Guardsman Of Gor

Chapter 19 — I WILL PLAN A PARTY; A SLAVE IS TO BE INCLUDED IN THE ENTERTAINMENT

In the Gorean streets I attracted little attention. It is not that unusual, in such streets, for a man to carry a naked slave, bound and hooded, over his shoulder. To be sure, such girls are often tied in a slave sack. The children that we passed in the streets, playing at marbles or stone toss, scarcely glanced up. Two children, however, one boy and one girl, did run and strike the slave. She started, and squirmed, on my shoulder under the blows.

I did not admonish the children. First, it was nothing to me that they had struck her, for she was a slave. Secondly, they were free persons, and free persons on Gor may do much what they please. It is slaves who must be careful of their behavior, lest free persons find it displeasing. The boy who had struck her, I believe, had been in a fit of ill temper. I think he had just lost at stone toss.

The girl, on the other hand, I think, had had far different motivations. She had not been involved in the game, but had only been watching it. Yet she had struck the slave by far the cruelest blow. Already she had learned, as a free woman, that female slaves are to be despised and beaten. The hatred of the free woman on Gor for the female slave is an interesting phenomenon. There are probably many reasons for this.

Among them, however, would seem to be a jealousy of the female slave's desirability and beauty, a resentment of the interest of free men in imbonded women, and an envy of the slave girl's psychological and biological fulfillments, and emotional freedom and joy. Something of the same hatred and contempt tends to be felt by masculine women on Earth towards feminine women. Perhaps they hate what they are not, and perhaps cannot be. The Gorean slave girl, incidentally, can be terrorized by the mere thought that she might be sold to a free woman. I glanced at the girl who had struck the slave. She was comely. I wondered if she might one day fall slave. If so, she, too, in her turn, would surely learn to fear free women.

I took a circuitous route to my house, with many twistings and turnings. The slave, in the darkness of the hood, bound and helpless, would have no idea of where she was being taken. This was the same house which we had earlier occupied together, when I had mistakenly permitted the slave the dignity and status of the free woman. I was fond of the house, as it was fit for my needs, and, indeed, I had made it more fit, by certain additions, for my pleasure, and for the work and holding of a slave. Too, I now owned this house, having purchased it with a few gold pieces, a small portion of my share of the spoils, taken from the holding of Policrates. Riches, too, there had been to distribute, of course, not merely females.

Indeed, as Goreans went, I was now a rich man. I could have afforded a hundred girls of the sort I now carried on my shoulder. But I wanted only this one. This one, alone, I had decided, would be ample to my needs. This slave, whom I recollected from Earth, long ago, was my selection.

The house, with its walled garden to the side, is set back, and on a small hill, into which it is partially built. I approached the house from the side, climbing the hill from the side, rather than frontally. Too, of course, I did not use the steps, which might have been counted. On the stone landing, before the heavy portal of the house, I stopped. I felt her squirm in terror on my shoulder. She knew we had arrived somewhere. But where? She knew only that we had climbed to a height.

I slid her from my shoulder into my hands and, turning her, took her by the back of the neck and the left thigh and lifted her high over my head. I held her that way for a moment. She moaned piteously, helpless and trembling. Was she to be cast from this height into a pit of sleen or perhaps into the cold waters of the Vosk? Then I lowered her again to my shoulder, her head this time forward. I could feel her shuddering in relief. Slowly I began to lower her, head first. Sensing her orientation she tried, desperately, to press her gagged mouth, beneath its binding and the leather of the hood, against my body, piteously attempting to please me.

I put her on her knees, on the stone landing, at the side of the door. She knelt with her knees widely apart, and then, piteously, opened them even more. She was in terror, desperate to appease and placate the master. I thrust the key into the door and unlocked it, and then replaced the key in my pouch. I looked down at my slave. I was pleased. I thrust the door open with my foot, and then bent down and picked up the slave. I held her in my arms. Then I crossed the threshold, carrying her. As a capture, a prize and a slave, in my arms, was she carried into the domicile of her master.

Within I put her on her knees, beneath the large beam, with the ring, chain and bracelets. The chain and bracelets had already been lowered. In moments I had untied her hands from behind her and locked her small wrists, before her belly, as she knelt, in the close-fitting steel of the bracelets. I then drew the chain back and through the ring, hauling her to her feet. She then stood with her hands high above her head. Her heels were just a quarter of an inch off the tiles.

In my house I saw fit to honor the customs of Victoria. No longer now did the girl seem frightened. Though she seemed apprehensive, now, as any slave in her position might well be, she had, as she had been pulled into position, shuddered with relief. She knew that she had been carried across a threshold as a slave, and had now been placed in a standard whipping position. This told her that her life would be spared, at least for the time, if she were sufficiently pleasing. And I had little doubt but what she would strive to be sufficiently pleasing.

I untied and loosened the slave hood, thrusting it up so that I might reach the gag. I unlaced the tight thongs, from behind the back of her neck, that held the gag binding in place. I then, carefully, little by little, extracted the curled, leather wadding of the gag from her mouth. She could now speak. I then thrust the binding and wadding, unrolled, up and under the slave hood, and readjusted the slave hood on her. I tightened it. She winced. But this time I had left her mouth uncovered. I had decided that it might please me to see her mouth, to note the trembling and movement of her lips as she spoke, and to be able to kiss those lips, or be kissed by them, if I should choose to permit this.

"I will be a good slave, Master," she said. "It will not be necessary to whip me."

