Guardsman Of Gor

Chapter 20 — THE PARTY; AFTER THE PARTY

"Another bit of larma, Master?" asked the slave, kneeling behind me and to my left. I turned and, from where I sat cross-legged behind the low table, removed a small, crisp disk of fried larma, with a browned-honey sauce, from the silver tray. I regarded the slave. She put her head down, deferentially. She wore a tasteful garment of bluish gauze, in three layers, which fluffed about her. It came high on her thighs. I could see that her breasts in the garment, as she knelt, were exquisite. Her arms and feet were bare. Her hair was quite dark. My collar was lovely on her throat. I then turned my attention again to the dancers.

There were three of them in blue silk and golden collars. Lola had been fortunate enough to make arrangements for their rental only this morning. They belonged to a fellow who was en route to Port Cos, and thence to Turmus, and thence to the island of Cos itself, where it was his intention to exhibit and vend them. She had found them in holding cages, near the spice wharf. The address of their master, who was residing in an inn nearby, was given to her by their keeper. They were due to be shipped west to Port Cos at noon tomorrow. Tonight, however, he was pleased to make some coins on them.

"They are beautiful," said Glyco, the merchant of Port Cos to whom we owed so much. It was he who, in effect, had organized the resistance of the river towns to the pirates, and had had the good sense and fortune to recruit the redoubtable Callimachus of Port Cos as his field commander, a man without whose military skills and reputation on the river our projects might have been doomed to failure.

"Thank you," I said.

I looked about the table. Seven men, including myself, were present, Glyco, high merchant of Port Cos; Tasdron, Administrator of Victoria; Aemilianus, leader of the naval forces of Ar upon the Vosk; Calliodorus, captain of the _Tais_; and my friends, Callimachus and Miles of Vonda, who had brought with him his slave, Florence. Earlier, as a portion of our entertainment, she had played on the lyre, and sung for us. She had been warmly applauded, which, I think, pleased muchly both the shy slave and her master. Miles of Vonda had had her trained in these skills. As a free woman she had been, in effect, without accomplishments. Now she had additional ways in which to please her master. She now knelt behind her master. She wore a yellow tunic, and her collar.

I watched Shirley, the blond, voluptuous slave whom I had taken from Reginald, of the _Tamira_, in the battle on the river. She was one of three women whom I had had following our victory over the pirates, the other two being Lola and the former Miss Henderson. For this night Lola, who was first girl, had dressed Shirley much like the other slave, save that the gauze of Shirley's garment was yellow.

For the last few days I had been boarding Shirley at a kennel in Victoria, but I had had her brought home this evening that she might help with the serving, and for another reason. She, kneeling, poured wine from a narrow, long-spouted silver vessel into the cup of Aemilianus, of Ar's Station. At the kennel, incidentally, I had arranged for Shirley to receive the whipping which had been due to her for having lifted her head without permission on the deck of the _Tina_. Gorean masters seldom forget such details, and their girls know it. This helps in the maintenance of their discipline.

Lola was in the kitchen, supervising the food and service. She was not to be permitted to present herself until later, and then she would do so in the manner of my choosing. She knew only that she was in some way to be involved in my entertainment.

I again turned my attention to the dancers. Their movements were graceful and decorous. One would scarcely know that they were slaves, save, of course, that they wore collars and danced their beauty for men. Their movements were lovely, and refined. Free women might even have been present. This was suitable for the type of party which I had planned. This was not the type of party at which, say, the women of the enemy are forced to dance naked and, afterwards, are to be allotted to the victors as slaves, according to the whim of the commander or according to the fall of the dice.

Similarly it was not one of those parties in which a given number of slaves must dance within a circle of free men, of equal number, with whips, stripping themselves to the strokes of the whips and then dancing towards the men. The man who does not accept the woman whips her back from him; similarly the woman who does not dance toward a man is whipped until she does. It is common in this form of dance to make each woman, dancing to each man, go about the circle at least five times. In this way the men have a chance to inspect the women, and consider which ones interest them. Needless to say, it is not long before the women are striving desperately to please the men. Only when she has sufficiently pleased a man is she permitted to crawl from the dancing circle to the cushions of her master for the Ahn.

The lead dancer reminded me somewhat of the slave, Melpomene, who had once been the Lady Melpomene, of Vonda. She was similarly figured to Melpomene; similarly, she had the same dark hair, complexion and high cheekbones as Melpomene. She was not Melpomene, however. I smiled to myself. I doubted that Melpomene, whose slave heat had been ignited, could have managed to dance in such a refined fashion before men. Even had she striven to do so I think that small expressions and subtle movements would have betrayed her, to the detriment of the type of dance which she was supposed to be performing. I regarded the dancers.

I supposed that if, at some time in the future, their passions were to be ignited, then they, too, would be ruined for this particular type of dance. I was fortunate, thus, to have been able to obtain them when I did. Too, of course, doubtless their master would keep a close eye on them, at least until he had managed to get a good price for them. After that, what would it be to him if they learned, in the arms of a strong master, what it was to be a full slave.

I wondered where Melpomene was now. Having seen her dance I had little doubt but what she would be being used as a dancer. It takes a long time, of course, for a woman to become a good dancer. She might spend years in low taverns, or as a carnival dancer, or even as a street dancer, for provocation and use, on her leash, before her skills develop to a point at which she is good enough, as it is said, "to be permitted to dance before a Ubar."

"More, Master?" inquired the slave in bluish gauze, in the gleaming collar, kneeling behind me and to my left.

"Yes," I said.

With a serving prong she placed narrow strips of roast bosk and fried sul on my plate.

"Enough, Girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

There were seven musicians, who furnished the music for the dancers, a czehar player, their leader, two kalika players, three flutists and a kaska player. Tasdron kindly had brought these fellows from his tavern. Too, with him he had brought a girl, the former Earth girl, Peggy, who was one of his slaves. She was in a brief, white tunic, and collar. She hovered in his vicinity, waiting upon him. I noted, however, that she could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Tasdron and I had, together, agreed on the pertinence of her presence at the feast.

There was then a swirl of music and the dancers had finished. We well applauded them. They had been superb. They stood before us in their blue silk and golden collars, their heads down. Then, smiling, to another swirl of music, they turned and hurried from the room, going to the kitchen, where their master would be waiting for them. They were barefoot. There were golden bangles on the left ankle of each.

In the kitchen they would be stripped of their costumes, which were not to be soiled. They would then kneel and be fed by hand. When they were finished they would be put naked in slave cloaks and, fastened together in throat coffle, conducted back to their holding cages near the spice wharf. Tomorrow, at noon, on the same ship on which their master had booked passage, they were to be shipped to Port Cos, and from thence, via Turmus, eventually to the island of Cos, in some city of which, probably Telnus, they would be put up for sale. The musicians now played unobtrusively in the background.

"She is a pretty one," said Glyco, indicating the slave in bluish gauze, barefoot and bare-armed, who was deferentially serving us. She put down her head, blushing. "You have been commended," I said to her. "Thank you, Master," she said to Glyco, kneeling, head down. "A girl is grateful, if she has been found pleasing by a free man."

"What is her name?" asked Glyco. "I have not yet given her a name," I said. "I see," said Glyco. "You may continue your serving," I said to the girl. "Yes, Master," she said.

"I propose a toast," said Aemilianus, rising.

"A toast," we called. Shirley hurried about, making sure there was wine in the goblets. Callimachus drank water, but he permitted a drop of wine to mix in the water, that the ceremony of the toast might be one in which he fully shared. Wine, incidentally, is often mixed with water in Gorean homes. This is primarily because of the potency of many Gorean wines. The wines I was serving, however, were such that, sensibly, they could be served undiluted. An alternative with the potent wines is to serve very small amounts of them. We stood. The musicians stopped playing.

"To the Vosk League!" said Aemilianus, commander of the naval forces of Ar's Station.

"To the Vosk League!" we said, fervently.

Two of the men at the table had been signatories to the treaty of the Vosk League, solemnly signed under festive canopies on the wharves of Victoria yesterday at the tenth Ahn, Glyco, who had signed on behalf of Port Cos, and Tasdron, Administrator of Victoria, who had signed on behalf of Victoria. In all, nineteen towns had become members of the League, Turmus, Ven, Tetrapoli, Port Cos, Tafa, Victoria, Fina, Ragnar's Hamlet, Hammerfest, Sulport, Sais, Siba, Jasmine, Point Alfred, Jort's Ferry, Forest Port, Iskander, Tancred's Landing and White Water.

"To Ar's Station!" said Callimachus, lifting his goblet to Aemilianus.

"To Ar's Station!" we said.

"I am grateful to you all, for your generosity," said Aemilianus. "I regret only that I was not permitted to sign the treaty on behalf of Ar's Station."

Well did we know his bitterness in this matter. Envoys from Ar, though present at the signing of the treaty, extending felicitations to the league, and commending its intent, had refused to permit Ar's Station to become a party to the signing of the document. Though this was a great disappointment to Aemilianus, and to others of Ar's Station, who had fought with us, it came generally as no surprise on the river. Ar had had difficulties enough with the Salerian Confederation, to the east, not to welcome the formation of a new league along the Vosk. And, surely, such a league would prove detrimental to Ar's ambitions on the Vosk and in the Vosk basin.

Port Cos, of course, had had no similar difficulties in joining the league. She was an independent town, and sovereign in her own right. Interestingly, envoys neither from Cos herself nor from the Salerian Confederation attended the formation of the league. They would wait, it seemed, to see whether or not the league became an effective, practical political reality upon the Vosk. If it did, that would be time enough, we supped, for them to concern themselves with it.

"To Port Cos!" said Tasdron, lifting his cup.

"To Port Cos," said we all, and that toast was well drunk.

"To Victoria!" said Glyco, reciprocating the honor that Tasdron had shown his city.

"To Victoria!" we said, and well and heartily drunk, too, was this toast. Downing it, I found, startled, that there were tears in my eyes.

"What is wrong?" asked Callimachus, smiling.

"It is smoke," I said, "from the lamps."

"No," he smiled, "it is because Victoria is your city."

"Aemilianus!" I said, huskily, that I might drive this emotion from me.

"Yes?" said he.

"I have been meaning for days to give you a gift, one I have been saving for you."

"Oh?" he asked.

I looked at Shirley. "To his feet, Slave," I said.

Swiftly Shirley, startled, putting down the wine, knelt before Aemilianus.

"I took her from Reginald, captain of the _Tamira_," I said.

"That is known to me," said Aemilianus.

"Do you like her?" I asked.

"Yes!" said Aemilianus.

"She is yours!" I said.

Swiftly the slave put down her head and began to kiss the feet of Aemilianus. "My Master," she said, acknowledging him as her new master.

"My thanks!" said Aemilianus.

