The Captain

CHAPTER 33

The dark-haired slave knelt before Otto, in the privacy of his chambers.

A lamp, suspended on three chains, burned to one side. Heavy tapestries were about, hunting and battle scenes, but they were muchly dark now, their thick, heavily woven textures hardly discernible. There were narrow bars on the window. Shadows were cast by the massive couch.

“How dare you have come here?” had inquired Otto, who had opened the door in response to the timid knock. There, kneeling in the threshold, had been the slave.

“Master Julian has sent me,” she said, frightened.

In her hands there was a silver tray, on which were a flask of wine, with a goblet, and some viands, and a flower.

“It is thoughtful of him to send me a light collation,” said Otto.

He gestured that the slave might enter.

She did so, and placed the tray on a table, near the couch.

She was dressed in a brief slave tunic, much like Renata and Gerune had worn earlier.

It seemed that Julian, who had much taken her garmenting and her quarters in hand, had decided that she would no longer wear the long, sleeveless garment of wool, that which had been for so long her garment in her cell.

Otto looked away from her, angrily. Her legs were superb.

She then knelt at the foot of the couch.

“You may leave,” said Otto, not looking at her.

“Master Julian,” she said, “has desired that I inquire after your wants.”

“You have now done so,” he said. “You may now leave.”

“It is late,” she said. “At this hour I might be severely punished if found in the halls.”

At this hour it would be normal for a slave to be secured, perhaps in the master’s room, perhaps in the slave quarters, in a cell, or kennel, such things.

“You came here upon command,” he said.

“But a guard may seize me and beat me,” she said.

“Inform him that you are here on the orders of the master of the house,” said Otto.

“Master Julian will not wish to be disturbed now,” she said.

“Then be whipped,” said Otto, angrily.

“At the least,” she said, “I would spend the night in close chains.”

“I will bind your hands behind your back,” said Otto, “and then it will be understood that you are in proper custody.”

“I was being kept in a cell,” she said. “But now it has been taken from me.”

“You now have a kennel?” asked Otto.

“Yes,” she said.

“Is it clean and dry?” he asked.

“I must keep it that way,” she said.

“How large is it?” he asked.

“It is larger than the cage you keep me in on Varna,” she said.

“You look well in a cage,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She looked about.

“It seems Master has not slept,” she said.

Otto growled with rage.

“Master?” she asked, innocently.

“May I pour the wine, Master?” she asked.

“I would have a woman,” said Otto suddenly, fiercely.

She rose to her feet, unbidden, to pour the wine. Otto looked to the slave whip, on its hook, on the wall, but he did not advance toward it, and remove it from its hook.

She poured the wine. “The girls are now in service,” she said, “or kenneled for the night. I suppose one might be brought up, from the kennels.”

She replaced the decanter on the tray. “I am a woman,” she said.

Otto cried out with rage.

She took the goblet and knelt before him, kissing it and then lifting it to him.

“I have been sent,” she said, “to inquire after your wants.”

“My wants,” said Otto, in rage, “are well satisfied.”

“What of mine?” she cried, suddenly, tears brimming in her eyes. “What of my wants?”

“They are nothing,” said Otto. “They are only those of a female slave.”

He turned away from her.

“Do not treat us with such cruelty!” she cried.

“‘Us’?” he said.

“Slaves,” she wept. “You do not know what it is to be a woman, and a slave. You do not know what it is to be in bondage, to be property, to be owned. You do not understand how this at once makes us so vulnerable, so helpless, and yet so free and needful. Do you think we do not know the meaning of our brands, of the collars on our necks? Do you think we do not understand how it is that we are garbed as we are, and what this means? Can you not understand how such things touch us in our deepest belly, how they liberate, and inflame, our sexuality? Have you not heard how desperate we are to obey, to love and to serve, to be the most complete and perfect of women, to be mastered, and in being mastered, in our own conquest, to become most ourselves, and secure our greatest fulfillment, our greatest exultation and ecstasy? Can you not understand how we long to return to the very wellsprings of our being, to the world in which we were bred, a world of flint, of hammers and thongs? Have you not heard how slave girls, in their kennels, weep and scratch, and moan, and cry out for the touch of a man? Do you think any other woman can know the heats of one who is a slave? Can you understand what it is to be subject to sale, to know that one must please, to fear the whip, to know that one is owned? I have screamed with need, for the touch of my master, and he does not even look upon me!”

Otto turned to regard her.

“I beg kindness,” she said.

“You are worthless,” he said. “A thousand things have shown me this.”