I strode around her, to stand before her. She could not see me, of course, because of the slave hood, tight on her, which covered most of her face. This was, of course, by my intent.

"You may do with me as you please, of course, my Master," she said, quickly. "I am completely subject to your will." I saw her knees flex. There was a sound from the links of chain above her head as they suddenly drew against one another, for a moment suspending her full weight. She desired to kneel before me, but, of course, could not do so. The chain held her in place, perfectly. Then, again, she stood as she had before, her heels a quarter of an inch off the tiles. This is a discipline fastening, but it is not as cruel as that in which the girl is fastened on her toes.

"I meant no harm, my Master," she said. "I meant no harm!" I stood quite close to her, before her. She could doubtless feel my breath upon her body. A slave has no private space. "I meant no harm, my Master," she whispered. She lifted her chin, and extended her head towards me, pursing her lips. I gently touched them with my own. Then, delicately, we kissed. With my right hand I held her face so that she could not press her lips more fervently on mine. "I love you, my Master," she whispered. "I love you, my Gorean master."

I went from her to the side of the room, where was the wheel which controlled the chain and, nearby, on its hook, the disciplinary Gorean slave lash.

"Of course, my Master," she cried suddenly, delightedly. "I have been carried across the threshold. And now I have been put in whipping position I am being introduced into a house, in which I am to be a slave. My mysterious master must, thus, be of Victoria, or of some other city in which are practiced the customs of the capture carry and the initiatory whipping!" The point of these customs, of course, is clear.

The girl knows that she is carried into the house as a helpless slave, and then, in the initiatory whipping, learns that it is a house in which she is under discipline. These are thought to be salutary lessons for a new girl, when she is first introduced into a new house. To be sure, whether in Victoria or not, or in a city with comparable customs, new girls, in one way or another, are usually reminded, promptly and effectively, that their slavery is uncompromising and actual, and that they are fully at the disposition of their masters.

The former Miss Henderson, of course, had been in this house before. This was, however, the first time she had been brought into it as a slave. The slave girl, of course, sees a house much differently than does a free woman. Most simply she sees it as a house, and knows it, as a house in which she is a slave, whereas the free woman sees it and knows it as a house in which she is free. The houses are, accordingly, experienced quite differently.

The free woman looks into a slave kennel but she, presumably, has never occupied it, the helpless prisoner behind its bars; the free woman may see chains but she, presumably, has never worn them; she may see the whip but she, presumably, has never felt it. She sees the door, a device by means of which she gains access to her dwelling, but can it have the same meaning to her as to one who has been helplessly carried through it, as a slave? Similarly, the free woman passes through that door whenever she wishes. She does not give it a second thought. It is only a door.

To the slave, on the other hand, it is the portal to her master's house. It is, thus, a significant border in her world. Commonly, if the master is home, and she is not under orders, as in, say, running an errand, or conducting regular business, such as shopping or gardening, she must, on her knees, beg his permission to leave the house, usually specifying her itinerary and when she expects to return.

Similarly a free woman may look upon a wall and see there merely the side of a room, but the slave girl may see there an obdurate barrier, beyond which she cannot run, against which she could be thrown and stripped, a barrier at the foot of which, crouching in terror, she would have to await the pleasure of her master. The free woman may look upon the smooth tiles flooring a room but, presumably, she has never felt them on her naked flesh, on her belly, as she has kissed the feet of her master. Too, presumably, she will never have been beaten upon them, or forced, as a discipline,to clean them, prone, her hands bound behind her, a small brush held in her teeth. The free woman looks upon a stairwell. She sees a stairwell. The slave girl may also see a place where she, if her master wishes, may be conveniently tied to a railing and raped.

Much sex between a master and his slave is spontaneous and casual, occurring whenever the master wishes, and not unoften when the slave begs for it. The sweetness of these sometimes sudden and transient ravishings, of course, does not replace the lengthy feasts of love of which the Gorean is fond; rather, they merely supplement them. They are, in their way, merely another attestation of the condition of the girl, that she is truly a slave and must be ready, at any time, and in any place, to serve her master's pleasure. The same girl who, fed by hand, is lengthily ravished over a period of Ahn, or even of a day or two, may, at another time, be merely told to stretch herself over a table. She will do so, immediately, unquestioningly. She is a slave.

And how wondrously different does the bedroom of the male seem to the free woman than it does to the slave. She looks upon the couch of the male. She sees the slave ring at its foot. She sees the furs of love, rolled against the side of the wall. She sees the lamp. She sees, coiled beneath the slave ring, a chain, with a collar or shackles. She sees the whip. But these things, as she is free, mean little to her. Imagine, however, if you will, her emotions if she entered that room as a slave girl, stripped and rightless, bearing on her upper thigh, just under her hip, the mark of bondage, her throat clasped in the light, gleaming, close-fitting, locked circlet of a slave. How different, then, would that room seem to her! She is ordered to spread the furs of love. She does so, beneath the slave ring.

She must light the lamp. She does so. She returns then to the furs of love, and kneels upon them. She is then fastened by her master to the slave ring. Perhaps this is merely done by a single ankle ring, on her left ankle, or perhaps both of her ankles are shackled, the length of chain running through the slave ring. If this is done, of course, the chaining is such that her ankles may be thrust widely, even painfully apart. Or perhaps the collar is locked upon her, with its dependent chain. She, then, feels the drag of the chain against her collar, and the chain, with its heavy links, between her bared breasts; she knows well that she is chained.

