary properties," I told her. "If a man wishes a woman to be more feminine, he must be more masculine. If a woman wishes a man to be more masculine, she must be more feminine."

"I am thinking of the far world from which I came, Master," she said. "I think there may be a fearful corollary to what you have said. Perhaps if a man fears a woman he will want her to be more like a man, and if a woman fears a man she will want him to be more like a woman."

"Perhaps," I said. "It may depend on the individuals. I would not know."

"I am more beautiful now," she said. "I saw it in the mirror."

"Yes," I said.

"I still do not understand, clearly," she said, "how it could be."

"You were taught," I said, "that you were owned, and that you were subject, totally, to the male will."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"You had begun to learn just a little then, you see," I said, "that you, a lovely woman, were truly under male domination."

"And that made me more beautiful?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"How?" she asked.

"By releasing, in response, more of your femininity," I said.

She looked up at me, frightened.

"It is a natural thing," I said. "As a woman becomes more feminine, she becomes more beautiful."

"I am afraid to be feminine, and beautiful," she said.

"As well you might be, on this world, as a slave," I said, "knowing what it will mean for you, how it will excite the lust of masters and make men mad to own you."

"No," she said. "That is not it. It is rather that I fear that self. I fear it might be truly me."

"Have you never wondered," I asked, "what it might be like, men with whips standing near you, to dance naked in the firelight, your feet striking in the sand, before warriors?"

"Yes," she said. "I have wondered about that."

"You see," I said, "that self you fear is truly you."

"Give me a choice," she begged.

"You will be given no choice," I told her. "Your femininity will be forced to grow, nurtured, if necessary, by the whip."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes, what?" I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Master!" she protested, but I lifted the dark blanket and threw it over her head, so that she was completely covered. She could not then speak, or rise up, for the blanket was over her.

I got to my feet. From the sea bag I drew forth the notes for fortunes, made out to Shaba, to be drawn on various of the banks of Schendi, and the false ring, that which he was supposed to carry to the Sardar in place of the true ring. For the notes I, as a putative agent of Kurii, was to receive the true ring, the Tahari ring, which I would then return to Port Kar, that Samos might arrange for its delivery to the Sardar. I did not think I would kill Shaba. If he should actually dare to deliver the false ring to the Sardar he would doubtless there fall into the power of the Priest-Kings. They would then deal with him as they saw fit. If he did not choose to deliver the false ring to the Sardar I might then, at a later date, hunt him down, to kill him. My first priority was surely to return the Tahari ring4o Samos as swiftly and safely as possible.

It was now near the eighteenth Ahn.

"Master," said Sasi. "I fear your eyes."

"I must leave now," I told her.

"I fear your eyes," she said, "how you look at me. Will you return to us?"

"I will try," I told her.

"I see by your eyes," she said, "that you fear you will not return to us."

"It is a hard business on which I embark," I told her. "In the sea bag," I said, "are various things. The key to your collar is there, for example. Too, there are coins. They should, in the event that I do not return, or do not soon return, keep you and the barbarian alive for a long time."

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she looked at me, wonderingly. "You would let me put my hand on the key to my own collar?" she asked.

"Schendi may not be an easy place in which to survive," I told her. "You may find it convenient, in some circumstances, to remove your collar."

"Are you freeing me? she asked. It did not even occur to Sasi that anyone might consider freeing the blond-haired barbarian. She, so luscious, and becoming so beautiful, could obviously, on a world such as Gor, be only slave meat.

I looked at Sasi. Swiftly she knelt. "Forgive me, my Master," she said. "Please do not slay me."

"No," I said. "But Schendi may not be an easy place in which to survive. You may find it convenient, in some circumstances, to remove your collar."

"I am branded," she said. "I would fear to masquerade as a free woman."

"I would not advise that," I said. "You might be fed to tharlarion. But, still, it might be better for you not to be recognized as the girl of Tarl of Teletus."

"Who are you, truly, Master?" she asked.

"Look to the beam above your head, and behind you," I said. "What dangles there, which might be conveniently lowered?"

"A whipping ring," she said.

"What hangs on the wall behind you, to your left?" I asked.

"A slave whip," she said.

"Do you again request to know my true identity?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"You are an agile, clever slave, Sasi," I said, "as quick-witted as you are curvacious. You have lived as a she-urt on the wharves of Port Kar. I have little fear for you." I glanced at the barbarian, beneath the blanket.

"Do not fear, Master," said Sasi. "I will teach her to hide, and eat garbage and be pleasing to paga attendants."

"I must go now," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"In time," I said, "if I do not return, you will both presumably be caught and put up for public auction."

"Yes, Master," she said. I turned to leave.

"Must you leave this moment?" she asked. I turned about, and looked at her.

"I may never see you again," she said.

I shrugged.

"I do not want to be free," she said.

"Do not fear," I told her, "you will not be."

"Please, my Master," she said. "Make now to me a gentle love."

I went to Sasi, and crouched down, and took her in my arms.