“Even the lowliest, and most worthless of slaves,” she said, “may beg her master for his touch.”

“And you do so?” said Otto.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Yes, Master!”

Otto took the wine from her.

He put it on the tray.

“Strange remarks,” he said, “for one who was formerly an officer of a court on Terennia.”

“That was long ago, Master,” she said. She put her fingers to her collar. She lifted it, just a little, on her neck. “See, Master,” she said, “I am now only your slave.”

“It is true,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

He looked down upon the distraught beauty.

“Do not send me away, Master,” she said.

“Is this behavior seemly in one who was once an officer of a court on Terennia?” he asked.

“Surely,” she said, “if she who was an officer of a court on Terennia was even then a slave, deceitfully concealing the fact, which deceit she is now no longer permitted to practice, for her slavery has now been confirmed upon her, publicly, for all to see, legally, for all to know.”

“Are you not ashamed?” he asked.

“No, Master, for slaves are not permitted shame.”

“It is obvious that you are no longer a free woman,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You would love, and serve and obey?”

“With my whole heart, and all that I am, and might be,” she said.

“Surely you lie,” he said.

“No!” she wept. “Cannot you see the transformation which has taken place in me, that I am now collared, am now a helpless slave, that I am owned, and you are my master, and that I love you!”

“Lying slut,” he snarled.

“Then hate me,” she wept. “Abuse me! Tie me to a ring and whip me, if you wish! But do not neglect me! That is the most cruel of all!”

“Do you not find me attractive, even a little?” she asked.

He cried out with rage.

“Master?” she asked, frightened.

“Yes,” he cried. “I find you attractive, slave slut! If I did not know you, do you think I would not ride a thousand leagues to capture you, to put a rope on you and run you beside my stirrup? Do you think I would not, having merely glimpsed you in a public place, have followed you, and scouted your residence, and entered it, and stolen you? Do you think I could have rested before you were safe at my feet, on my chain? Do you think I would not break walls, subdue cities, and fight armies to own you?”

“To own me!” she cried.

“Yes,” he said, angrily.

“Master!” she cried, delighted.

“But I do know you!” he cried. “I know how meaningless, and petty, and treacherous, and worthless you are!”

“Then treat me as your enemy,” she said, “and subdue me! Teach me my defeat!”

“Bitch,” he said.

“You are a barbarian,” she said. “Do you think I do not know how you view women of the empire? As booty, worth only a pittance as slaves!”

“How can you know this?” he said.

“Do you think that slaves do not know who are their rightful masters, and that they do not long for them?”

He glared at her, savagely.

“I am yours,” she said. “Put me mercilessly to your pleasure. I beg it!”

He turned away, his fists clenched.

“I have been trained to please,” she said. “I am sure you will find me suitable. My tongue has been educated. I have been taught the use of my hair. I can cater to the most refined taste, or to the most savage taste!”

“You are a true slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“If your kennel is so spacious and pleasant,” he said, “perhaps you should soon go to it.”

“It is still a kennel, Master,” she said.

He turned, again, angrily, to face her.

“And doubtless one too good for such as you,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Perhaps I shall speak to Julian,” he said, “that a crate, or tiny bitch cage, may be arranged.”

“As Master wishes,” she said.

“What more could a slave want?” he asked.

She turned a little, putting her fingers on the furs with which the massive couch was bedecked.

“These are softer, Master,” she whispered.

“Turn them down,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, rising.

“With your hands clasped behind you, with your teeth,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

When she had completed her task she knelt again, at the foot of the couch.

“You have brought me a light collation,” he said. “You have turned down the bed. You may now leave.”

“Master!” she wept, pleadingly, looking up at him.

He put his hand upon her.

“Master!” she begged.

“It is well,” he said, “that there is no nether closure in a slave tunic.”

“Yes, Master,” she sobbed.

He pointed to the door.

She rose to her feet and went slowly toward the door. She paused at the door, weakly, defeated, leaning her head against the stout, dark wood.

He looked to the tray on which was the goblet, the decanter of wine, the viands, the slave flower.

She was sobbing.

He heard the latch lifted.