Though the light of the lamp is soft and sensuous, it is quite adequate, by design, to illuminate her; she is under no delusion on this score; her tiniest movements and her subtlest expressions, she knows, will be fully visible to her master. This is as it should be; she is his slave. Some free women, incidentally, insist on making love in the dark, because of their modesty. If such a woman should be enslaved, however, she must learn to perform in full illumination, whether it be in the soft light of a common ravishment lamp or on a dock at midday.

We shall now suppose that the girl is kneeling before her master, on the deep furs, in the position of the pleasure slave, in the soft light of the lamp, chained to the slave ring. Do you not think that she will find that room different than would the free woman?

The master walks about her, whip in hand. She tries to hold herself as beautifully as she can, that he will be pleased. Perhaps she lowers her head, frightened, submissively. She feels the butt of his whip under her chin, lifting it up. She must hold her head properly. She sees the master shake out the blades of the whip. Is she to be whipped, or raped, or both? But he folds back the blades and holds the whip before her. She kisses it, fervently, in token of her slavery and submission. He then drops the whip to the side, but where it may easily be grasped, should he wish to do so. He then lifts the chain and throws it to the side, over her left shoulder. He then begins to caress her, with the full and possessive caresses of the master, sometimes even holding her in place with her left hand behind the small of her back.

She begins to moan. Then, when he wishes, she is thrust on her back on the furs. "Please, be gentle, my Master," she begs. But he will, or will not, as it pleases him. She lies before him, a slave, his to do with as he pleases. It is little wonder, then, I think, that the female slave experiences the bedroom of the male in a manner quite different from that of the free woman.

I observed the former Miss Henderson, chained in whipping position in my house, the tight bracelets holding her hands high above her head, at the termination of the chain, her heels a quarter of an inch from the floor, most of her face covered by the tightened slave hood. I felt moved to tenderness. Then I removed the Gorean slave lash from the wall. She was a slave.

I walked to a position behind her and to her left. Gently I slid the whip, the blades folded back, against her, moving it from her left thigh to her waist, and thence upward against her left side. "Yes, Master," she said. I walked about her. The slave was beautiful, and exquisitely figured. I then stood behind her, and slightly to her left. I shook out the blades of the whip, with a gentle loosening of the leather, so that she would know they were free.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I am a new girl, who is being introduced into the house."

Then I gave her ten strokes. This seemed to me a suitable number for such a purpose. She shook, gasping, in the bracelets. I timed the blows mercifully, and uniformly. I did not use a random timing, nor did I use a customized timing, in which the blows are indexed to the particular psychological and, emotional condition of the individual slave. There are many ways to beat a girl. Against several of them there is no way that a woman can maintain resistance. I did not strike her with my full strength.

"Master kissed me earlier," she gasped, happily. "And Master did not strike me as hard as he might have!" She drew in a deep breath, and put her head back, delightedly. "I think that Master might care a little for his slave!" she laughed.

Angrily I went to the wheel at the side of the room, that to which the chain was attached. I put the whip on its hook, and angrily disengaged the wheel, and then turned it. "Oh!" she cried, suddenly drawn, painfully, to the very tips of her toes under the chain. I then locked the wheel in place, and seized again the whip from its hook. "Please, forgive me, Master!" she cried. "I am nothing! I am only a slave!" I then struck her ten times, savagely, with the unrestrained strength of a man. "Forgive me, Master!" she cried. "Oh!" she screamed. Then, sobbing, fighting for breath, she could only endure. After the tenth blow she hung helplessly in the bracelets, her full weight on the chain. I examined the beaten slave. I did not think she would soon again be presumptuous. Such presumptions, she had now learned, might entail penalties. Too, after this beating, I thought her position in the house might be clearer to her.

I tapped her on the back of the left shoulder with the whip. One more blow was to be struck.

"Yes, Master," she said, "that blow which is to remind me that I am a slave."

I then stood again behind her, and to her left. I grasped the handle of the slave whip with two hands. Then again, with unrestrained force, the hardest blow of all, was she struck. She cried out in pain. Then, again, sobbing, she hung in the bracelets, a whipped slave. This last blow is often, though not invariably, added to a slave's whipping. It is sometimes referred to as the gratis blow, or the mnemonic blow. Often it functions as little more than a stroke for, say, good measure. To be sure, whatever its purpose, it makes it very clear to the slave that she is fully under discipline, and that the master may, if he wishes, beat her how, when and as much as he pleases.

I went then to the side of the room. I replaced the slave whip on its hook. I released the wheel. With a rattle of chain the girl fell to her knees beneath the ring. I removed the bracelets from her and, by means of the wheel, returned the bracelets and the chain to their original positions. In place, overhead, rather toward one side of the room, they were visible, but not obtrusive. A girl, in her labors, might pass to and fro in the room many times a day, and not think of them, or notice them. But if she were to look for them, she would see them.

I looked to the girl who, naked, her face almost fully covered by the slave hood, knelt under the ring, on the tiles. I went and stood before her. Sensing my nearness she timidly put out her small hands, touching my calves and ankles. Then she put herself on her belly before me, her lips over my feet. "Forgive me for having displeased you, my Master," she said. I felt her lips upon my feet, kissing them. It is pleasant to have a beautiful slave at one's feet, thusly. "I am your slave, my Master," she said, "and I love you. I love you."