"It is nothing," I said. "She is only a slave."

"She is worth at least ten silver tarsks," speculated Tasdron. This heartened me, for Tasdron was quite skilled in the assessment of female slaves. As the owner of a paga tavern, he had bought and sold many, of course. It was a form of merchandise with which he was quite familiar. It seemed to me not impossible, upon reflection, that the voluptuous Shirley, put upon the block, exhibited by a skilled auctioneer, might bring the very fine sum of ten silver tarsks.

There was applause for me about the table, the striking of the left shoulder in Gorean fashion. One of the nicest gifts one can give a man, of course, is a beautiful woman.

"But, mercifully," I said, "let her continue to serve. You may then take her home with you tonight when you go."

"Very well," he grinned.

I threw him a narrow, eighteen-inch black strap. "This is for when you take her home with you tonight," I said.

"Thank you," he said. When he left tonight, of course, she would not be wearing a collar, and, presumably, she would be stripped. The strap would be useful in tying her hands behind her back. There would be no danger, of course, of her being mistaken for a free woman. She would continue to be well marked as a slave by her brand, which was small and fine, and burned deeply into her left thigh.

"Where are you supposed to be now, Girl?" asked Aemilianus.

"In the kitchen, I think, Master," she said.

"Well, then," he said, "run now to the kitchen."

"Yes, Master," she said and, leaping up, ran to the kitchen. She was closely followed by the lovely little slave in the bluish gauze. Doubtless both of them were soon to bring forth the next course of the meal, which I took to be assorted desserts, to be followed by black wine and liqueurs.

"Let us sit down," I said. Then I signaled to the musicians to begin once more to play.

I turned to Miles of Vonda. "What are your plans?" I asked.

"I shall venture to Turmus," he said, "where I have contacts. There I shall arrange a loan and with this money return to Vonda, there to rebuild the burned buildings of my ranch."

I glanced to Florence. In her yellow tunic and collar she knelt quite close to him.

The tunic and collar, of course, were all she wore. Slaves were permitted little clothing.

"What of your wench?" I asked.

"I will keep her on my estates, near Vonda," he said. "There will be no problem. She has been properly branded and collared."

"Will you board your slave in Victoria," I asked, "while you venture to Turmus?"

Florence looked frightened, suddenly.

"No," he said, "I will take her with me."

She then looked relaxed, and happy.

I grinned.

Florence then looked at me, reproachfully, and then smiled. Then she put her head against her master's shoulder.

"Was it your intention, earlier, to give Shirley to Aemilianus?" asked Callimachus.

"Yes," I said.

"But you would have done it later in the evening?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Do not fear your sentiment," he said. He had detected that I, embarrassed by the tears which had formed in my eyes, following our toast to Victoria, had sought to divert attention from this putative weakness by making that moment in which I would give a gift to my friend, Aemilianus.

"I have carried weapons," I said. "I have fought."

"Tears are not unbecoming to the soldier," said Callimachus. "The soldier is a man of deep passions, and emotion. Many men cannot even understand his depths. Do not fear your currents and your powers. In the soldier are flowers and stories. Each is a part of him, and each is real. Accept both. Deny neither."

"Thank you, Callimachus," I said.

"Ah, chained slaves!" called Glyco, delightedly.

Two girls emerged from the kitchen, the girl in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, and the girl in yellow gauze, whom I had called Shirley, who was now owned by Aemilianus. I did not know what name he would choose to give her. Each girl carried a tray of desserts, and each wore two light, graceful, gleaming chains, one of which, some twenty inches in length, by means of ankle rings, joined her ankles, and the other of which, some eighteen inches in length, put confinement on her wrists, each fair wrist being clasped snugly in one of its locked wrist rings. They approached, beautiful and enslaved, carrying their trays, that they might serve us, their movements, graceful and feminine, measured to the permissions of their chains. There was a murmur of pleasure and appreciation about the table. Chained beauties were being looked upon by strong men.

The girls, carrying their trays, knelt before the table. "Desserts, Masters," announced the girl in bluish gauze. Then, rising, they began to serve, one on each side. On one tray were assorted pastries; on the other was a variety of small, spiced custards.

"Pastries, Master?" asked the girl in bluish gauze.

I looked at her. Her small hands held the tray. On her tiny, lovely wrists, inflexible and close-fitting, were wrist rings, each securely locked. Chain, under the tray, dangled between the rings. Behind her, as she knelt on the tiles, there lay the chain which confined her ankles.

"You may now serve another," I said. I had taken a small pastry from the tray.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master."

She then rose, to serve Miles of Vonda.

Diagonally across the table and to my right the new voluptuous slave of Aemilianus knelt tremblingly before him, serving him. He was licking his lips. And I suspect it was not the custards on her tray which so moved his interest. Rather it was the first time that he had seen how beautiful she was in chains.

"Thank you for the pastry, Master," said Florence to Miles of Vonda.

In their serving, the girls, of course, had ignored Peggy and Florence. It was as though they were not present. They were only slaves. But, of course, Miles of Vonda and Tasdron, of Victoria, their masters, had given them food from their plates. Florence had eaten well but Peggy had eaten hardly anything at all. She could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Sometimes her hand moved towards him but she, an Earth-girl slave, dared not touch him.

The pastry was quite good.

I was very pleased with the way Lola had handled the meal. All was simple, tasteful and unpretentious.

"Excellent," said Tasdron, lifting a small pastry.

"Thank you," I said.

I looked upwards, and about the room. The multicolored ribbons were festive; the lamps were lovely; and the flowers, abundant and colorful, mostly larma blossoms, veminia and teriotrope, were beautiful and fragrant. Lola had done well.

"The dancers were lovely," said Glyco, pausing, a spoon lifted in the air over a small yellow, spiced custard. "Perhaps I can rent them for a supper of my own in Port Cos, before their cages are ticketed for Turmus, and thence to Cos."

"It pleases me," I said, "that you found them not displeasing."

"It is an interesting mode of dance," he said, plunging his spoon again into the custard, "one of which women are capable before men have taught them their collars."

"Yes," I said.

I then watched the two slaves, in their chains, continuing their serving. They, too, serving in their chains, were a part of the entertainment, as much as the music of Tasdron's musicians in the background.

The Gorean's concept of entertainment is perhaps simpler, or more subtle or broader than is that, doubtless, of many individuals in many other cultures. For example, he can enjoy watching a slave putting on her tunic or taking it off; he can enjoy seeing a woman chained, and rechained, many times, in many ways, each time being exhibited in her helplessness; and he can enjoy watching his slave working naked in the kitchen, or cleaning, or doing laundry or sewing; I think this is probably because he enjoys being with her, and finds her precious and beautiful.

I had informed Lola that the little slave, now clad in bluish gauze, was to be included in the entertainment. And how delightfully and subtly had Lola complied with my directive! Even she had had the little slave announce the desserts to the guests. I observed the chains on the little slave in bluish gauze. How beautiful they were on her! I wondered if she even realized that she, thus, was now not only serving but was also now a pleasant portion of our entertainment. But of course she must understand this. Surely she had heard the murmur of pleasure and appreciation which had coursed about the table, greeting the appearance of herself and her fellow slave.

In more sophisticated Gorean banquets, incidentally, the serving slaves often change costume and jewelry, and sometimes chains, with each course of the meal, their ensembles and accessories being matched to the various courses. I smiled to myself. Lola had put the two slaves in chains for the dessert course. That seemed a delightful and subtle touch. Slave girls know that to some men, and perhaps to any man some of the time, they are, in effect, and will be treated as, only meaningless, delicious desserts. They are, after all, slaves.

"Master?" asked the small, chained slave in bluish gauze.

I took another pastry, and, with a movement of my hand, dismissed her.

She went then, again, to Miles of Vonda.

"Please, Master, that one," begged Florence.

He took the indicated pastry from the tray, gave it to the slave, and continued his conversation with Tasdron.

"Thank you, Master," said Florence, and, kneeling behind her master, began to eat the pastry.

The chaining on the two slaves did not much restrict their movements, nor was it intended to. Like much chaining on Gor their chaining was primarily aesthetic and symbolic. On a world such as Gor chains are used far less for holding purposes than might be expected. For example, the girls are branded and collared, and their world is one in which the institution of slavery is accepted and respected; there is, in effect, no place for them to run, no place for them to go. On the other hand, chains do hold, and this is one of the major reasons for their symbolic effectiveness. The girl knows, for example, that her chains will keep her exactly where the master has chosen to place her; she is going to stay there; she has been chained there; it is his will which has determined this; she is only his slave.

Just as a woman may be chained in many ways, and Goreans can be ingenious in chaining their females, so, too, there can be many reasons for chaining her. Security against, say, escape or theft, is only one reason. She may also be chained for instructional purposes, that she may be taught, or reminded, that she is a slave. She may also be chained, particularly in certain positions, to humiliate her. She may also be chained as a punishment or discipline. She may also be chained for so simple a reason as that her master merely chooses to do so.

There are many reasons for which a woman might be chained. The women tonight, for example, were chained largely for purposes of beauty. Chains, as is well known, often enhance, and incredibly so, the beauty of a female. This matter is doubtless partly aesthetic and partly emotional and intellectual. The contrast of the unbreakable, merciless, interwoven metallic links, with their tasteful shackles, or cuffs and rings, with the confined, helpless softness of the slave is aesthetically interesting, providing, as it does, a lovely study in surfaces, textures and materials; too, of course, it is only fair to note that the meshed linkage of the chain, with its weight and harshness, with its metallic simplicity and solidity, with its uncompromising, unyielding, inescapable efficiency, merciless and unbreakable, contrasts with, calls attention to, and accentuates remarkably the vulnerability and softness, in all its beauty and curves, of its captive. But the greatest beauty of the chain, like that of the brand and collar, doubtless lies in the realm of the intellect and emotions, in its meaning, and how it makes the girl feel.

The brand and collar, though mighty in their significance, offer little actual impediment to a girl's action, unless, perhaps, she desires to pass alone and unchallenged through a city gate. Chains, on the other hand, permit her only certain latitudes of movement or keep her fixed in a given place. They, by actually putting a physical bond on her, and one which she knows she is powerless to break or escape, one in which she is absolutely helpless, bring her slavery home to her in a clear and unmistakable manner. They well teach her that she is a slave and owned. How could it be made more clear to her, that she is his to do with as he pleases, than when she actually wears his chain?

It is difficult to describe the subtle and exquisite emotions, so profound, and helpless and feminine, which may be felt by the chained woman. "You are chained, and a slave," the chains say to her. "He has chained you, and he is your master. He may now do with you as he pleases. You are now in your place. Choice is gone. Now you can be only, and wholly, a woman. Prepare now to serve your Master, beautiful chained slave."

