The Captain

CHAPTER 17

“Send the slave, Flora, forward,” said the connoisseur.

The girl, whose house name was Flora, hurried forward, to kneel on the tiles before the connoisseur, her head down, to the tiles, the palms of her hands upon them, performing obeisance.

Following her forward were two leather-clad men, one on each side of her, who took their station on each side of her, and a little to the back. These were the keeper, or warder, of her corridor, and one of the trainers, to whose lot she had been assigned.

The connoisseur looked from the papers, attached to the clipboard he held, to the girl, and then back to the board.

“She has been whipped only three times,” said the connoisseur.

“Yes,” said the trainer, “the instructional whipping, once when I felt she did not obey quickly enough, only two strokes, and once because it pleased me to do so.”

The girl, her head down, trembled.

She could see, as she knelt, out of the comer of her eye, the coil of the trainer’s whip.

“That is really only twice,” said the connoisseur. “The two strokes is only an admonition, the sort of thing that might be done at any time, for any reason.”

“Then twice,” said the trainer.

“You have been whipped very little, Flora,” said the connoisseur.

“I have tried to be pleasing, Master,” she said.

“Kneel up, Flora,” said the connoisseur, “your back arched, your hands behind the back of your head.”

“She is a sleek little thing,” said the connoisseur.

“A pretty little piece of livestock,” said a man beside the connoisseur, a dealer.

“You have done well, Emon,” said the connoisseur.

The keeper inclined his head, accepting the compliment.

The diet and exercise of such stock is, of course, carefully supervised.

“I see by the papers, Rigg,” said the connoisseur, “that she has been trained, within the limitations of the brief time at our disposal, to give the most intimate and satisfying of slave pleasures to a master.”

“Yes,” said the trainer.

“You may place your hands on your thighs, Flora,” said the connoisseur. “She applied herself, in learning such lessons?” asked the connoisseur.

“Zealously,” said Rigg, the trainer.

“Little Flora apparently realizes that it is well for her to learn such things,” said the connoisseur.

Rigg laughed.

“Adeptness in such skills can considerably improve the quality of a girl’s life,” said the connoisseur, “elevating her price, quite possibly enabling her to obtain a richer, better master, lighter tasks, and such.”

“Certainly,” said Ambon, the dealer.

“But I think,” said Rigg, “that there is another reason, as well, that she applied herself so eagerly to her lessons.”

“The whip?” asked the connoisseur.

“Other than that, too,” said Rigg.

“What?” asked the connoisseur.

“Speak,” said Rigg to the girl.

“That I am a slave, Master,” she said.

“As are the other women in this house,” said the connoisseur.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Completely,” he said, “as yourself.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

In a sense she had known this for a long time, of course, even before becoming a slave.

“We have raised your value, Flora,” said the connoisseur.

“Thank you, Master,” said the girl.

“Many men could not now afford you,” said the connoisseur. “You may even find it tempting, in some markets, to obtain a master, to conceal your skills.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“But I would not permit my seller to know that,” he said.

“No, Master,” she said, shuddering.

“And such matters will be public, on your papers,” said the connoisseur.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I would recommend perfect honesty, in all respects and matters,” said the connoisseur.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

A slave girl must be completely truthful, and totally honest.

She is not a free woman.

“You have come far, in a short time, little Flora,” said the connoisseur, “but remember that your training, and such, is really quite limited, only a matter of a few days, indeed, that, in a sense, it has only begun.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You must struggle to continue to learn, and grow,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I see,” said the connoisseur, returning to the clipboard, “that she has done well in cosmetics, perfumes, adornments and such.”

“Yes,” said Rigg.

“In slave dance?” asked the connoisseur.

“There was no time,” said Rigg.

“But surely you have taught her at least some of the movements, which are useful in giving intimate pleasures to masters?”

“Of course,” said Rigg.

“Sewing, cooking, cleaning, such things?”

“Only some elementary knowledge in such matters,” said Rigg.

“Many men want a complete slave, Flora,” said the connoisseur, “one who can serve them in all ways and things. Many men, for example, will expect you to keep their quarters in perfection.”