Slowly she drew herself to her knees, still keeping her head down, kissing at my feet and ankles. "I love you, my Master," she said. "I love you." Then, slowly, kissing at my feet and legs, and holding them, she straightened her body before me. She lifted her head, in the hood. I saw her lips tremble. "I am totally yours, my Gorean master," she said. "I submit myself to you, fully, in all things, as your total and abject slave. Do with me as you will. I am yours."

I then disengaged her hands from my legs, and stepped back. She extended her hands, piteously. "Master," she said, "have I displeased you?" She seemed small, forlorn and lost, on the tiles. "I shall try to overcome whatever might linger of my Earth-girl frigidities," she said. "I will try to be a full Gorean slave to you." I smiled to myself. An Earth woman brought to Gor and properly imbonded often proved to be among the hottest of slaves. "Have mercy on me, Master," she begged. "Please do not kill me!" I removed from its peg on the wall an opened slave collar. It was a standard collar, of a sort worn by many girls on Gor. It was both attractive and efficient. It would look well on a girl's throat, and it would hold, perfectly.

"Please do not kill me, Master," whimpered the girl. She put out her hands.

"A collar!" she cried, touching the metal. "A collar!" She reached out, holding my wrist, and kissed at my hand and the collar it held. She lifted her head to me, it mostly concealed in the tightened slave hood. "Do you deign to put me in your collar, my Master? Oh, thank you, my Master! Thank you! I want your collar! I beg your collar! Oh, please, Master, put your collar on me! Collar me! I am yours!"

It pleased me to have the former Miss Henderson, who had been such a haughty wench on Earth, naked before me, as a Gorean slave girl, begging my collar.

"Collar me, Master," she begged. "I am yours!

I thrust her head back and, rudely, put the collar on her.

"Thank you, Master!" she breathed. "Thank you!"

I lifted her up, by the upper arms, half lifting her from her knees. Her head was back. I had collared her! She wore my collar! I shook her, in savage elation. She wore my collar!

"Master?" she gasped, frightened.

I then, wanting to scream with joy, twisted her and threw her on her belly to the tiles at my feet. She lay there, frightened, breathing heavily, her hands at the sides of her head. "Master?" she asked, frightened.

I looked down upon her, prone at my feet. She who had once been the haughty Miss Henderson, of Earth, now lay before me, on her belly on the tiles of my house, only a stripped slave on Gor. I saw the collar on her neck. It was mine, and locked. I had collared her! I owned her!

"Master?" she asked. What pleasure it gave me to see her as my collared slave!

I went to her and, with my foot, rolled her to her back. She whimpered, and threw apart her ankles. I smiled. What a little slave she was!

I stepped back from her, going to the center of the room. I then snapped my fingers and she crawled to me, and then, putting out her hand to determine my position, knelt before me.

"If I have annoyed or offended my Master," she said, "please permit me to appease or placate him, in the intimate manners of the female slave."

I said nothing.

"I thank my Master for his collar," she whispered. "I rejoice to wear it. I shall struggle to be worthy of it, the collar of such a man." Collars, incidentally, can be experienced quite differently by different girls. New girls, in particular, first finding themselves helplessly fastened in them, may find them distressing. For example, they cannot remove them. They are made to stay on their neck. The girl, seeing herself in the mirror, sees that her throat has been locked in what she, at the time, may take to be a shameful and degrading, even horrifying, symbol of bondage. This can distress, or dismay, her. Some girls even fear to leave the house in their collars, fearing that on the streets, unveiled, scantily clad and collared, they might die of shame. They are sometimes, mercifully, whipped from the portals.

In the streets they meet other girls in collars. Of course, they wear collars. They are slaves. Then, returning to her master, she is no longer so ashamed, and, in time, she will think little or nothing of the collar. Of course, she wears it. It is appropriate for her. She is a slave. It is undeniable, of course, that the collar is a symbol of bondage. That no one will dispute. On the other hand, how the collar is experienced is quite another matter.

Most girls, in fact, sooner or later, wear their collars with pleasure and pride. First, the collar is extremely attractive, setting off and enhancing, as it does, their beauty. Secondly it is almost dazzingly seductive. It can excite men, and drive them wild. Few women object to this, though, to be sure, sometimes slaves fear the power of their collars, knowing, as they do, what effect their sight can have on men. Too, they know that the collar marks them, and they cannot remove it, as the helpless and fit objects on which may be practiced the predations of the mastery. Similarly, the collar often has an interesting "releasing effect" on the sexuality of the female.

A girl in a slaver's tent, for example, stripped and freshly collared, will often rage and sob, and cry out, and attempt to tear the collar from her throat. But when she finds she cannot remove it, she will often crawl on her belly, across the rugs, to the slaver's feet, begging to be had as the slave she now is. If she is comely perhaps the slaver will use her. If she appears less comely or clumsy, he will presumably order her out of the tent, to appeal to first one of his men, and then to another, to find one who is willing to use her. When she has learned something, he may then permit her to serve him.

If he has only a few girls he may "try her out" before putting her on sale. This could make a difference in the price he asks for her. The "releasing effect" of the collar on female sexuality is interesting and complex. Perhaps a word or two pertaining to the matter would be in order.

Wearing the collar, the girl knows that she is a slave, and, accordingly, that the fullness of her sexuality, in all its helplessness, delicacy and profundity, is now subject to the imperious beck and call of men. She knows, too, that she may now be summoned to perform sexually, and fully, by as little as the merest snapping of the master's fingers. Further, she knows that she will not be permitted the least restraint or inhibition, of any sort whatsoever, on her sexuality. Such things are simply not permitted to her. She is a slave. This condition tends, with its vulnerability and helplessness, as might be expected, to be an extremely arousing one for the female. She knows that she must be ready to serve, even on an instant's notice. This tends to keep her, as the Goreans say, rather vulgarly perhaps, "ready in her collar."