It is a well-known fact that the mere sight of chains can make many women, even free women, sexually uneasy. Imagine if they were put in them! The chain, like the rope and the strap, and the whip, even when they have no reason to believe they will ever be used on them, speak on some profound level to women. Imagine, then, that a woman, falling slave, suddenly realized that she was now, in effect, subject to them! Consider her fears, her curiosity, her arousal! A woman, often, particularly if stripped, seeing a chain and knowing that it is to be placed upon her, will feel uncontrollable sexual desire, her body opening like a humid flower in its receptivity. That response can characterize even a free woman. Imagine, then, if you will, that now the woman is not free, but has fallen slave! She now knows that she is subject, categorically and in all ways, to the full domination of the master. No longer does she have even the theoretical option of offering a token resistance. Open, enraptured, joyful, she writhes moaning and crying out on the furs of love, a conquered slave, a fulfilled woman.

"There must be levies of men and ships, from the signatory towns," Glyco was saying to Callimachus, "rotations of men, and perhaps, too, of ships. Patrols must be organized. Communications and signals will be of great significance."

"You are now first captain in Port Cos, are you not?" I asked Calliodorus. He had been captain of the valiant _Tais_. I assumed, with the fall of Callisthenes, that the mantle and helmet of the first captain would surely devolve upon him.

"I am acting first captain," said Calliodorus. "But it would be my hope that Callimachus, who was once first captain, may be prevailed upon to resume that post."

The two slaves had now left the pastries and custards upon the table, and had returned to the kitchen. They would there presumably be relieved of their chains and would return with the black wine.

"The citadels of Policrates and Ragnar Voskjard have been burned, I heard," I said.

"Yes," said Tasdron. The citadel of Ragnar Voskjard had been fled by its defenders, after the news of the battle at Victoria reached them, they knowing themselves too few to defend it against a concerted siege.

"They might have been useful as bastions for the Vosk League," I said.

"The Vosk League," smiled Tasdron, "is a simple league, whose intent it is merely to control piracy on the river."

"That was the original intent, too, as I understand it," I said, "of the league on the Olni which became the Salerian Confederation."

"We did not want trouble with Cos and Ar," said Tasdron.

"Not while we are weak," said Glyco.

"I see," I said.

"Not only have they been burned," said Tasdron, "but they will be dismantled. We have taken proposals on this work from stone merchants."

"And salt will be cast upon the ashes," said Glyco.

"Salt," I said, "can be a sign of life, and luck."

"True," smiled Tasdron.

"The headquarters of the Vosk League, as I understand it," I said, "is to be located in Victoria."

"Yes," smiled Tasdron. "The choice seemed judicious."

"Victoria was centrally involved in the resistance to the pirates," said Aemilianus.

"And it was here that the decisive victory was won," said Calliodorus.

"And in this fashion," grinned Aemilianus, "the headquarters of the league is not in Port Cos."

"And, similarly," smiled Calliodorus, "it is not at Ar's Station."

There was laughter at the table.

The two slaves, their chains removed, now returned, and began to serve the black wine. The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus, whom he had not yet named, placed the tiny silver cups, on small stands, before us. The lovely little slave in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, holding the narrow-spouted, silver pouring vessel in a heavy cloth, to retain its heat and protect her hands, poured the scalding, steaming black fluid, in narrow, tiny streams, into the small cups. She poured into the cups only the amount that would be compatible with the assorted sugars and creams which the guest might desire, if any, these being added in, and stirred, if, and as, pertinent, by Aemilianus' slave, who directed the serving.

"Have the pirates been disposed of, suitably?" I asked Tasdron.

"Yes," said Tasdron. "We divided them among various wholesalers, with the understanding that no more than one of them will be sold in any given market, in any given city or town, or village or fair. Thus they will be well scattered, and distributed, over all known Gor."

"I see," I said. Policrates, Kliomenes and Callisthenes, and such men, branded and collared, would soon be owned slaves, laboring for masters. There are many uses for such slaves. They can be purchased for work chains, to be rented out by their masters, sometimes marched between cities, depending on the seasons and the work available. They can serve, too, in such places as the mines, the quarries and great farms.

"Master?" asked the girl in yellow gauze, who had been Shirley and now belonged, for the moment nameless, to my friend Aemilianus, of Ar's Station.

"Second slave," I told her, which, among the river towns, and in certain cities, particularly in the north, is a way of indicating that I would take the black wine without creams or sugars, and as it came from the pouring vessel, which, of course, in these areas, is handled by the "second slave," the first slave being the girl who puts down the cups, takes the orders and sees that the beverage is prepared according to the preferences of the one who is being served.

"Second slave," said the slave of Aemilianus.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl in bluish gauze. She was extremely careful not to spill a drop. Black wine, except in the vicinity of Thentis, where most of it is grown on the slopes of the Thentis range, is quite expensive. Also, of course, clumsy slave girls are often whipped. The expression "second slave," incidentally, serves to indicate that one does not wish creams or sugars with one's black wine, even if only one girl is serving.

"Where is Krondar?" I asked Miles of Vonda.

"On his way to Ar," said Miles.

"To Ar?" I asked.

"He fought well with us," said Miles. "I freed him."

"Excellent," I said, "he is a splendid fellow."

"And I gave him portions of my share of the spoils, from the holding of Policrates."

"Excellent," I said.

"Do you remember that luscious little brunet, Bikkie, from the holding?"

"Of course," I said. "She was allotted to you, with Florence, in the division of the spoils."

"I gave her to Krondar," said Miles.

"Superb," I said. "He will make her writhe well."

"That is certain!" laughed Miles.

"How you men speak of us!" protested Florence.

"Be silent, Slave," said Miles.

"Yes, Master," she said, putting her head down, shyly. I smiled. Obviously she, too, was not averse to being made to writhe by her master.

I saw the two slaves returning now to the kitchen.

"Why is Krondar going to Ar?" I asked.

"He intends to purchase fighting slaves," said Miles, "and then free them, and organize matches among free men. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"There are perhaps places where such things are done," I said.

"Free men fight with weapons," said Miles. "They are not animals."

"Warriors are trained in unarmed combat," I said.

"But only as a last resort, only for emergencies," said Miles.

I shrugged. There were surely those at the table who knew more of such things than I.

"It is difficult to kill a man with your bare hands," said Miles.

"There are several ways in which it may be done, easily," said Callimachus.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes," said Calliodorus.

"Yes," agreed Aemilianus.

"Oh," said Miles of Vonda.

"Are you enjoying your supper?" I asked Calliodorus, who had been rather subdued most of the evening.

"Yes," he said. "It is very nice."

"I see that you have brought no slave with you," I said.

"No," he said.

Calliodorus, as we knew, had once wooed a maid in Port Cos. The companionship, however, had never materialized. The maid, it seems, before the ceremony, had fled the city.

"You should have a slave," I said. "They are marvelous in contenting a man."

"There is only one woman," he said, "on whose lovely throat I ever wanted to lock a slave collar."

I lifted the tiny silver cup to my lips and took a drop of the black wine. Its strength and bitterness are such that it is normally drunk in such a manner, usually only a drop or a few drops at a time. Commonly, too, it is mollified with creams and sugars. I drank it without creams and sugars, perhaps, for I had been accustomed, on Earth, to drinking coffee in such a manner, and the black wine of Gor is clearly coffee, or closely akin to coffee. Considering its bitterness, however, if I had not been drinking such a tiny amount, and so slowly, scarcely wetting my lips, I, too, would surely have had recourse to the tasty, gentling additives with which it is almost invariably served.

"Master, may I have that pastry?" asked Florence, indicating the one she desired.

"No," he said.

She knelt back.

But I noticed that, in a moment, he had given it to her, and she knelt back on her heels, her knees closely together, holding it with two hands, eating it.

I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black wine.

The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Forgive me, Master," she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.

"What is going on?" asked Miles of Vonda.

"I do not know," I said.

"Is it an entertainment?" asked Glyco.

"Perhaps," I said.

The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered the room. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.

I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness.

I was startled.

What memories this stirred in me!

The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.

There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table.

"She is beautiful," said Tasdron.

"What manner of garments are those?" asked Glyco.

The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown. Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.

"I do not understand this," said Miles of Vonda. "Is this meaningful?"

I was almost overwhelmed. "It is very meaningful to me," I said. "Permit me, my friends, to explain. First, Glyco, in answer to your question, the garments she wears are much like, and are meant to suggest, the garments which a free woman may wear on Earth."

"But they are slave garments," said Glyco. "See! The arms and the shoulders are bare!"

"Nonetheless," I said, "on Earth free women may wear such garments."

The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.

"They are slave garments," said Glyco.

"True," I said, "but to understand what she is doing, you must understand that such garments, on Earth, are understood to be exquisite and lovely free-woman's garments."

"Very well," said Glyco.

"Too," I said, "they are, in this case, meant to remind me of, and resemble, the garments which she once wore, as a free woman, to a meeting with me. That is important."

"I understand," said Glyco.

"They would also be the garments in which, for the first time, to my knowledge, she had ever dared to explicitly express her femininity."

"Do the women on Earth not dare to express their femininity?" asked Glyco.

"Many fear to do so," I said.

"What of the men of Earth?" asked Glyco.

"Many of them encourage the women to pretend to be pseudo-men," I said.

"What sort of men are they?" asked Glyco.

"I do not know," I said.

"Observe the hair," I said.

"It seems severe, tight, rigid, constricted, constrained," said Glyco.

That is part of the costume, so to speak," I said, "of many male-imitating women. The straight lines and severity are supposed to suggest, I gather, efficiency and masculinity."

"Interesting," said Glyco. "It is incongruous, of course, with the garment, which seems rather feminine."

"Such incongruities," I said, "are not uncharacteristic of many Earth women. They can indicate ambiguities in self images and confusions, in particular, as to their sexuality. There might, of course, I suppose, be many other reasons for them. For example, in some cases, they may represent that a transition is in progress toward femininity."

"The cloth on the table and the candle," said Miles of Vonda, "are supposed to suggest to you the place of this meeting of which you spoke."

"Yes," I said. "It was a place where food was served, and where one might engage in pleasant conversation."

"A tavern?" asked Tasdron.

"Not exactly," I said. There is no precise Gorean expression for a restaurant. "There were no paga slaves there, and no dancers."

"Why would one go to such a place?" asked Miles of Vonda.

"She went there that she might engage in delicate and intimate discourse with me," I said.

"That she might offer herself to you as your slave?" asked Glyco.

"If so," I said, "that was not clearly understood at the time."

"She appears then now before us," said Glyco, "much as she appeared then before you?"

"Yes," I said, "though there are, of course, differences. For example, at that time, her throat was bare." The girl now wore a light white scarf twisted about her throat, the ends over her left shoulder. "Too," I said, "at that time she carried a small silver-beaded pouch."

