The Captain

CHAPTER 24

“No!” she cried. “Surely it is not true!”

“It is quite true,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “I own you. I am your master.”

A sudden, wild, almost-indescribable look, perhaps one of horror, perhaps one of misery, perhaps one of sudden, startled, unbelievable elation, or perhaps one of all three, transfused the countenance of the slave, but this was only for the briefest moment, for, in a moment, she had recaptured herself.

“I despise you,” she said. “I do not want you for my master!”

“Dogs and pigs do not decide who will be their masters, nor do lesser creatures, such as slave girls,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

He cast the hood to one side, to the floor.

“You are ‘Sesella,’” he said, naming her.

She glared up at him.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Sesella,” she said.

“‘Sesella’?” he inquired.

“Sesella, Master,” she said.

“Do not forget it,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

“No, Master,” she said.

“How does the word ‘Master’ feel on your lips?” he asked.

“Fitting,” she said. She could scarcely tell what that simple sound, and its meaning, did to her, addressed to men, how it made her feel. Suddenly she felt warm, soft, moist and receptive. “What are you going to do with that whip?” she asked, uneasily.

“Perhaps you recall,” he said, “how in a basement chamber in the headquarters of the commissioner, you, not commanded, only permitted, flew at a kneeling, helpless fellow, and, somewhat ardently, even savagely, one might say, with supposed impunity, struck him, again and again.” He shook out the coils of the whip.

“That was done by a free woman, Sesella Gardener,” she said. “Surely you would not punish a poor slave for something done by a free woman!”

“I see that you are highly intelligent,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

“Thank you, Master,” said the girl.

“But not intelligent enough,” he said.

“Master?” she asked.

“It is not improper, you see, if the free woman has become the slave,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “For, in that case, after her embondment, her punishment is even more shameful, being then beaten as a mere slave.”

“I am small and soft,” she said. “You own me! I beg not to be whipped!”

“Perhaps we should not concern ourselves overly much with what was done by Sesella Gardener, the free woman,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “After all, she is gone. There is now in her place only pretty little Sesella, the slave.”

“Yes, Master!” said the slave, gratefully.

“But Master has not yet put aside the whip,” she said.

“But there does remain, of course, undeniably, the connection between Sesella Gardener, the free woman, and Sesella, the slave, for one has become the other.”

“Yes, Master,” said the girl, falteringly.

“But we need not concern ourselves, I suppose, at least not overly much, with such matters.”

“No, Master!”

“But you may, in any event, be whipped whenever I wish,” he said. “For example, if I feel like whipping you, I may do so.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You understand that you are subject to the whip?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“As a highly intelligent girl, even if not quite intelligent enough, you understand that?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You may be whipped at any time, for any reason, or for no reason,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“That helps to keep slave girls zealous,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

He looked at the whip, in his hands.

“Please, no, Master,” she said.

“‘No’?” he said.

“No,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I am zealous,” she whispered.

“Speak up,” he said.

“I am zealous!” she said.

“Is she who was once Sesella Gardener the free woman and is now Sesella, the slave, zealous?”

“Yes, Master!”

“Who is zealous?

“Sesella, the slave, is zealous!”

He struck the whip once or twice into the palm of his hand.

“Do not whip me,” she begged. “Rather let me serve your pleasure!”

“My pleasure?”

“Yes, as a slave girl!” she said.

“You would serve with such abject perfection?”

“Yes, Master! Let me on the bed!”

“Lie on your back, where you are,” he said.

He took a blanket from the bed, and threw it to the floor. He then drew her down, so that her hands were up, chained over her head, as she lay. He did thrust the blanket under her.

Then he stood up, and looked down at her.

“The top button of your jacket is undone,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she smiled.

“You leaned forward,” he said. “Your undergarments were not those prescribed to conceal your figure. You bared your hair before me, a same, though you, too, were a same. You knelt. You dared to use lipstick. You came to this room, garbed, adorned, perfumed, in ways inappropriate for a same. There are many counts against you.”

“Punish me,” she said.

“Why did you come to the room?” he asked.

She turned her head to the side.

“You hate me,” he said.

She looked up at him. “I can no longer play such games, Master,” she said. “My feelings were troubled, and complex. I did not hate you, but what you were. From the first moment I saw you I wanted to be yours.”

“As you are now?”

“Yes,” she said, “as I am now!”

“But I am a same,” he said.

“I, too, was a same,” she said.

“True,” he said.

“Can we not both know then what we have missed, what we were denied, what we have been deprived of?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

He crouched down, beside her.

“Some sames keep servants,” he said.

“They need never know that I am your slave, Master,” she whispered.

“You would wear same garb,” he said.

“Outside,” she said.

“Yes, outside,” he said.

“And inside?”

“We shall consider that,” he said.

“And even if I am permitted clothing,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Touch me,” she begged. “The slave begs to be touched.”

“Ah!” she said.

“I have never been a man,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

“Perhaps Master would like it,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Ohh!” she said.

“Yes, it might be interesting,” he said.

“Oh, Master!” she whispered.

“I should not be touching you like this, for I am a same,” he said.

“We are no longer sames,” she said.

“What are we then?” he asked.

“You own me,” she said, tensely. “Be kind!”

“What are we?” he asked.

“A man and a woman, a master and his slave!”

“I suppose I might find some application for you,” he said, “in housework, or such.”

She arched her back.

“Can you cook, clean, sew?” he asked.

“No, no, no!” she wept. “No, please don’t stop!”

“Do you like being a woman?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she wept.

“And a slave?”

“Yes!” she cried. “A thousand times ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ “

“See how you arch your back,” he said.

“Do not criticize me, Master!” she begged.

“See how you squirm,” he said.

“I cannot help myself, Master!” she said.

“You may writhe,” he said.

“Thank you, Master!” she cried.

“The chains hold you well,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” she wept.

“I have never seen a woman like this before,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh!”

“You are very beautiful, Sesella,” he said.

“I am yours!” she wept.

“Kneel at the ring, with your head down,” he said.

“I obey,” she said.

“Onto your stomach,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I must rethink matters,” he said.

“Master?” she asked.

He was sitting on the floor, on the blanket, near her. She was still chained to the ring.

“There are dangers in this world,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Is there such a thing as honor?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” she said. “I am only a slave.”

“I thought there was no such thing,” he said. “But now I am not sure.”