One would not say to a free woman, for example, when one had a moment to spare, "Strip, and run to the furs," but one, of course, would not even think twice before ordering a slave to do so. Furthermore, the slave knows that when the master arrives at the furs, she is to be waiting there for him, vulnerable and soft, eager, luscious and loving, his. To most women the very thought of being a female slave is fearfully fraught with sexual significance. They know very well the sorts of things that would be required of them. And, of course, they are not mistaken. If they had any doubts about it, these doubts will be swiftly dispelled, once they find them selves in the collar. They are not long left in doubt as to what it is to be a man's slave, totally.

It must be understood, of course, that the slave's sexuality is imbedded in an entire matrix of obedience, love and service. In her heart and mind these things are inextricably, and delicately and beautifully, intertwined. Her sexuality, commanded of her by her master, by the whip, if necessary, is, in one sense, but one aspect and expression of her total bondage; she serves fully, and in all things; yet; in another sense, her entire condition is, in its way, an expression of the depth, complexity and beauty of her sexuality. She ties her master's sandals; she looks up at him; she loves; she serves; she is the female.

The slave girl, it might be mentioned, in connection with the "releasing effects" of the collar, is relieved of many social pressures to which the free woman, because of her freedom, must remain subject. The free woman, for example, may fear that men will learn of her sexual vitality. It would not do for her for them to know that she, that lofty creature, on the couch, is a helpless, panting, licking she-sleen.

The slave girl, on the other hand, does not have this problem. She knows that she belongs to a category of women toward which respect need not be shown, and will not be shown. She, a slave, she knows, is expected to be an obedient, lascivious animal in her master's furs or, if permitted, on her master's couch. Indeed, she will be punished severely, if she is not. She is thus free, irreservedly, joyfully, gloriously, to revel in her sensuality. Furthermore, she knows that her most intimate performances and qualities are likely to be discussed openly and with candor by her master with others, perhaps even in her presence. Accordingly, rather than becoming ashamed of her sexual nature, she becomes quite proud of it, and often becomes competitive with her imbonded sisters, vying with them to become the most desirable slave in the house, or in the circle of her friends.

The slave girl, of course, will usually have many friends. These are, of course, almost always wenches collared like herself. Friends of her master will often bring their own girls with them, in visiting, and with these, after the men have been served, she may make friends, perhaps chatting in the kitchen. These girls may be exchanged among the men, but commonly they are not. Most masters are rather possessive about their slaves, particularly if they are fond of them. She may also, of course, meet girls in the streets, encountered in the neighborhood, or on her errands. The slave girl, almost always, has no dearth of friends. To be sure, they are likely only to be mere slaves like herself. Women desire, in their hearts, to be beautiful, helpless, conquered animals, owned and dominated by masters. The collar makes it clear to them that their dream has been enacted upon them; that, indeed, their dream, to their joy, has become their reality. They know that they are now in their place, and will be kept there. They are happy.

The "intensification effect" of the collar, incidentally, might also be briefly mentioned. Not only does the collar serve often to release the female's sexuality, and deeper nature, but it tends to deepen and intensify them. Knowing herself as an owned animal, rightless, one forced to submit, one who must obey in all things, who must yield wholly to the master, holding nothing back, she can be driven to almost excruciatingly ecstatic orgasmic heights, experiencing sensations and raptures, perhaps enforced cruelly upon her, of which the free woman, in her freedom, cannot even begin to dream.

A third reason why girls tend to wear their collars with pleasure and pride, aside from the attractiveness of the collar and its seductiveness, is seldom mentioned. That is, that the collar, in its way, functions as a symbol of interesting differences among women. It, like a wired seal of quality, attests to the value of the merchandise upon which it is fastened. "Beautiful enough to be collared" is a Gorean compliment, though perhaps a rather rude one, and one that one would not be likely to hear addressed openly and to the face of a free woman. "She has legs pretty enough to be those of a slave girl!" is another such compliment. If the free woman should hear such compliments she will be scandalized. But she may also wonder if, indeed, she is beautiful enough to be collared, and if, indeed, her legs are as pretty as those of a slave girl. If, at some later time, she is collared, she will then, for all practical purposes, have the answers to her questions. Normally it is only the finest, and the most feminine and desirable of women who are enslaved. This makes sense.

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 clothes."

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 the room, striking against the wall, at whose foot she fell. She looked up at me, in terror, from the foot of the wall.

"Crawl to the center of the room, and lie there on your belly," I said.

Swiftly she did so.

"It is your bluff which has been called, little slave," I said.

She lay at my feet, shuddering, prone, her hands at the sides of her head.

"I will let you kiss me," she said "I will even let you make love to me!"

I looked down upon her. I was furious. She had been an insolent slave.

"Let me be your employee," she said. "I am willing, even, to be your love employee! You do not need to pay me much. You do not need to pay me anything at all! I will work for nothing for you! Let me be your love servant! Sometimes I will even serve you as might a slave girl!"

"What did I ever think I saw in you?" I asked her. "What possible interest could I ever have thought I had in you?" I ran the whip along her side, and she shuddered. "To be sure," I said, "you are rather pretty, in a trivial and servile fashion." I continued to move the whip on her body, and she whimpered, helpless on the tiles before me. "I wonder what I could get for you," I said, "such a petty, stupid, worthless, meaningless, stinking little slave." She was whimpering. "Oh!" she said. "You do have the reflexes of the slave though," I said. "That would surely improve your price." She cried out in shame, putting the side of her head down to the tiles, her fingers scratching at them. "I think I shall put you up for sale, you pretty, meaningless little brute," I said.