“I know little of such things, Master,” said the girl.

“Perhaps you can compensate for such inadequacies, or distract the master from too keen an awareness of such things, by the excellence of your services in the furs.”

“It will be my hope to do so, Master,” she said.

“While striving to improve your expertise in such homely skills,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Many men want everything from a woman,” he said, “everything.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“But, as you are a pleasure slave, I would give my greatest attention to my services in the furs.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, gratefully.

“As I recall, from my own cursory examination, when she was brought to this house, her body is responsive,” said the connoisseur.

“We have confirmed that,” said Rigg. “It is responsive, uncontrollably so.”

“She will then be much at the mercy of masters,” said the connoisseur.

“Helplessly so,” said Rigg.

The girl put down her head.

“And yet she is still a virgin,” said the connoisseur, wonderingly.

The girl blushed, wholly.

“A virgin?” asked Ambon, the dealer.

“Yes,” said the connoisseur. “It is seldom, Flora,” he said, “that a girl, and certainly a slave, with flanks such as yours, is a virgin.”

“My master,” she said, “is not pleased with me, and has seen fit, after my embonding, to ignore me, and treat me with great coldness.”

“I will make you an offer for her!” said the dealer, suddenly.

Terror transfigured the girl’s features.

To be sure, she could be bought and sold with the same facility as a pig.

“Alas,” said the connoisseur, “we do not own her, but she is merely being boarded here, for a time, to be trained.”

“You could pretend that she was stolen, even that you were raided,” said the dealer.

“We are an honest house,” said the connoisseur.

“Ah,” smiled the dealer, and leaned back in his chair.

“Master,” asked the girl, pleadingly, “may I speak?”

All eyes went to her. Even Emon and Rigg seemed surprised that she had spoken. To be sure, it was merely to request permission to speak, which permission may be granted or not, as the master sees fit.

The connoisseur looked at her, interested. “Certainly,” he said.

The fact that he had said “certainly” must not, however, be taken to mean that such permissions are always readily forthcoming. Indeed, sometimes a girl is not permitted to speak for hours, sometimes for days. Sometimes, even in the furs, she must serve, with all her attentiveness, her skills and zeal, in silence.

“I still belong to the same master, do I not?” she asked.

“I do not know,” said the connoisseur. “I do not know who your master is. I only know who has signed you over to us, and to whom, upon the receipt of an appropriate signature, we will return you.”

“I may have been sold, while I am here, in school?” she said.

“That is quite possible,” said the connoisseur. “Indeed, it is often the case that training of this sort is given to a girl to increase her value, because the master intends to put her up for sale, hoping to make a profit on her.”

She groaned.

“I do not know who my master is then,” she said.

“No,” said the connoisseur. “But doubtless you will soon learn.”

“You do not know who my master is?” she said.

“No,” said the connoisseur. “I know little more than the place to which we are to deliver you.”

“May I beg to know the place?” she asked.

“You will learn it in time,” he said.

“Please, please, Master,” she begged, weeping.

The connoisseur looked to the dealer, and to Emon and Rigg, and then shrugged. “Very well,” he said. He read off to her an address, and a world.

“But I do not know that place, or world!” she cried.

“Doubtless you will come to know it, at least for a time,” said the connoisseur, “for it is there that you will be delivered to your master.”

The pretty slave regarded the connoisseur, agonized. She put her hand, timidly, to the metal collar on her neck, a rather simple, plain collar, the collar of the house. It was all she wore, other than her brand.

“It is there,” said the connoisseur, “that you will kneel before your master, and present the flower to him, as you have been taught, the slave flower.”

“You will offer it to him humbly,” said Emon.

“And it will be his to pluck,” said Rigg.

“Masters!” cried the girl.

“Take her away,” said the connoisseur, signing one of the sheets on the clipboard.

She was pulled to her feet, and turned about.

She looked back over her shoulder, in misery and fear.

“Master!” she wept.

“You will be shipped this morning,” said the connoisseur.

She was conducted, weeping, from the room.

The connoisseur turned over a page from those on the clipboard.

“Next,” he said.