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plans in mind for me. I know that he need not reveal to me his intentions with
respect to me, but, naturally, I am curious."
"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira," I said.
"Granted,' Master," she said, "but, as you must understand, in certain
situations, as when a woman finds herself naked and chained before a man, a
certain amount of curiosity on her part regarding her fate is almost
unavoidable."
"I think it is time to throw you in your kennel," I said. "There you may
ponder your cleverness." I seized her angrily by the arm and pulled her,
stumbling, toward her kennel. "No, Master! she cried. "Please, no!"
In moments I had thrust her into the low, cement, steelbarred kennel. She
scrambled about, on her knees, on the blanket on the cement floor, her hands
chained behind her, to face outward, just as the steel-barred gate clanged
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down, locking, in front of her. I saw the shadows of the bars on her
face and body. She thrust her face, and beauty, against the bars. "Please,
Master," she begged, "don't kennel me!"
"Why not?" I asked.
She regarded me, through the bars, her face pressed close against them. She
was on her knees. A girl cannot stand in the kennel. Its low ceiling, about
four feet in height, does not permit it.
She drew back, slightly, from the bars. "'The kennel is cold, and hard," she
said.
I turned away.
"Master," she cried, "please don't go!"
I turned again, to face her.
"I will try to be a good slave," she said, "humble, docile, loving and
obedient."
Again I turned from her.
"Master," she cried, "let me beg for what I want!"
I turned to face her.
"Let me beg on my belly for what I want!" she said, her face pressed against
the bars, tears in her eyes.
I went to the gate of the kennel and unlocked it, and flung it upwards, and
stepped back.
The slave then, on her belly, squirmed forth from the kennel. I stepped back
five paces, that she must follow me. Then she lay before me, submitting and
prone, on the tiles.
"Did you wish to speak?" I asked her.
She lifted her head. "I beg your touch, Master," she said.
I looked down upon her. The depth, extent and distribution of sexually active
areas on the female body is, of course, considerable. Indeed, in sexual
arousal, her entire body can become sensitized, and, so to speak, sexually
vulnerable and flammable. Her sexual response can become one of the entire
squirming, yielding, overwhelmed organism. When a woman yields it is all of
her that yields. Her response, of course, is far more than crudely physical.
It constitutes a psychophysiological ecstasy, a rhapsody of being owned and
had. Her sexual response, thus, is far more than a simplistic response to
physical stimuli. It is a function of an entire situation and condition. It
is. thus, perhaps, that the female slave, knowing herself slave and owned,
attains sexual heights and depths, orgasms and totalities of response, forever
denied, in the nature of things, to her ignorant sisters, cool and inhibited,
smug in their prides and freedoms. The slave girl, in effect, is the woman in
her place in nature. It is there, in her own place and world, and there only,
that she can attain her biological destiny, that she can find her total female
fulfillment. Free, she is enslaved, the prisoner of inhibitions, artifices and
conventions; enslaved, she is free, liberated to the self-fulfillment of her
deepest nature. Free, she is enslaved; enslaved, she is free. That is the
paradox of the collar.
"I am the only woman in the house, Master," said the slave.
I did not speak.
"Do not lock my softness away from you tonight, in the kennel," she begged.
"Let it be near to you."
"Do you have sexual needs?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said
"Do you want them satisfied?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Do you confess yourself to be a lowly and passionate slave?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "I am a lowly and passionate slave."
"One who is eager to please her Master?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I looked down at her, on her belly, her small bands chained behind her. The
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passions of the female slave are a mystery to many free women who, unaroused
and sexually inert, never collared and owned, cannot even understand them; to
most free women, of course, the passions of the female slave are not so much a
mystery as a source of envy and fury; she senses that they, deep and
precious, making the slave so helpless and vulnerable, are far beyond anything
which she herself possesses. Sometimes, perhaps, twisting on her couch at
night in frustration, the free woman may dimly sense what it is to be an
aroused slave, a woman so much at the mercy of men, and so precious and
beautiful to them; the free woman clenches her fists and moans; the slave may
throw herself to the feet of men and beg to please them, as she cannot.
"Master, Master," whimpered the small slave, lying before me.
I looked down at her. Her passions had been well ignited. This had been done,
doubtless, by her condition, and by masters. She was a slave.
"Do not kennel me, Master," she begged. "Sleep me at your slave ring."
I smiled. The girl whom I had known on Earth, now my nameless slave on Gor,
had begged to be slept at my slave ring.
"Chain me by the neck at the foot of your couch, my Master," she begged, "as
you might a slut or a she-sleen. You need not even touch me. It will be enough
for me, if I am merely allowed to lie near you."
"On your feet," I told her.
Swiftly she scrambled to her feet and stood before me. I looked at her, and
she, swiftly, deferentially, put down her head. "Now you are beginning to be
pleasing," I told her.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
I touched the side of her face, gently. She lifted her head. "Perhaps I will
deign to touch you,"
I said.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered.
"Strip me," I said.
"But I am chained!" she cried, trying, futilely, to pull her wrists apart.
I smiled.
"Forgive me, Master," she laughed. "I am such a stupid slave!"
Then she fell to her knees before me. and, with her teeth, untied the sandals
and removed them from my feet. She then stood, and, bending over, her hands
helplessly chained behind her, bit and pulled at the knot in the cord that
belted my tunic. When she had freed this knot she went behind me, first to my
left shoulder, and then to my right shoulder, and, with her small, fine teeth,
drew the tunic from my body.
"Ohh," she said, softly, "Master is beautiful."
"I cannot be beautiful;" I said, rather irritatedly. "I am a man. I might be
good-looking, or handsome, perhaps, but I cannot be beautiful. And even such
things, I suspect, would be rather controversial."
"To me," she said, "you are lean, and strong and beauti
I looked at her, angrily.
"And you own me," she smiled.
"That, at least, is uncontroversial," I said.
"Shall I heel my Master to his bedroom," she asked, "or does he desire that I
precede him?"
"I shall carry you," I said.
"As Master wishes," she said, breathlessly.
I put my hands on her.
"Oh! she said.
I then rubbed my fingers and smelled my hand. "Slaves, too, it seems," I said,
"sometimes find it difficult to conceal their desire"
"Yes, Master," she laughed.
"Oh! she said. "You are going to carry me like this," she asked, "upside down
and in front of
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you?"
"Yes," I said, "and as I ascend the stairs slowly, you will please me."
"Yes, Master," she laughed.
At the top of the stairs I stopped, and shuddered, and cried out.
"Perhaps I should have gagged Master," she said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]