"Oh, oh," she cried.

"Are you hot in your collar, little brute?" I asked, angrily.

"Oh!" she cried. Then she began to sob. Her tears fell to the tiles.

"But before you could be put up for sale," I said, "you must learn certain lessons, which apparently you have earlier failed to master, on the position, and condition, of the Gorean slave girl."

She shuddered with fear. She saw now, on the tiles before her, gently swinging, the shadows of the five loosened blades of the Gorean slave lash.

"You will not whip me," she said. "Surely you will not whip me!"

I then, furious with her, savagely laid the whip to her beauty. She writhed, and screamed, and twisted, and turned beneath the whip, from her belly to her back, and to her sides, and to her back, and to her sides again, and back, trying to fend the blows. She had displeased me. She had dared even to speak my name.

Then she lay before me, on her back, her legs drawn up, her hands extended. "Please, Master," she wept, "do not beat me further."

"What did you call me?" I asked.

"Master," she said. "Master, Master!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you are my Master!" she said. "Because you are my Master!"

"Are you sure of that?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Have you any doubt of it?" I inquired.

"No, Master," she said. "No, Master!"

"What are you?" I asked.

"A slave!" she cried.

"Whose slave?" I asked.

"Yours," she wept, "yours, Master!"

I then permitted her to scramble to her knees and she knelt before me, kissing at my feet. "You seem not as vain and arrogant as you were before," I said.

"No, Master," she said.

"Perhaps you have learned a little more of your slavery now," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What do you wish to do?" I asked.

"Please my Master," she said.

"The answer is suitable," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"Lift your head," I said.

She did so, fearfully, looking at me.

"Drop to your hands and knees, to all fours, and turn away from me," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You spoke my name," I said. "It is strange that you, a Gorean slave girl, should have made that mistake."

"Yes, Master," she said, "but I have been well whipped."

I then struck her again with the lash. "Oh!" she cried.

"Perhaps you should have been slain," I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said. "Please, no, Master."

"Oh!" she cried out, in misery, the lash again swiftly falling upon her.

"And you were lax in your deference," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."

Again I struck her.

"Did you think that such things would go unnoticed?" I asked her.

"No, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."

Again I struck her.

"And you were insolent," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!"

Again I struck her.

"Did you expect your insolence to be overlooked?" I asked. "No, Master," she said. "Please, please, forgive me, Master!"

"Oh!" she cried, in pain, once more well lashed.

Her head was down. Tears were upon the tiles.

"What shall I do with you?" I asked.

"I am your slave," she said. "You may do with me whatever you wish."

"That is known to me," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Why were you insolent?" I asked.

"It is difficult to speak in this position," she said.

"Speak," I said.

"When I saw that it was you, and remembering you from before, I sought to exploit your weakness, and conquer you. There is some gratification in this for a woman, for she is then a little bit like a man, a master, which she knows in her heart she is not. Too, it pleases her to torture weak men, men too weak to put her in the chains she longs to wear. But these gratifications, ultimately, are shallow and empty, and we, in our hearts, know that. Each sex has its place, and neither will be happy until it occupies that place. The place of man is master; the place of woman is slave. Gorean men, of course, do not see fit to tolerate our nonsense. They put us promptly in our places. They make us slaves. Had you not been from Earth, I would not have dared to behave as I did. Seeing you, remembering you from before, it did not even occur to me that I might be kneeling before one who had become, truly, a Gorean male. I wish that I had understood that, clearly. I could have saved myself much pain. Women engage in battles which they yearn to lose. We wish to be overwhelmed and conquered. That is why we fight. If we do not protest and fight, of what value to a man, we ask ourselves, will be our conquest? But, of course, I should not have fought you. I am only a slave girl, a girl already collared and conquered. I am not a free woman. It was presumptuous of me to indulge myself in the vanities of a free woman. I am a slave. I should have submitted myself to you, immediately and fully. Forgive me, Master. It is my hope that you will permit me to live."

I regarded her. She was pretty, in my collar, and on all fours.

"May I explain my behavior further, Master?" she asked. "It may make you regard me less harshly."

"Do so," I said.

"I want to be a slave," she said. "I feared you would free me. It was thus that I challenged you. It was thus that I tried to incite you to my conquest. It was thus that I tried to make you angry, that you might make me your slave, and keep me as such, uncompromisingly."

"That was not necessary," I said.

"I am now well aware of that, Master," she said. "I did not know it at the time, however."

I said nothing.

"My behavior, however foolish it might have been, was motivated by a desire to be kept in bondage," she whispered. "Perhaps now you will think more understandingly, more pityingly, of your girl."

"So you desire to be a slave?" I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, "fervently."

"And you are a slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, "completely."

"Do you think that you are free, or that you have any rights whatsoever?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. "I know that such delusions are not permitted to a Gorean slave girl."

"Do you not fear your bondage?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, "and sometimes we fear it terribly, the uncertainty and the terrors of it, knowing that men can do with us what they please, but these things heighten our experience, adding zest and spice to it, making it more meaningful, and, too, without them, we know that we would not truly be in bondage, which is the condition for which we yearn."

"So you accept the miseries and terrors of bondage?" I asked.

