Vagabonds of Gor

22 Blankets

"Captor!" she said, pleased, as I strode up the sunny sand of the small bar, coming upon our camp. Immediately she knelt, spreading her knees. It was in this fashion that I had trained her to greet me. She might also await me, kneeling, or lying down. I carried two marsh grunts, caught on the other side of the bar. I put the grunts on a rock, to be cleaned and boned. She could attend to this. I snapped my fingers, and beckoned that she might approach me. She rose to her feet and approached me, backwards, as I had taught her. I gave her a slap, and put her to the sand. She squirmed delightfully, making small noises. After a moment or so I got again to my feet. She sobbed, that I was done with her so soon. "Prepare the grunts," I told her.

"Yes," she said. For this purpose she would use a small, sharp stone.

A transformation had come over her in the past few days. She had begun to wish to be useful, and to serve. She now addressed herself eagerly, happily, to small domestic tasks. Sometimes she sang softly to herself, in their performance. She seemed even concerned, oddly enough, as she was not my slave, with my comfort, this evidencing itself in such small matters as preparing my bed in the sand. To be sure, she found herself often enough on her belly on the blankets. This was very different from her early days in my keeping, when she, as a typical free woman of high station had regarded herself as too good for the performance of such homely tasks, addressing herself quickly enough to them only to avoid the imposition of sanctions upon her, attendant on her condition as captive. In the past few days a world of improvement had taken place within her. She responded well to male dominance, kept now in her place in nature. Only in that place, where she belongs, can a woman be truly happy.

I watched her kneeling by the stone, working on the grunts. She might have been a rence girl, and not Ina, the lovely scion of one of Ar's oldest and finest families.

For five days, as I had promised, I had tied her during our sleep periods, when not using her, in the same fashion in which I had been kept by the men of Ar, in effect, staked out, foot and neck, supine and helpless. That had been done as a discipline, and might, of course, if I chose, be promptly reimposed as such. Lately, however, I had given her a much more merciful tie, binding her ankles together with the center of a length of binding fiber, then bringing the two ends up and, still avoiding its ends, tying her hands together before her body, then pulling her hands back, close to her belly, and fastening them there, this accomplished by bringing the two ends of the fiber back about her and knotting them there, behind her back. In this fashion, as the knots were behind her back, fastened opposite her hands, she could not reach them with either her hands or teeth. On the other hand she could roll about and change her position much as she wished. It was not as good as a neck or ankle chain, or a kennel or top-barred slave pit for her, but I did not have such amenities. It was now ten days since I had first put a gag on her for purposes of trekking. She seldom wore it, of course, in our camps. I was considering removing it, even for trekking. As I have suggested, she was coming along very nicely. To be sure, occasionally, as she was still a mere free woman, she required a firm word, or a subtle warning, such as my touching my belt. I was pleased that I had not had to lash her once. That I was fully capable of lashing her, and would do so, if there seemed point in it, or if I wished, seemed more than sufficient for her. It is this way with most female captives, as it is with most female slaves. To be sure, the female slave sometimes relishes a taste of the whip, if only to reassure herself that she is truly subject to discipline, that she is truly a slave. Too, interestingly, sometimes a woman wants to feel a man's whip because she loves him. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps it is because this, in its way, in her mind, proves to her that she is truly his. To be sure, if she is his slave, she is truly his, legally and institutionally, and discipline, and such, have nothing to do with this. The most pampered slave is as much owned by her master as she who is kept under the strictest of disciplines. If she doubts this she may revise her opinions when she finds herself being sold.

I watched her work, She was now cutting pieces of raw fish, laying them on the hot, flat rock.

"May we make a fire, captor?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She did not ask, "Why?" She had learned after a cuffing five or six days ago that the captor's will, like that of the master, is not to be questioned or disputed. If we were to cook the fish, we would presumably do so in wrappings of wet rence, buried in the ashes of a small fire. It seemed to me that making a fire might be dangerous. There was some possibility that it might attract attention. I did not know who or what might be about m the marsh. To be sure, I did not think, objectively, that there was now a great deal of danger. It would presumably be otherwise when one reached the edges of the delta. The delta, on the whole, is sparsely populated. On the other hand, I did not think there was any point in taking unnecessary chances. Cuwignaka, Canka, Hci, and such fellows, presumably would not do so. Sometimes one must be as hard, as cunning, and as patient, as a red savage. I wondered how Ina might fare in the Barrens. The red savages, with their quirts, and posts and leather, know well how to handle white women.

I watched Ina gather up the scales, bones, and such, the refuse, and carry them to the marsh, where she discarded them. She then wiped her hands on her thighs like a rence girl and returned to kneel by the rock, where she began to separate the pieces of fish into bite-sized pieces.

"You are far from the dining pavilions of Ar," I said.

"As you are from the paga taverns of Port Kar," she said. I regarded her, assessing her. "Perhaps I am not as far from them as you think," I said.

She put her head down, shyly.

"Are you not angry at the comparison?" I asked.

"No," she said, not looking up.

One of the advantages of cooking the fish, of course, would have been the enjoyment of her, while the fish was cooking. One can always find some pleasant way, such a woman at hand, naked and in your power, to while away such moments.

She had now divided the fish into small pieces, separated on the rock.

She now knelt back.

She did not, of course, take any of the food. It was my food and not hers.

"It is ready?" I asked.

"Yes, captor," she said.

Last night I had feared she might require discipline. She had balked at being fitted with the buckled neck collar.

"Do you recall the marsh leech?" I had asked her.

"Yes," she had said, frightened.

"Do you wish to eat one, or more, of them?" I had asked.

"No!" she had said. "No!"

"Perhaps you will be good?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Perhaps you will be very good?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I will be very good!"

She had then quickly inserted her head into the double loop of the collar and lifted her chin while I buckled it shut, closely, about her throat.

I began to eat.

She said nothing, but kept position.

I supposed that she, as I, must be terribly hungry.

I continued for a time to feed, in a solitary fashion. Then I picked up a piece of the fish and held it out to her. Swiftly then she leaned forward, parting her pretty lips and teeth. She kept her palms down on her thighs. I pulled back the bit of food and she looked up at me. "Does Ina beg food of her captor?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Ina begs food of her captor."

I then gave her the bit of food, putting it in her mouth.

She leaned back and ate the food. "Thank you," she said.

"You may feed," I informed her.

"May I use my hands?" she asked.

I considered the matter. "Yes," I said. After all, she was not a new slave being trained, learning her collar, and the totality of her subjection to a master. She was, after all, a free prisoner.

She fell upon the bits of fish eagerly.

"Where are your manners?" I asked. "You are a free woman. You are eating like a starved slave girl."

"Forgive me, my captor," she said.

When she had finished I pointed to the sand and she knelt there, putting her head down, her palms in the sand. "Thank you for feeding me, captor," she said.

"Go to my blankets," I said.

"Yes, captor," she said.