"I see," said Glyco.

The girl did not now, of course, carry a purse. Slave girls are not permitted to carry such things. When shopping she carries the coins usually in her mouth or hand. Sometimes she ties them in a scarf about a wrist or ankle. Sometimes her master places them in a bag, which is then tied about her neck. Gorean garments, generally, incidentally, except for the garments of craftsmen, do not have pockets. Coins, and personal items, and such, are usually, by free persons, carried in pouches, which are usually concealed within the robes of a free woman, or slung about the waist, or shoulder, of a free man.

The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her hands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.

I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair.

There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.

"You see now," I said, "how beautiful can be a woman of Earth."

"We know that from our slave markets," laughed Glyco.

She then, reaching to the left side, beneath her arm, of what seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.

There was gentle, appreciative applause.

She now stood before us in what seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-shoulder slip.

"Now that is a slave's garment, obviously," said Glyco.

"True," I admitted. But I smiled to myself, for I knew that such garments, on Earth, might be worn by free women. To be sure, on Earth, they were usually worn as undergarments, whereas, on Gor, such a garment, silken and smooth, with nothing beneath it, would be regarded as quite acceptable for a slave's street wear, particularly in warm weather. To be sure, of course, the color of the garment, on Gor, would not be likely to be white, but, commonly, red or yellow. White, on Gor, is a color commonly associated with virginity. It is, accordingly, worn by few slaves.

The girl then sat on the tiles before us, but back a bit, where we, sitting cross-legged at the low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully upon the floor, her toes were pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the golden straps wound about and under her right foot.

In the restaurant she had worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then, putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music, without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed. Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot, as her left previously had been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast them aside.

She looked at me. She had bared her feet before a free man. The golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find, within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested, that footwear. Such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the hands and feet of women. Sometimes, if it amused me, I could tie her in them.

There was gentle applause for the girl, and murmurs of appreciation. The footwear had been well removed.

She then rose to her feet and stood again before us, but now barefoot upon the tiles.

She then reached again to her left side, and undid a fastening there, below her left arm, and then another below it, and then one at her hip. She then unwrapped the brief slip-like garment from her body, and dropped it to one side.

"Ah," said more than one man. "Interesting," said Glyco.

"The garments in which you now see her," I said, "are supposed to represent typical undergarments of an Earth female."

"I see," said Glyco.

The brassiere had been simulated cleverly with soft white silk. Her beauty, soft, and almost as though protesting its confinement, strained against this silk. Too, between her breasts, this silk had been twisted and knotted, this making even more evident the sweet contours of her beauty, and the sturdy, silken restraint placed upon it. The panties, too, were simulated with white silk, which, in a narrow rectangle, had been wrapped twice about her hips and tucked in at her waist. There was no nether closure to this silk, of course. The Gorean slave girl is not permitted to shield her intimacies without the explicit permission of her master.

Besides these two garments, intended, respectively, to suggest the brassiere and panties of an Earth girl, she still wore, of course, the light, narrow white scarf, this twisted and wound twice about her throat, the ends thrown over her left shoulder.

The girl then, to the music, put back her head and put her hands behind her back, and, reaching high behind her back, this lifting her breasts beautifully, strained for a moment, and then, one by one, twisting slightly, undid the hooks on the confining, tight silk.

Our eyes met.

The silk was then dropped to one side.

"Superb," said Glyco.

She then reached to the white scarf on her throat and, beautifully, to the music, undid it one turn. She then, to the music, drew it beautifully, slowly, from her throat, and, gracefully, dropped it to one side. She wore, of course, now revealed, a close-fitting, gleaming slave collar.

She lifted her head, and, with her fingers, delicately indicated and displayed the collar.

She then stood before us as a barefoot, half-naked, collared slave.

Gorean applause, and murmurs of appreciation, greeted this aspect of her performance.

Our eyes met again.

She then reached with her right hand to her waist and undid the tuck in the silk which was wrapped about her hips. Slowly and beautifully then, to the music, with both hands, she unwound the silk, and then dropped it to the tiles.

"Superb!" said Glyco.

She then crawled to me, on her hands and knees, her head humbly down. Then, when she reached me, she lowered herself to her belly and, extending her right hand, touched me on the knee. She lifted her head. "You are my master," she said, "and I am your slave, and I love you!"

"Superb!" said Glyco. "Superb!" Those at the table, even including the slaves, Florence and Peggy, unable to restrain themselves, applauded. She who had been Shirley, too, now the slave of Aemilianus, applauded.

I took the small slave by the upper arms, and held her, half turned, on her side, near me. I looked down into her eyes. She was breathing heavily. She was shaken with emotion. Her eyes looked up at me, pleadingly.

The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus was now attending again to the lamps, this time restoring the room to its original illumination.

I then drew the slave more closely into my arms, and again regarded her, looking deeply into her eyes. I had never suspected that she would have performed as she had. I had, of course, specified to Lola that she was to be included in the entertainment, but never had I expected anything of the nature or beauty of what I had seen. That the girl had helped to serve the dessert course in display chains would, in itself, have fully contented me. Informed by Lola that she was to be a component of our entertainment doubtless the girl herself had suggested and devised this performance, abetted, of course, by Lola. Of many things in the performance, such as the restaurant, Lola could have known nothing. The idea of the performance, then, as well as most of the details involved in its presentation, must have been that of my little dark haired slave. It was a most beautiful gift which she had given me.

The room had now been restored to its normal illumination. The candle, blown out, and the white cloth, too, had been removed. I saw that Florence, flushed, kneeling behind Miles of Vonda, was biting at the back of his tunic, and putting her hands on his hips. "Get back, Slave," he said to her. "Yes, Master," she sobbed, and knelt back. She had been aroused by the performance of the dark-haired slave. I saw that Peggy, too, in her white tunic, was flushed. She was breathing deeply. It seemed she could not take her eyes from Callimachus.

I looked down into the eyes of the little slave. She looked up at me, pleadingly. "Master," she whispered.

"It is time to serve the liqueurs, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. She then rose to her feet and hurried toward the kitchen.

"Slave," I called.

"Yes, Master," she said, stopping, turning, and falling to her knees.

"You will serve as you are," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said, and then, rising up, turned and hurried to the kitchen, there to render aid to Lola and the slave of Aemilianus.

A small whimper escaped Florence.

"Be silent, Slave," said Miles of Vonda.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"She is not the only one," said Tasdron, jerking a thumb at Peggy, who, blushing crimson, put down her head, looking away from Callimachus.

"Ah," said Glyco. "The liqueurs!"

First from the kitchen, bearing her tray, came the voluptuous slave of Aemilianus. Behind her, too with her tray, came the little dark-haired slave. In a moment both were deferentially serving. The collared softness of the dark-haired girl well set off the metal of the tray, and the small, multicolored glasses and bottles upon it. It is not unusual, at a Gorean meal, where free women are not present, for one or more of the slaves to serve naked. At ruder meals, this makes it easier for one of the guests, should the urge strike him, to use them.

"A free woman!" suddenly exclaimed Glyco, startled.

I smiled.

From the kitchen there had emerged, in the robes of concealment, the figure of a woman.

The men, save I, rose as one to their feet, for Gorean men commonly stand when a free woman enters a room.

The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus swiftly knelt, making herself as small as possible, putting her head to the floor. The little dark-haired slave, too, swiftly knelt, also putting her head to the floor. Too, she shuddered, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Peggy and Florence, too, now had their heads to the floor. Slave girls, as I may have mentioned, fear free women, terribly.

The woman in the robes of concealment seemed timid, frightened. She approached the table hesitantly, diffidently. She did not understand, fully, what she was to do.

"A free woman is present," whispered Glyco to me.

But I did not get up.

"You!" she suddenly said, from behind her veils, seeing Calliodorus, of Port Cos, captain of the _Tais_. "You?"

He seemed startled. He leaned forward, as though he might peer through the veils themselves.

"You are Calliodorus," she said, "of Port Cos!" I had not told her, of course, that Calliodorus was to be a guest at our supper.

"You!" he cried, suddenly. "Can it be you? No! It cannot be you! It cannot! Not after all these years!"

"It is I," she said, trembling.

"Gentlemen," said Calliodorus, huskily, "this is the free woman, Lola, of Port Cos!"

Suddenly the girl, sobbing, wildly tore away her veils and the robes of concealment, revealing that she wore a slave tunic and collar. "I am not a free woman," she cried, throwing herself to the feet of Calliodorus, "I am a slave girl!"

"And she is yours!" I cried.

Calliodorus, stunned, looked down at the beauty at his feet.

I rose to my feet.

She looked around at me, wildly. "Master!" she cried.

"You are now his," I said, indicating Calliodorus.

"Thank you, Master!" she cried. "Thank you, Master!" She rose to her feet, and ran to me, falling to her knees before me and putting her head down to my feet. She kissed my feet in gratitude. "Thank you, Master," she sobbed. I was pleased with her pleasure. She was a superb slave, properly handled, and I was quite fond of her. She had served me well. I thought it not unfit that she be rewarded. Accordingly I had given her to Calliodorus.

She rose to her feet and ran to kneel before Calliodorus. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, her hands on his legs. "Will you accept me, Master?" she asked.

"In Port Cos," said he, "long ago, I wooed you with all the honors and dignities to be accorded to the free woman. Well did we grow acquainted, and many were the long and intimate conversations in which we shared." His eyes then grew hard. "And in one of these," he said, "you uttered an unspeakable confession, acknowledging your slave needs."

"I was so ashamed," she said, turning her face away.

"How could I take to my bed in honor one who had dared to confess her slave needs? Such girls I could buy at the market. We parted, naturally. But our families, desiring the companionship, pressed us for explanations. That our honors might be protected, of course, yours that you had dared to confess your slave needs, and mine, that I had been the scandalized auditor of so shameful an admission, we remained silent."

"But," said she, moist-eyed, "that our courtship not appear to have failed, and that our families not be disgraced, you agreed to proceed with the companionship, this in accordance with your conception of your duty as an officer and a gentleman."

He looked down at her, not speaking.

"I did not wish to languish, scorned and neglected, in a cold bed, while you contented yourself with market girls. I fled the city."

"You are mistaken in at least one thing," he said. "I had not determined to proceed with the companionship because of family pressures. I am not so weak. Similarly, my duties as an officer and a gentleman were not implicated in the matter."

"But, why then?" she asked.

"I wanted you," he said.

"But I have slave needs," she said.