The door had opened only a little, little more than a crack, to let the slave slip through, when she jerked her hands back, alarmed, as the door was thrust shut again, loudly, with fury. She turned, frightened, her back against the wood, looking up at the gigantic form that loomed over her. Otto’s arms were over her shoulders, the palms of his hands flat on the door. His hands then were lowered to her shoulders, to the slave tunic there. Angrily he tore it down, away from her arms, to her hips. For an instant it seemed she would have darted her hands to her breasts, as though, in sudden embarrassment, to cover them, but, just as suddenly, she recalled she was before her master and put her arms down, a little behind her, their palms against the heavy dark wood of the door. Her eyes were frightened. He turned about and strode to the other side of the room. He turned about, again, and studied her, she standing there, against the door, in the light of the lamp, hanging from its tiny chains, hooked to a beam in the ceiling. There was a glint of the warm lamplight on the band on her neck, the steel of her collar. Her long dark hair was behind her shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “You are a pretty slave. Let us see the rest of you.”

“Master!” she protested.

Then she slipped the shreds of the slave tunic away.

She stood with her back against the wood, the palms of her hands, too, flat, back, against the wood.

“You are a pretty slave,” he said. “Why should you not be used, like any other?”

“Are you too good for use?” he asked.

“No, Master!” she said.

“Turn about,” he said. “Bolt the door.”

Two heavy bolts, one after the other, were thrust home, securing the great door.

“Kneel there,” he said, “facing me.”

“Proud woman of the empire,” he said.

She shook her head, negatively.

“Now only a slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Here,” he said, pointing to his feet, “crawl, on your belly.”

She went to her belly, and crawled to his feet, where, her head down, she covered them with kisses.

“You are afraid, aren’t you?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“On all fours,” he said. “Go to the tray. Fetch the slave flower in your teeth.”

She went to the tray and, turning her head, delicately, managed to grip the stem of the flower in her teeth. She then backed to where he stood, and put down her head, and placed the flower at his feet, between them.

“You offer me the slave flower?” he asked.

She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. “Yes, Master,” she said.

“Pick it up, again, in your teeth,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered. Then she had the stem between her teeth, the flower to the left side of her lips, the base of the stem to the right.

She lifted her head to him, the flower between her teeth.

“You again offer me the slave flower?” he asked.

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

“And more properly this time?” he said.

She nodded, again, and lifted her head even more, proffering the flower.

To her consternation, he crouched down before her, and pried open her teeth.

“You do not offer it to me,” he said, angrily. “I take it,” he said. He tore it from her mouth.

She shuddered.

“On your knees, hands clasped behind you,” he said. “Draw the furs to the floor, at the foot of the couch.”

She looked at him, wildly.

“One such as you surely did not expect the dignity of being used upon its surface, did you?”

She shook her head, tears in her eyes.

“With your teeth, of course,” he said.

She drew the furs from the couch.

She then, on all fours, as he stood to one side, her head down, using only her teeth, as she knew she must, spread them carefully.

She knelt to one side.

He snapped his fingers, and pointed to the furs. “On them, slave girl,” he said.

Obediently she crawled to the furs.

He dropped the slave flower down, beside her.

He arranged her, as he wished.

“Master?” she said, as her small wrists were locked in the cuffs of chains, one to each side, above her, behind her.

“I have waited long for you,” he said. “Ever since the court on Terennia.”

“And I have waited long for you, my master,” she said. “Ever since the court on Terennia.”

He crouched down beside her, and put the slave flower again between her teeth, but it did not remain there long.

“This will be done quickly,” he said. “Then I will teach you what it is to be a slave.”

“Oh!” she cried.

He pulled the flower from between her teeth and cast it to the side.

“Your slave flower has been plucked, my dear,” he said. “That can be done but once, and now, among knowing men, you will have even greater value as a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

It was long that she lay in his chains, and in this time she experienced feelings, and ecstasies, which she had not even understood were possible, and further knew that in them she had only begun to sense what might await her, could only begin to dimly sense new dawns, rising on new worlds, far seas, distant horizons, beckoning continents of sentience, realities toward which she wished to race, but knew that she must in any event follow, whether she wished to or not, in the chains of masters.

“Already you writhe well,” Otto commented.

“I am totally yours, my savage master, my barbarian Lord!” she wept.

“That is known to me,” he said, “slave girl.”

“More! More! Do not stop!” she begged.

“I shall do as I please,” he informed her.

“Yes, Master!” she wept.

“This is what you are good for,” he informed her.

“Yes, Master!” she wept. “But I want to serve you, too, in all ways, totally, helplessly!”

“You will,” he informed her.

Toward morning it was necessary to gag her.

When the sounds of the rising of the house were audible in the corridor, Otto rose and dressed. He looked down at the slave, who was curled on the furs, and looking up at him. She was no longer gagged, and the only bond now on her was a chain which ran to her left ankle, fastening her to a ring at the foot of the couch.

She looked away from him, trembling.

Yes, he thought, it seems possible that she has the makings of a good slave.