"Willingly, and gladly, Master," she said, "and did we not do so then unwillingly and tremblingly must we accept them, for we are slaves."

"Do you like being a slave?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are worthless, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, "except in so far as I might have some small value as a man's slave. I do not know my current market value."

I, too, did not know her current market value. Such things can shift from day to day. They are subject to considerable variance, being functions of many factors, such as the girl herself, her intelligence, and training and beauty, the money in the economy, the conditions of supply and demand, and even the market in which she is sold and the time of year that she is put upon the block. A girl who is sold in a prestige market and, in the afternoon before her sale, placed with other lovely inmates within the chromed, ornate bars of an exhibition cage, has moved and posed upon the instructions of prospective bidders, is almost certain to bring a higher price than another girl, who by the hair, is pulled from a crowded, wooden, bolted cage and thrown upon a sales platform, or who, say, is sold from one of the cement, public viewing shelves of a common street market.

Too, generally girls bring higher prices in the spring. I have little doubt that there is some intensification of the slaving done on Earth at a certain time of year, that the captured girls may be brought to the spring markets. Many Earth-girl slaves, on Gor, comparing notes, discover that they were sold in the spring. The more intelligent among them realize that this is not likely to have been a coincidence. They then have a deeper and more active appreciation of the intelligence, methodicality and organization of the men who saw fit to bring them to Gor.

Suddenly, angrily, I lashed her with the whip. She shuddered, struck. "Do you like that?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said, "but I love it that you can do it to me, and will, if I am not pleasing to you."

I walked around, before her. "Worthless little trollop," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Are you conquered?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, "I am conquered."

"Totally?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, "totally."

"Can a man respect such a conquered woman?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. "But perhaps I might have the interest of the conquered slave for him."

I crouched down before her. She was still on all fours.

"You are a poor slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Yet," I said, lifting her chin with the whip, "you are pretty."

"In a trivial and servile way," she smiled.

"Yes," I said. "And, too," I said, "you have good slave reflexes."

"Which you have not seen fit to exploit, my Master," she whispered.

"I wonder if I should sell you," I said.

"Please do not sell me, Master," she said.

"I will if it pleases me," I said.

"Of course, my Master," she said.

I lowered the whip, and, crouching before her, continued to regard her.

"Is Master truly thinking of selling me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. She had displeased me this evening. Too, I thought I saw her this evening more objectively than ever before I had seen her. I saw her now as little more than a pretty triviality.

"I would bring so low a price," she whispered, "that perhaps Master might keep me."

I stood up, whip in hand. I looked down upon her, on all fours before me. There was something in what she said. She would probably not bring a high price. Perhaps she might as well be kept, at least for the time. There did not seem much point, at least at the moment, in sending her to a market. Too, she was pretty, if only in a trivial, servile way. Too, she had good slave reflexes. Surely I could find uses for her around the house.

"Master?" she asked.

I walked around, behind her.

"Master?" she asked, frightened. She knew she might now be unexpectedly lashed.

"I shall keep you, at least for the time," I said, "to see if you work out."

"I shall endeavor to work out, Master," she cried, joyfully.

"Am I to be kept in full slavery?" she asked, not daring to look around.

"Yes," I said.

"In what slavery, or slaveries, will Master place me?" she asked.

I looked at her position. "Perhaps in the slavery of the she-quadruped," I said.

"Master may do so, if he wishes," she said, "if it pleases him, or amuses him."

In this form of slavery, which is commonly used for disciplinary purposes, or for the amusement of the master, the woman is not permitted to arise from all fours; similarly she is not permitted human speech, though she may signify needs and desires by such means as cringing, and moaning and whimpering. Not permitted the use of her hands, save as a means of locomotion, she must also eat and drink from pans set on the floor, or, sometimes, to satisfy her thirst, she must lap the water permitted to her from puddles or lick spillages from the tiles; too, it is not uncommon to chain her near her master's feet, while he dines, that he may, if he wishes, throw her scraps of food. She will also be taught tricks, through which paces she may be put for the entertainment of her master's guests, such things as begging, lying down, rolling over, and fetching his sandals in her teeth. And, needless to say, when her master wishes to use her sexually, it will be in a position common to the she-quadruped.

This form of slavery, incidentally, is often imposed on captured Ubaras. After a time, it is not unusual for the Ubara, on her belly before her master, given an Ehn in which to speak, to beg, in lieu of the slavery of the she-quadruped, that she be taught the salacious arts and lascivious dances of the female slave, that she may then be less a more amusement for her master than a feast of slave pleasure for him. Her plea is usually granted. Such women tend to become superb slaves. They know, of course, that they may be, at any moment the master pleases, returned to the slavery of the she-quadruped.

I walked around, before the girl. "You may kneel," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she cried, joyfully. She was not then, at least, to be put into the slavery of the she-quadruped. She looked up at me. "I love you. I love you, my Master," she said.

"Kiss the whip," I told her.

"Yes, Master!" she said. She kissed it, fervently, again and again. The former Miss Henderson, of Earth, kneeling naked before me, now knowingly my collared slave, kissed my whip.

She looked up at me, happily.

"Do you think that you are much of a slave?" I asked.

"No. Master," she said.

"You need a bath," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Your body smells," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It stinks," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." To be sure, her pretty little body stank. This was little wonder, considering what her experiences had been, and the beatings I had put her through. Too, it was covered with dirt and sweat, much of the dirt in small, fine rolls on the fairly complexioned, exposed flesh.