"I thought long after our conversation," he said. "You had dared to confess your slave needs, and this had shamed you, and it had scandalized me. But, why, I asked myself. Should not, rather, one be more ashamed by deceit than the truth? Can there truly be a greater honor in hypocrisy than in honesty? It does not seem so. I then realized how bravely you had trusted me and revealed this to me. My outrage gave way to gratitude and admiration. Similarly, I asked myself, why was I scandalized. Was this not connected with hidden fears of my own, that I might discover complementary needs within myself, the needs to own and be a master? Your confession, so expressive and poignant, tended to undermine a deceit of free persons. You had dared, it seemed, to break the code of hypocrisy. Had the gate to barbarism been left ajar? I regretted, for a time, the loss of the lie. We grow fond of our myths. Yet our myths are like walls of straw. Ultimately they cannot protect us. Ultimately they must perish in the flames of truth."

"You would have taken me," she asked, "knowing that I had slave needs?"

"Your slave needs," he said, "made you a thousand times more desirable. What man does not want a slave?"

She looked at him, startled.

"It was thus my intention to take you into honorable companionship," he said, "but, in the privacy of our quarters, away from the sight of the world, to put you in a collar, and keep you as a slave, even to the whip."

She looked up at him, disbelievingly.

"But," he said, "such a farce will not now be necessary."

"I do not understand," she said.

"Strip," he said.

"There are others present," she protested.

His right hand, in a backhand blow, lashed forth, fierce and powerful, striking her from her knees to her side on the tiles. She rose to her hands and knees and, blood at her mouth, regarded him, disbelievingly.

"Must a command be repeated?" he inquired.

Swiftly she tore away the slave tunic, stripping herself. He snapped his fingers and pointed to his feet. She crawled to his feet on her belly. She looked up at him.

"I gather that you accept the gift," I said.

"I do accept it," he said, "and I thank you."

"I have called her Lola," I said, "but you may, of course, call her what you wish."

"You are Lola," he said to the slave.

"Thank you, Master," she said, named. She put down her head and, gently, kissed his feet.

"Lola," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"From the first instant, long ago, when I saw you in Port Cos, I wanted to own you."

"And from the first instant in Port Cos, so long ago," she said, "I wanted to be your slave."

"You now are," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Here," I said. I threw Calliodorus an eighteen-inch black binding strap. It was identical to the one I had earlier given to Aemilianus.

"Thank you," grinned Calliodorus.

"Bind her well," I said.

"Have no fear," laughed Calliodorus, "she will know herself bound."

There was then laughter, and Gorean applause, congratulating Calliodorus on his good fortune, and me on the loveliness and generosity of my gift. Then again we sat down. The gift, nude and collared, curled lovingly on its side near him, its hand touching his knee.

"It is time now," laughed Tasdron, "for me to add something to the evening." Peggy looked at him, puzzled. "On your feet, Slave," said he to her, "and go to the tiles at the foot of the table."

Startled, Peggy did as she was told. She then stood there, frightened, in the brief white tunic. She had no idea as to what was to be required of her. She had thought that she had been brought to the supper merely to attend Tasdron, her master.

"Strip," said Tasdron.

Swiftly, unquestioningly, knowing herself a Gorean slave girl, Peggy unbelted the tunic, parted it, and slipped it from her shoulders. She then blushed crimson. She had been forced to make herself nude, in the presence of others, before the man she loved.

"Slave," said Tasdron.

"Yes, Master," said Peggy.

"In the tavern," he said, "you have seen various dances, have you not?"

"Yes, my Master," she said.

"You have seen among them, have you not," he asked, "the Sa-eela?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, turning white.

"Dance it," he said.

"I am not a dancer!" she cried.

"Must a command be repeated?" he asked.

"No, my Master!" she cried, and gracefully flexed her legs, and lifted her hands, their backs to one another, above her head.

"Splendid!" said Glyco.

How beautiful Peggy was, and how frightened!

Tasdron lifted his hand.

The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slave dances of Gor. It belongs, generally, to a genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the Master.

Tasdron then signaled to the musicians.

And then Peggy began to dance.

I remembered her then from long ago, from Earth, also from the restaurant, where she had worked as a hat-check girl. She had worn a black ribbon in her blond hair, a long sleeved, white-silk blouse, panty hose of black netting, and a brief, black miniskirt. Her long, shapely legs had been well revealed. She had been very lovely. I did not find it hard to understand that she might have come to the casual attention of a Gorean slaver.

"I thought she was not a dancer," said Glyco.

"I have never thought of her as a dancer," said Tasdron puzzled. "I have never used her as a dancer."

The former Peggy Baxter, of Earth, nude and in the steel collar of Tasdron of Victoria, her master, now danced before us, a Gorean slave girl.

I sipped a Turian liqueur.

I sensed the lovely little dark-haired slave kneel down quite close to me, behind me and to my left. She put her hands about my left arm.

I savored the liqueur, and observed the dance of the slave.

I also smiled, detecting the swift, astonished breathing of the little slave near me.

"Such movements, of course," Glyco was saying, "are instinctual in a woman."

"Yes," said Tasdron.

"Oh," breathed the little slave near me, "oh!" I smiled. I gathered that she had seldom seen the dance of a female slave.

The Sa-eela, usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all impediments, except her collar, is one of the most powerful of the slave dances of Gor. It is done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in the river towns and, generally, in the Vosk basin, are, in my opinion, among the finest.

There is no standardization, or little standardization, for better or for worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not only can the dances differ from city to city, and town to town, and even from tavern to tavern, but they are likely to differ, too, even from girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance.

For the woman, slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, of course, it provides her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression. "They all wear collars," is the first portion of a familiar exchange, of which Goreans are fond. The second, and concluding, portion of the exchange is, "But each in her collar is different." This exchange, I think, makes clear the attitude of the Gorean toward the slave girl In one sense she is nothing, and is to be treated as such, but, in another sense, she is precious, and is everything.

A familiar bit of advice given by bold Gorean physicians to free women who consult them about their frigidity is, to their scandal, "Learn slave dance." Another bit of advice, usually given to a free woman being ushered out of his office by a physician impatient with her imaginary ailments is, "Become a slave." Frigidity, of course, is not accepted in slaves. If nothing else, it will be beaten out of their beautiful hides by whips.

I felt the small hands of the lovely little dark-haired slave tight on my arm.

"She is not bad," said Tasdron, observing the dancer.

"She is superb!" breathed Glyco.

I looked across the table, to my right. Lola, half kneeling, half lying, in the arms of Calliodorus, his hand in her hair, could not take her eyes from the dancer. She was breathing deeply. I glanced to my direct right. Florence, in the brief yellow tunic, knelt behind Miles of Vonda, clutching him, her fingers caught in his tunic, her chin on his right shoulder. She, too, was breathing deeply. "Master," she whispered to him. "Master."

I took another sip of the liqueur. It was quite good.

Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table, using the table in the dance, thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips.

"Ohhh," said the little slave, holding my arm.

I smiled. The Sa-eela, of course, is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman.

Peggy, then, was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and then prone, and then again, supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness.

I observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clenched fists on the tiles, the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous scattering of her hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and, whimpering, struck down, in misery, stinging the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell, locked away from men.

She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and, head down, remained for a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different melodic phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignancy. She crawls some feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seemed to contain her.

She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over, and then straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to ask, looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But there is, of course, no one there, and, in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood.

Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself for the master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering, diaphanous slave splendor. She then crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head high, a bound slave, is being led on her tether from the pen. But, at the gate, of course, her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us, clearly, that she is still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head with her hands, and weeps.

The next phase of the music begins at this point.

She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they have come for her. She puts her head up; she turns away; she feigns disdain. Then, it seems, as she, startled, looks about, they are turning away. She then throws herself to her belly on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head, holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered.

It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the palms of her hands, frightened, that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice, it seems she is struck with a whip. Then she, again, assumes the position of the pleasure slave. She nods her head. She understands well what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. "Yes, Masters!" it seems she says.

But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish fellows, understand that this is precisely what she, too, deeply and desperately desires to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she, a mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for the consideration of her master. How can they understand the poignancy, and significance, of this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before the master! Who knows if she, in such a large house, one with such cells and jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity?

It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in Jewelries and shimmering silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken feast. She then, with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us. Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were, of course, the "masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She twisted, as though her hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she had in the beginning, back to back.

The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin.

In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master.

In the former Peggy Baxter, of Earth, I now saw little left which was reminiscent of her planet of origin. Before us there danced a Gorean slave girl.

I glanced about, to the small, dark-haired slave clutching my arm, to Lola, in the arms of Calliodorus, to Florence, kneeling behind Miles of Vonda, to she who had been Shirley, in her yellow gauze, kneeling to one side, now the slave of Aemilianus. They were breathing deeply. Their eyes shone. In fascination, and in arousal, and fear, they watched the beautiful slave. They knew that they, too, wore collars.

Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely, high arches. Her body was superb. She had retained, by means of diet and exercise, her block measurements, those measurements which were hers when she, after having been prepared for sale, was marketed from a slave block.

The master commonly has a record of such measurements and many masters, using a tarsk scale, used for small livestock, and slave tapes, periodically check their lovely properties, making certain that they are maintaining the measurements. And woe to the girl, in such a case, whose measurements are found to depart to any significant extent from the block measurements! Such a departure can be an occasion for corrective discipline, and of a quite severe sort. Sometimes, when one sees a fearful girl refusing the smallest of sweets and exercising, almost in desperation, one may suspect, in amusement, that the day on which her master plans to check her measurements is not far distant. The lovely figures of slave girls are not accidents. Only free women are permitted to become unkempt and gross.

Peggy was dancing well.

She had lovely arms, and lovely, slender wrists. They would look well roped, or clasped in slave steel.

She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance the girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her cascading hair to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers.

Women are so incredibly beautiful. It is a wonder that men do not scream with pleasure, seeing them.

It is little wonder that Goreans put them in collars, and own them.

"Oh!" gasped the naked, collared little beauty kneeling near me. I smiled. I recalled that she had seen little on Gor of the dancing of female slaves.

I looked at her.

"She is so sensuous, and female!" she whispered.

I shrugged. "She is a slave," I said.

Free women, incidentally, are seldom permitted to witness dances of the erotic power of the Sa-eela. The major reason for this, interestingly, is not that they might be offended or outraged, but for their own protection. Many times lovely, young free women, sometimes thinking that they have cleverly disguised themselves, donning male garments, pretending to be boys, thus seeking admission to the dances, find themselves set upon and stripped. Soon, in chains and well ravished, they find themselves as much slaves as the dancer. Perhaps, in their turn, too, they will be taught to dance. On their way to the market they may, if they wish, reflect upon what they, at that time, are likely to regard as their folly. Later, at the feet of a strong man, they may become clearer on the nature of the motivations that took them to such a performance in the first place. They were courting slavery, begging, in their way, for the steel of the collar, pleading to be subject, if they were not pleasing, to the cut of the whip. They had not truly been free women; they had only been, unbeknownst to themselves, slaves in search of their masters.

"I am hot, Master," said the little slave kneeling beside me.

"A bold admission," I said, "for a former Earth girl."

"And I am frightened," she whispered, suddenly.

"Of course," I said. "You now realize, even more clearly than before, what it might mean to be a slave on Gor."

She then clutched my arm, even more tightly, and then, she kneeling beside me, small and naked, helpless and vulnerable, her throat locked in the steel of my collar, on the tiles, we watched the dance of the female slave.

The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela.

In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave, in effect, puts herself at the mercy of the Master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might take an interest.

A woman may do this, of course, from many motives, such as fear or her desire to be purchased by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be found pleasing by him, for her own sake. In such displays there can be, though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no true distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl, in effect, says, "I am for sale. Buy me, and love me!"

In the second case, the girl, in effect, says, "Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested in her?" In the second case, of course, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was she herself he intended to own, and, in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and individuality. They, and their whips and chains, settle for nothing less. To think of the imbonded woman as a slave object is in one sense quite correct, but, in another sense, it is a perversion of, and a failure to understand, the intimate and beautiful relations which can exist between masters and slaves.

The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation, in all her sensual splendor, was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous, needful, beautiful, intimate and personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her bared body. She danced herself before her master.

The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles before Callimachus of Port Cos. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back towards him.

Callimachus, sweating, overcome, trembling, fists clenched, rose to his feet. He looked down at the supine slave, sweating, her breasts heaving, at his feet.

"She is, of course, yours," said Tasdron. "Jason and I thought you might find her of interest."

"Bring me binding fiber!" cried Callimachus, throatily, joyfully. "I must tie her!"

Lola fled from the table to search out binding fiber and, in a moment, returned to the table and knelt before Callimachus, head down, handing him a generous length of soft, silken, scarlet binding fiber. In another moment, Peggy, wincing, had been helplessly trussed, hand and foot, on the tiles.

"Escape!" ordered Callimachus.

"I cannot, Master!" cried the girl, struggling futilely. "You have tied me too well. I am helpless!"

"Escape!" commanded Callimachus.

"I cannot," wept the girl, "nor do I wish to, Master!"

I turned her over and examined the knots on her wrists and ankles, and then put her again on her back. "The knots are excellent," I said. "She has been securely bound. She is a well-tied slave. She cannot free herself."

Callimachus then cried out with joy and went to Tasdron, whom he embraced. He then came to me and seized my hand, and then embraced me, too, weeping. "My thanks," said Callimachus. "My thanks to you both!"

In his joy he had immediately tied the slave. He had waited not a moment longer than necessary to put her in his bonds. The practical and symbolic significance of binding the woman is, I gather, clear to all. It is a joyful, meaningful way of demonstrating power over the slave, and showing that she, in effect, belongs to you. It is a thrilling, exciting act for the master who binds, and for the helpless, dominated slave, who finds herself bound. "He who ties a woman owns her," is a Gorean saying. To be sure, strictly, a woman might find herself tied by a man who does not own her legally, but even in such a case, she will experience herself as being owned in a rather practical and significant sense, that sense, namely, in which she is completely at his mercy and under his control, that sense in which he may do with her as he pleases. Consider then the joy of binding when the master knows that he literally, and legally, owns the woman he binds; and she knows that she is the full and legal property, with no hope of escape or rescue, of the one who binds her.

Callimachus looked down at the bound slave. "From the first instant I saw you," he said, "I wanted you as my slave."

"And from the first instant I saw you, my Master!" cried the girl, looking up at him, "I was your slave!"

And then he reached down and seized her and, holding her by the upper arms, before him, she unable to stand, as she was bound, he began to cover her face and mouth, and throat, and breasts, with kisses.

"Oh, Master," begged Florence, "please take me home, and use me! Please, my Master, take me home, and use me!"

"It has been a pleasant evening," grinned Miles of Vonda, rising to his feet.

We all rose.

"I shall call you 'Peggy," said Callimachus to his new slave. "It is a superb name for an Earth-girl slave."

"Yes, Master!" she said. "I am Peggy. I am Peggy!"

Tasdron signaled to the musicians, that they might now leave, and, quietly, not calling attention to themselves, they began to gather together their various instruments and other paraphernalia.

"Come, Slave. Step quickly. Off with the garment," said Aemilianus to the voluptuous slave, who had been Shirley, whipping out the binding strap I had given him earlier.

Quickly she ran to him, stripped off the yellow gauze she had worn, turned her back to him and crossed her wrists. He then tied her wrists behind her back.

"May you get much service and joy from her," I said.

"I shall," he said, "if she wishes to live."

The girl trembled, and there was much laughter about the table.

"What will you call her?" I asked.

"'Shirley'," said he. "That is an excellent name."

"An Earth-girl name!" laughed Glyco, meaningfully.

"You are Shirley," said Aemilianus to the slave.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I am Shirley." She trembled, her wrists helplessly confined in the loops of the binding strap.

She had been given an Earth girl name. She then realized just how perfect and complete would be the slavery to which she would be subjected in the house of Aemilianus. It would be a slavery at least analogous to that in which an Earth girl is held in a Gorean house. It was little wonder, then, that, hearing her new name, she had trembled in terror.

"Oh!" cried Lola, wincing, standing with her back to Calliodorus. He had tied her wrists behind her back.

He then turned her to face him. "Do you object, Lady Lola, of Port Cos?" he asked.

"I am not the Lady Lola, of Port Cos," she said. "I am only your lowly slave."

"Do not forget it," he said, lifting her head up with his fingers and, bending down, kissing her gently on the lips.

"No, Master," she whispered.

The last of the musicians had now filed from the house. I thought they had been superb. I would later, in a few days, send a tip for them to the tavern of Tasdron.

I glanced at the small, dark-haired slave. I expected that I would be spending the next few days muchly in the house. She, watching Calliodorus and Lola, did not realize that I had glanced upon her. That, I suspected, was just as well. Such heat and desire as might have been revealed in even so casual a glance might have frightened her. She would learn soon enough, lovely little collared beast, what it was, fully, on Gor, to be a master's slave.

I saw that Callimachus had now removed the binding fiber from Peggy, with which he had so joyfully asserted his power over her, that he might bind her and make her helpless, and his ownership over her, that she was his to so bind and to so make helpless. She was on her knees before him, kissing at his feet and weeping. "Do you have another binding strap," asked Callimachus, sheepishly, "something to take her home in?"

"By some odd chance, I do," I said, grinning, and threw him such a strap. I had brought three such straps to the table, one for each of the girls who was to be awarded as a gift. In a moment Peggy was on her feet and her head was back. She winced and then laughed with joy. Her wrists had been tightly tied. She knew then that her life with Callimachus would not be easy, nor did she wish it to be. She did not want a weak man; she wanted a man strong enough to elicit, dominate and control the woman in her; Callimachus, a Gorean master, she now realized, would do so; she now realized that he would not compromise with her; she would be kept in total slavery, under the strictest of disciplines, fully owned and uncompromisingly mastered; she would serve him perfectly; she was joyful.

"Please, Master," begged Florence, "bind me in some way."

"Very well," said Miles of Vonda, kindly.

Peggy, her hands tied behind her back, went to kneel before Tasdron. He had given her to Callimachus. She kissed his feet in gratitude. "Thank you, Master," she wept, "thank you!"

"Thank you, Master," breathed Florence to miles of Vonda. He had locked her hands behind her back, in slave bracelets. She, too, now had been bound by her master.

His desire for her, and his mastery over her, had now been, to her joy, by the steel of the confining bracelets, attested. She extended her head to him, her lips pursed, her eyes closed, to kiss him, but he seized the sides of the opening of her slave tunic, the left side in his right fist, the right side in his left fist.

"Master?" she asked, opening her eyes. The sides of her tunic were held tightly. "Master?" she asked. "Are you not a slave?" asked Miles of Vonda. "Yes, Master," she said. Then, suddenly, laughing, Miles of Vonda jerked open the tunic and tore it down about her lovely, flaring hips. He then thrust it open and back on her hips. Its upper portions hung back, depending from the belt, still in place, about her braceleted wrists. "Yes, Master!" she said. "March me naked through the streets as your slave. I love you!"

Miles of Vonda then picked up the lyre, which she had used earlier in entertaining us. With its strap he slung the small, lovely, curved, stringed instrument about her body, the strap over her right shoulder, the instrument behind her left hip. The delicacy of the instrument, with its suggestion of refinement, gentility and civilization, contrasted nicely with the barbarity of her luscious, enslaved nudity, the shreds of her tunic and her helpless, steel-clasped wrists.

"I love you, Master!" she cried. She pressed her body to him and he, clasping her to him, with force and possessiveness, kissed her as his desired and owned slave. I had little doubt that when he arrived home he would play well upon her body, making it the instrument of his attentions. He would draw forth from her by his skills rhapsodies of movements, cries, moans, utterances and admissions, a music to the ears of both the conquering master and the delicious, yielding slave, she who finds, and can find, her most glorious victory only in her most complete and devastating defeat. "I love you, Master!" she was weeping. "I love you!"

Tasdron, with a snapping of his fingers calling Peggy to her feet, removed his collar from about her neck, and she ran to stand, head down, deferential and bound, near Callimachus. I threw Aemilianus the key to the collar of Shirley, and he removed it from her. I myself took the steel of my collar from Lola's throat.

"Thank you for giving me to Calliodorus," she said.

"Serve him well," I said.

"I shall. I shall!" she said.

Slave girls, of course, may speak the name of their masters to others, for example, as in locutions such as, "I am the girl of Calliodorus of Port Cos," or "I come from the house of Calliodorus." It is only that they are seldom, in addressing the master himself, permitted to use his name. He is usually addressed simply as "Master," or as "my Master."

"I have an announcement to make," said Tasdron, "for which I have waited until now." We regarded him. The slaves knelt. A free man was speaking. "The forces of the Vosk League are soon to be organized," said Tasdron. "It is my honor and pleasure to inform you that one among us has agreed to act as the commander of these forces. He is, of course, Callimachus, of Port Cos!"

"Congratulations!" I cried to Callimachus, shaking his hand. There was Gorean applause.

"The appointment was made earlier this afternoon, in a secret session of the High Council of the Vosk League," said Tasdron, "that body sovereign in the league, composed of representatives drawn from all the member towns." Tasdron smiled at me. "This time and place," he said, "seemed appropriate for making the first public announcement of the appointment."

"Thank you, Tasdron," I said. He had honored my house. Peggy was looking up at Callimachus, from her knees, her hands bound behind her back. Her eyes were shining. How proud she was of her master.