There were tears in her eyes.

I heard then a sound at the door.

"On your belly," I told her.

Swiftly she fell to her belly on the tiles before me, her hands at the sides of her head.

"Master!" she said, then hearing someone at the door.

"Lie quietly, Slave," I said, "or you will be whipped."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Who is it?" I called.

"It is I, Lola," I heard. "I have brought your things." She had followed me, dallying according to my instructions, to give me time to introduce the new girl into my house.

I went to the door and, opening it, admitted Lola. She entered, carrying my gear, that which I had taken to the other house. She knelt deferentially before me. "I kneel before my Master," she said. "You may arise," I said. "Thank you, Master," she said. "Put my gear to the side," I said. "And lock the door."

"Yes, Master," she said. She did these things, and then walked to the center of the room. She looked down at the prone slave. "Well, what have we here," she asked, "a well-tamed, well-whipped slave?"

The prone slave was silent, trembling.

"Well?" asked Lola, suddenly, viciously, kicking the girl in the side.

"Yes, Mistress," cried the girl, "I am a well-tamed, well-whipped slave!"

"My Master knows well how to handle a woman," said Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"Do you remember that, when you were free, you once took me to the docks and sold me?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl, "but now, I, too, am only a slave."

"Do you think you will make a good slave?" asked Lola.

"I will try, desperately, Mistress," said the girl.

"Who is first girl?" asked Lola.

"I do not know, Mistress," cried the slave.

"Lola is first girl," I informed her.

"You are first girl, Mistress," cried the slave, "you are first girl!"

"Have you ever seen your collar?" asked Lola.

"No, Mistress," said the girl. "When it was fastened on me, I was hooded."

"Would you like to see it?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

Lola, from a chest near one wall, fetched forth a mirror, which she held close to the tiles, that the prone slave might for the first time see the collar in which she had been placed.

"It is beautiful," breathed the slave, touching it, "it is beautiful!" I smiled. It was only a common collar, of a sort which many girls on Gor wore. Yet, to be sure, it was attractive. It, like most slave collars for women, was designed for both beauty and security.

"You know the meaning of a slave collar, don't you?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"You look well in one, don't you?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"You belong in one, don't you?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"There is writing here on the collar," said Lola. "It says, 'I am the property of Jason of Victoria. "

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"It will well serve to identify you, will it not?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"Is what it says true?" asked Lola.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl, "it is true!" I thought I saw her shudder with pleasure on the tiles.

In a moment Lola had replaced the mirror in the chest, and closed the chest. She then came to where I stood. Together we regarded the prone slave. "She is a pretty little thing," said Lola.

"I think she will prove satisfactory," I said, "for the purposes for which I require her, those of a common slave, a low slave, one to be set chores about the house, and one from whom full domestic services will be required."

Lola looked at me.

"'Domestic services' in the Gorean sense," I said.

Lola laughed. Certainly the former Miss Henderson, of Earth, should have her sensuous possibilities exploited. How absurd it would be to permit those conquered curves to languish.

"What are your commands, Master?" asked Lola.

"In two days, in the evening," I said, "I shall have a small supper here, nothing pretentious, just something for a few friends. Substantially the affair will be catered by the tavern of Tasdron, but there will be much shopping and cooking for you, too, to do."

"I understand, Master," said Lola.

"The house, of course, is to be spotless," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And I shall also depend upon you for decorations, that the house may appear festive, lamps and ribbons, and flowers, and such."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Too, see to it that some small, tasteful entertainment is provided."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"If things are not perfect," I said, "I shall not be pleased."

"Master will be pleased," she said.

"It is late now," I said.

"What of her?" asked Lola, gesturing with her head toward the prone slave.

We walked over to where the former Miss Henderson lay. I turned her over with my foot, and looked down upon her.

"She does not even know how to lie at a man's feet," said Lola. She then crouched down and turned the girl's hands so that their backs rested on the tiles, and the soft, open palms were vulnerably exposed to me. Also she lifted her left knee, that it might be flexed. "There," she said, "that is better." There are many ways, of course, for a woman to lie at a man's feet. Lola had selected, however, one of the loveliest.

The girl looked up at me, frightened.

I walked about her and, with my foot, turned her again to her stomach.

"What is to be done with her?" asked Lola.

"Clean her stinking slave's body," I said, "and then kennel her for the night."

"Look," said Lola, suddenly, "she is unconscious." She bent down beside the girl. "She has fainted," she laughed.

"It has been hard on her," I said. "She had to learn much this evening."

"In a collar a girl must learn quickly," said Lola.

"It is true," I said.

I turned away. I was weary.

"Master," called Lola.

"Yes," I said.

"How is she to be treated?"

"You are first girl," I said. "You hold switch rights over her. See that she is worked well."

"Full discipline?" asked Lola.

"Of course," I said.

"Excellent, Master," said Lola.

I hung the slave whip on its hook, and then went to the stairs, and, wearily, began to climb them. "Master," called Lola. When I reached the height of the stairs and stood upon the landing before my bedroom door, I turned to look down upon Lola. "Yes," I said. "Are you certain that, when I have cleaned her, you do not want me to send her to your room?" she asked. "No," I said. "I do not even want to see her until the party."

"Yes, Master," said Lola. "Master."

"Yes," I said.

"You mentioned entertainment."

"Yes," I said.

"Is this pretty little slave," asked Lola, indicating the unconscious former Miss Henderson, "to be included in the entertainment?"

"Of course," I said.