"But what of Port Cos?" asked Calliodorus. "Are you not to return to Port Cos, to replace Callisthenes, to become High Captain?"

"That post is yours, my friend, Calliodorus," said Glyco.

"My thanks!" said Calliodorus.

We applauded him, congratulating him and expressing our approval of the wisdom of the appointment. On her knees beside him, her hands tightly bound behind her back in the black binding strap, Lola pressed her lips fervently against his leg, and looked up at him. Her eyes shone, too. How proud, too, she was of her master!"

Tasdron reached into his pouch. "I am sure that you recognize this," he said. He held, in his hands, two pieces of rock.

"The topaz!" said Aemilianus.

"The topaz!" said Calliodorus.

"What you do not know," said Tasdron, "is that long ago, over a century ago, this stone, unbroken, was the Home Stone of Victoria."

We were startled. There was silence in the room.

"Over a hundred years ago," said Tasdron, "it was carried away by pirates, and broken. Since that time Victoria has not had a Home Stone. What had once been our Home Stone served then as nothing more than a pledge symbol among the buccaneers of the river. In a few days we of the council of Victoria will go down to the river. There, from the shore of the Vosk, we shall select a common stone, not much unlike others. That, then, shall be the new Home Stone of Victoria."

There were tears in my eyes.

"What of the topaz?" asked Aemilianus.

"It has been broken," said Tasdron. "No longer may it serve as a Home Stone."

"Why have you brought it here?" asked Calliodorus.

"Ar's Station and Port Cos," said Tasdron, "are mighty powers on the river. I brought it here that I might give one half to you, Aemilianus, and one half to you, Calliodorus. In all that may later ensue, whatever it may be, do not forget that you once fought together, and once were comrades."

Tasdron then gave half of the topaz to Aemilianus and the other half to Calliodorus.

"My thanks," said Aemilianus.

"My thanks," said Calliodorus.

Then Aemilianus looked at Calliodorus. "Let us never forget the topaz," he said.

"We will not," said Calliodorus.

We then went to the door, and, as pleasantries were exchanged, our guests, one by one, began to take their leave. Miles of Vonda left first, heeled by his curvaceous, auburn haired beauty, Florence, once, too, of Vonda. On the street, below, at the foot of the stairs, he ordered her to precede him. She then did so, well exposed in the shreds of the tunic, the delicate lyre slung behind her left hip, her wrists fastened behind her, with Gorean efficiency, in her master's steel. She walked before him, her shoulders back, her head high; she walked before him, happily, beautifully, a loved, paraded slave. Aemilianus next left, heeled by Shirley. Following him, Glyco and Calliodorus, both of Port Cos, left, the pair being heeled by Lola.

Tasdron and Callimachus paused at the door.

"Tasdron," said I, "when the council arrives at the shore of the Vosk, it is my hope that I may be there."

"It is our hope, too, that you will be there," said Tasdron, "with the others of Victoria."

We clasped hands. Tasdron then left. He carried with him the brief white tunic which Peggy had worn, and the collar which he had taken from her throat. They would fit other girls.

"Congratulations, again!" I said to Callimachus.

"Thank you," he said. "I shall, of course, need strong men, men from the various towns, men tried and true."

"Doubtless you will find them," I said. "The finest swords on the river will be eager to place themselves in your service."

He then casually thrust Peggy ahead of him through the door, and she hurried, bound, down to the first landing of the stairs, some yards above the street. Callimachus followed her a step or two, and then he turned, and faced me.

"The temporary headquarters of the forces of the Vosk League," he said to me, "will be in the private serving room of the tavern of Tasdron. You know the place."

"Of course," I said. We had met there, many times.

"In five days," said Callimachus, "you will report to me there."

"Report?" I asked.

"I have selected you as my second in command," he said.

"Callimachus!" I cried.

"Or do you, now that you are rich, fear the travail of the service, the offices of such a guardsman?"

"No!" I cried.

"Then you have your orders," he said.

"Yes, Captain!" I said.

He then went down one or two stairs, and then turned, and again faced me. "We might discuss this at greater length, but, as you might understand," he said, jerking a thumb at the nude, bound Peggy, waiting for him on the landing, "I am in a hurry to get this slave home, and use her."

"Yes, Captain," I grinned.

He then joined Peggy on the landing. He regarded the lovely, bound slave. She drew back. "Am I not to heel you, my Master?" she asked.

"Precede me," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Thus," said he, "should any of Victoria be abroad at this hour they may observe the value and the quality of the animal, this lovely gift, which I have been given."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And, too," he smiled, "I wish to anticipate the pleasures which I am shortly to derive from you."

"Yes, Master," she laughed, and hurried down the stairs ahead of him.

I then closed the door, and threw the bolts and bars in place. I then turned and looked at the small slave standing near me. "Go to a place near the table," I said, "and kneel there on the tiles, with your head bowed, deferentially."

"Yes, Master," she said, and hurried to obey. I then went about the house, locking and securing it. The dancers, and their master, of course, had gone long ago. I had made many improvements in the house. I set the bars and bolts in place at the back door; leading from the kitchen. I attended, too, to the windows. When I returned to the vicinity of the table the house, in effect, had been transformed into a small fortress.

I looked at the small slave, kneeling, head down, on the scarlet tiles, in the light of the lamps.

"We are alone," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You may lift your head," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I walked about her, examining her. She was very beautiful.

"May I speak, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You brought three binding straps to the table," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"But you brought none for me?"

"No," I said.

"Ah," she said.

"Your gift to me, your performance, during the course of the black wine," I said, "was very beautiful."

"Thank you, Master," she said. "But it was not a mere entertainment. I had long fantasized stripping myself before you, and offering myself to you as your slave."

"Really?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "And in many fashions, and ways."

"You shall enact these for me in the future," I said.

"I shall be pleased to do so, Master," she said.

"How long have you entertained these fantasies?" I asked.

"Even on Earth," she said. "I can even recall attempting to decide what might be the most sensuous way I could remove a bikini before you."

I took her by the upper arms and put her forward, on her belly, on the tiles, and then I crossed her wrists behind her body, and her ankles. It is a standard binding position. She then retained this position, not having been given permission to break it, while I went to the tiles at the foot of the table and gathered up the two golden straps with which, earlier, she had simulated the footwear she had worn at the restaurant. I then returned to her side and crouched down. I then began to tie her, her wrists with one of the straps, and her ankles with the other.

"Had you fantasized thusly," I asked, tying her, "the removal of your clothing, the white-sheath gown, and such, and the offering of yourself to me as a slave, on the night of our meeting at the restaurant?"

She winced. I checked the knots.

I then turned her to her back.

"Yes, Master," she said, looking up at me, "but then, of course, I did not know that slaves were not permitted purses nor, without their master's explicit permission, a nether closure to their garments."

I stood up, and looked down at her.

"You have tied me," she said. "I am helpless! You own me!"

"But you were testy, ill-tempered, belligerent in the restaurant," I said.

She squirmed on the tiles, bound. "I was a confused Earth woman," she said. "I did not know what to do!"

She tried to pull her ankles apart. "Please untie my ankles, Master," she begged. "Let me throw them apart for you!"

"It seems you now know what to do," I said.

"I did not know then what I was," she sobbed. "I know now what I am! Please untie me now, Master! Please let me serve you!"

"You will be untied if, and when, I please," I told her. "Yes, Master!" she sobbed. I then sat down, cross-legged, a few feet from her. I wished to think. She was an interesting, complex slave.

The former graduate student in English literature, bound, nude and collared, struggled to her knees. She looked at me.

"It is rather different from Earth, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you know your place, and condition?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said. "My place is at your feet. My condition is that of a slave."

I then gave myself to thought.

"Master," she asked, "may I speak?"

"No," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then considered many things, Earth and its miseries, the nature of life, genetic endowments, biology, civilizations, chains and collars, and the small, excruciatingly desirable, curvaceous beasts that are human females.

I heard her whimper. I looked up. "Yes?" I said.

"May I speak, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Thank you for tying me," she whispered.

I nodded. In tying her I had, of course, demonstrated her desirability for me. She was worth tying. Too, I had demonstrated for her, in a way that is incontrovertible for a female, my mastery over her. I had tied her. Too, of course, I had enjoyed tying her, making her helpless and mine. It is a great pleasure for a man to tie a woman. It is interesting to consider, when one thinks of it, that there are probably many men who, in all their lives, have never tied a woman. These, of course, are not Gorean men.

I stood up, and looked down at her. She shrank back. This amused me.

"Alas," she said, lightly, "now I must clear the table, and finish the dishes, and put the house in order."

"Such things can wait," I told her.

"Oh," she said.

I continued to regard her.

"Doubtless I am now to be locked in my kennel for the night," she said.

"No," I said.

"Oh," she said.

I continued to regard her, amused. She squirmed on her knees.

"Master gave away two girls tonight," she said, lightly. "But he kept me. He kept me in his collar."

"Yes," I said.

"Is that meaningful?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I said.

"I am now the only girl in the house," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Am I to be kept for full service?" she asked.

"Doubtless you have much to learn of cooking and sewing," I said, "but I have no doubt that you are already a superb little maid and laundress."

"Does Master intend to buy other girls?" she asked.

"That will be decided later," I said.

"I shall endeavor to be such that master will find the purchase of others girls unnecessary," she said.

"But then," I said, "you would have to render a full service."

She put her head down, shyly. "It is my desire," she said, "to render my master a full service."

"A full Gorean service?" I asked.

"Despise me, if you must, my Master," she said, "but the answer is a most emphatic 'Yes! "

"It had better be," I said.

"It is," she laughed. "It is, my Master!"

I walked over to her, and looked down into her eyes.

"But will you not, sometimes, remember that you knew me from Earth?"

"Yes," I said.

"But you made me serve your guests naked," she said, reproachfully.

"Of course," I said. "There were two reasons for that. Neither of them, of course, need be made known to you."

"Please, Master," she said.

"The first reason," I said, "was for your own instruction. In performing such servile tasks for the guests, and while naked, were you not fully conscious that you were a slave?"

"Quite, Master," she said. "I am certain that I have profited well from the lesson."

"Secondly," I said, "you are very pretty. Thus your nudity contributed to the pleasure of the guests and myself, thereby improving the course of the liqueurs."

"Then you might have me serve nude anytime?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Even though you knew me from Earth?"

"Of course," I said. "Do not expect, simply because we are both of Earth origin, that this will soften your slavery. It will only make it more delectable."

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

"Yes," I said.

"I do not want my slavery to be softened," she said, "for any reason."

"It will not be," I told her.

"I beg to be kept in a full, and hard, slavery," she said, looking up at me.

"You will be," I told her.

"Without compromise," she begged.

"Without compromise," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said. "It is how I have always wanted to serve you, even from the first moment I saw you,on the campus of the university."

"And, too," I said, "from the first moment I saw you, it was the form of service I wished from you."

"It is now yours, my Master," she said.

I then crouched down and gently lowered her, to her back, on the tiles. I then stood up, and looked down at her, naked and bound, at my feet.

"Please rape me, Master," she said. "Please subject me to slave rape."

"Why?" I asked.

She looked up at me, startled. She squirmed in the bonds. There were tears in her eyes.

"I beg to be raped," she said. "Please, Master, rape me! Rape me!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Is it not obvious?" she asked, weeping, twisting in the golden straps.

I smiled.

"I–I," she stammered.

"Say it," I said.

"I–I am hot in my collar!" she wept. She then blushed crimson.

"What a vulgar little slave, you are," I said.

"What a beast Master is," she said, "to make a girl so explicitly confess her needs."

I then crouched down and untied her ankles, but I held them together in my hands. I felt them trying, straining, to move apart, but they could not do so. She had little leverage and, in any event, her strength was as nothing compared to mine. They would not be thrown apart until I wished.

"This will be the first time that you have truly had me, as my own Master," she said. "You took me in the Street of the Writhing Slave as a Coin Girl, a mere rent girl, a street girl, a gutter wench, and you have taken me, I a helpless slave, I not knowing you, in the guise of my unknown Gorean master, but this will be the first time that you have had me, so to speak, in your own name and right."

"Yes," I said.

"Please, Master," she said, "may I beg one thing! Let it be swift, efficient and uncaring. Put me under your lust, as a mere object!"

I regarded her. Obviously at my least touch she would go into orgasm. I had never seen a slave more ready for exploitative penetration. She wanted her first having by me, in my own name and right, to be one which would make it clear to her that she, in my arms, was only a mere slave.

"Oh!" she cried, as I flung apart her ankles. She looked at me, in sudden fear. Then I took her.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" she cried.

Then I withdrew from her.

She lay at my feet, on her side, her hands bound behind her. "Oh, yes, yes," she whimpered.

I had had her casually, swiftly, ruthlessly, without sensitivity or tenderness. I had had her as a meaningless piece of slave meat.

"Yes," she moaned, softly, "yes, yes."

I looked down at her. Sexuality in the human female is a marvelous, deep, complex and total thing. Consider the female at my feet. I had scorned to show her the least respect. I had treated her as trash, and a worthless slave. Yet she moaned, bound, on the tiles, in joy. She had been treated as she had wished, as one who was merely mine, and must submit, in the order of nature. I looked down at her. Her entire body, in all its curves and beauty, cried out her vulnerable sexuality. What scoundrel, I wondered, would refuse to satisfy the needs of the female of his species?

I kicked the girl with the side of my foot. "You are now in your place, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "You had me well."

With my foot I rolled her to her back on the tiles before me.

"Will Master keep me?" she asked. "Did I please Master?"

"You were not entirely displeasing," I said. "At least for the time, you will be kept."

"I will try to work out," she said.

I looked down at her, on her back, her hands tied, on the tiles at my feet.

"I will try desperately to work out," she said.

"On your belly," I said. Then I went to her and untied her hands. Quickly she rose to her knees before me. She held my legs and, softly, kissed my left thigh.

"Now that I have had you, and I have decided to keep you about, at least for the time," I said, "we must try to think of some name for you."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"But there is no great hurry in the matter," I said.

"No, Master," she said. For now she would continue nameless. Many times, incidentally, a new girl is not immediately given a name. If one doesn't know if she will work out, or be kept, it is sometimes not thought worth the while to waste a name on her. Similarly, sometimes a master waits a few days to name the slave, to see if an appropriate name, one seemingly right for the girl, suggests itself. Most of the time, of course, it must be admitted, the girl, like a pet sleen, is promptly named. It makes it much more convenient to refer to her, and summon her. The name she is given, of course, is a function of the will of the Master, and names may be changed, as he pleases. Sometimes, for example, a girl may be rewarded with a lovely name, or punished with an ugly one.

"Thank you for my slave rape," she said. "It is how I wished first to be had by you."

"It seemed appropriate for a low slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master." I felt her nibbling at the tunic at my thigh, and kissing, softly, through it. I felt the dampness, the wet, from her small, warm mouth, and, too, through the cloth, the movement of her tongue. "Master did not even remove his tunic," she said.

"Do you object, in the least?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. "I am only a slave."

"To your work," I said, jerking my thumb toward the table.

Startled, she rose swiftly to her feet and went to the table, where she, kneeling down, began to gather together the dishes and stack them.

It pleased me to see her, naked and in my collar, engaged in this necessary and menial labor, fitting for a slave. This also gave me the opportunity I desired, unseen by her, to fetch forth from the chest an object which, long ago, I had purchased for her on the great concourse near the wharves.

I moved quietly behind her, as she knelt, working, at the table, the object, in several loops, held between my hands. I then, with one motion, slung the loops over her head and body, and jerked back, straightening her body, and pinning her arms to her sides. "Chain!" she cried. "Master!" She tensed her body and struggled, but only for an instant. I tightened the chains. She ceased struggling. The chains were tight in her flesh. "Master?" she asked. I then lifted the chains from her, and held them out, before her. "It is beautiful," she said.

She saw now that the chains had been the loops of a single, graceful body chain, sinuous and glossy, closely meshed and dark, ornamented with colorful beads of wood, semiprecious stones and bits of leather. Its full loop is some five feet in length, and it can be wound and looped, and twisted and strung about a woman's body in a variety of intricate fashions. It is light and the closeness of its meshing allows it to follow closely the contours of a woman's body. It is unbreakable. It may be worn with or without clothing. By means of small clips, snap clips or lock clips, it may be used to secure as well as adorn a woman. It is to be worn, of course, only by a slave.

"It is beautiful, my Master!" she said. "Is it mine?"

"It is mine," I said, "as you are. You own nothing. It is you, rather, who are owned."

"Yes, Master," she laughed, "but did you not buy it for me?"

"For you, or for any other slave," I said, lightly.

"I think I am the slave you had in mind," she said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"The first time you ever looked at me, on the campus of the university," she said, "you looked upon me as though I might be a slave."

"I did?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Do you think a woman does not know when she is being looked upon as though she might be a slave? We are not stupid, my dear Master. Furthermore, you looked upon me as though I might be your slave."

"I was not, at that time, clearly aware of such things," I said.

"And, in my heart, beneath those ridiculous garments of Earth I then wore, I knew that you were right."

"You would scarcely greet me," I said. "It seemed you would scarcely deign to recognize my existence."

"I was afraid," she said. "Everything was suddenly so different. Can you imagine what it would be for an Earth girl, with all her conditioning, and her education and training, to suddenly recognize that she is a female, and has met her master?"

"Doubtless it would be a troubling insight," I admitted.

"Put the chain on me, Master," she laughed. "I am eager to see how I look in it!"

"Vain slave," I said. Then she stood and I, from behind, looped the chain about her. She hurried to one wall, where there was a full-length mirror, and, turning and posing, and adjusting the chain on herself, she examined herself.

"It is beautiful," she said, turning. "How I pity poor free women who cannot wear such things." Then she looked at herself, frontally, and, skeptically, tilting her head one way and another, experimented with the chain, varying its lines, loopings and tensions. She adjusted it with her small hands with meticulous care and fastidious taste. "I think I would bring a high price," she said, not taking her eyes from the mirror.

"In a market," I said, "you would not be sold in the chain."

"Even so," she said, "if I were a man, I think I might buy me."

I did not respond.

"Of Shirley, Peggy, Lola and myself," she asked, "who is the most beautiful?"

"Most men," I said, "would probably pay most for Shirley, as most men would regard her as the most desirable, if not the most beautiful. Then I would think that Peggy would bring the next highest price, and then Lola, and then you."

"I would be last?" she asked, still looking in the mirror.

"I think so," I said, "clearly."

"But surely some men would find me attractive," she said.

"Of course," I said.

"I think I would bring a good price," she said.

"You might," I said.

"You do not find me unattractive, do you, Master?" she asked, lifting her hands to her head and throwing back her hair, regarding herself.

"You are being kept," I pointed out, "at least for the time."

"You do find me attractive, don't you, Master?" she asked, turning to face me.

"You are not found to be entirely displeasing to my senses," I said.

She swiftly came to where I stood and knelt down before me, and kissed my feet, and then lifted her head, looking at me. "That pleases me, my Master," she said.

I then lifted her to her feet, but did not permit her to press her lips to mine.

"Do you like the chain?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, "it is beautiful."

"It is not expensive," I said. "It is a common piece of slave jewelry."

"Fit for a low slave," she smiled.

"It also has certain features of which you might not be immediately aware," I said.

"Oh!" she said. Then she tried to pull her wrists apart, from behind the back of her body. "I am chained!" she said.

"Yes," I said. With the small clips, using convenient portions of the chain, I had fastened her hands behind her. With the clips, of course, she may be chained by the hands and feet, and waist and neck, in almost any conceivable position.

"I now see why free women do not wear these things," she smiled.

The chain was now secured with snap clips, which are usually perfectly adequate, as the girl, as she is chained, cannot reach or undo the snaps. I had also, however, purchased a set of lock slips, which are useful in some chaining situations or out-of-doors, where, say, one would not wish a stranger to be able to gag the slave, undo the clips and carry her off from where, perhaps, she has been chained to a post. The body chain I had purchased, though efficient, and attractive and sturdy, was not an expensive one. Some such chains, of course, such as those sometimes worn by high slaves, are quite expensive, being of gold and set with such stones as rubies, sapphires and diamonds.

She moved away from me, and turned before me. "Am I pretty in your chain?" she asked.

I wanted to scream with pleasure, the little she-sleen! How well the little beast knew what she was doing! What a slave she was.

"I see that you think I would bring a good price," she said.

I clenched my fists.

"You do find me quite attractive, you know," she said.

I said nothing.

"Masters find it so difficult to conceal their desire," she laughed.

I said nothing.

"I am helpless, you know," she said, trying to pull her wrists apart.

"I know," I said.

"May I approach Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She came and stood quite close to me, within the circle of my space, close, as a slave may stand to her master. Her nearness was almost overwhelming. I thrust her back. She regarded me, amused, observing me scrutinizing her bared beauty. She knew I owned it.

"Doubtless I am now to be unchained," she said, "that I may attend to my domestic labors, clearing the table, and such, but then, perhaps, it was not for that reason that Master chained me so helplessly. Perhaps he has other 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, steel barred 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 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 hands chained behind her. The 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 beautiful."

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 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.

I then carried her, over my shoulder, into the bedroom, to throw her to the foot of my couch, beneath the slave ring.