Kajira of Gor (35 page)

“Yes-Masterl” I sobbed.

“You did not do badly, Lady Sheila,” he said. “If I did not know better, I would

have thought that you had had some training. Perhaps it is natural in a woman.

Get in.” He held open the lid of the large trunk.

I crawled into the large, deep trunk, and lay down in it, on my side, with my

legs drawn up.

“Did I please Master?” I asked.

“You speak like a slave,” he sneered.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said. Interesting enough, and I hardly understood this,

and it seemed almost incredible, I did, clearly, want him to find me pleasing.

“Are you hungry?” be asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said. For my supper I had received only one piece of meat. It

had been thrown to me, as though I might have been a dog.

He went somewhere in the room and returned with a piece of dried meat. He

dropped it into the trunk, near my face. I seized it in my hands.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

He was looking down into the trunk. I looked up at him.

“If I had not been pleasing,” I asked, “would you have given me this?”

“No,” be said.

I then realized that it was truly in the best interest of a female captive, or

slave, to be pleasing. If she was not pleasing, and perhaps even quite pleasing,

she might not be fed. By superb performances a girl might, I thought, encourage

a master to believe that she was worth feeding, and, perhaps, even feeding well.

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.

“What I please,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“In the morning we are going south,” he said.

“Not to Ar!” I said.

“No,” he said. “We will be turning west.”

He looked down at me, huddled in the trunk. I bit a little at the meat.

I was ravenously hungry.

“Were you given permission to feed?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said. I hoped he would not take the food from me.

“What do you know?” he said. “You are only a stupid free woman.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You may feed,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said. I bit hungrily at the meat.

“You eat like a starving slave,” He said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said. I then took smaller bites, bites perhaps somewhat

more conformable to the dignity of a free woman, a lady and a Tatrix. Still,

when one is naked and in a trunk, and half starved, it is difficult to eat with

dignity. For most practical purposes, as he had treated me, even though

technically I might be the Tatrix of Corcyrus, I was a half-starved slave.

“I never thought to have the Tatrix of Corcyrus naked and in my trunk,” he said.

“Can I breathe in here, Master?” I asked.

“There are air holes,” he said. “You are not the first woman who has been in

this trunk. To be sure, this is the first time it has ever held a Tatrix.”

“There is a blanket in here,” I said. “Thank you, Master.”

“That is to keep the prettiness of its occupants from being bruised,” he said.

“The sweat and stink on it is from female slaves. It will serve for you as well,

Lady Sheila. As it floored this trunk, serving as their kennel, so, too, it

floors it now, when it serves as yours.”

“As Master wishes,” I said.

Do you remember in my trial,” be asked, “the matter of he hair, how it was

discovered that I might inadvertently have sold sonic slave hair as that of free

women?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“In the morning,” he said, “I am going to obtain some hair from a free woman.”

“Master?” I asked.

“In the morning,” be said, “you are going to be shorn.”

“Master knows my secret,” I said. “He has power over me. He may do with me what

he wishes.”

“And I shall,” be said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Sleep tight in your kennel, Lady Sheila, lofty Tatrix of Corcyrus,” he said.

“It is where you are going to be spending quite a few nights.”

I looked up at him.

“Pleasant dreams,” said he, “Slut.” Then he shut the heavy lid of the trunk. In

another moment I heard the turning of keys in two heavy locks. Then he walked

away.

With the trunk shut I could see the air holes. Some of them, tiny perforations,

I could see through. I saw him extinguish the lamp. I then heard him lie down on

the sleeping furs. I then lay back in the trunk, my legs pulled up. He bad

called me “Slut.” Was it my fault if I had responded well to his instructions,

if I had done what I was toldl I wondered if I had done too well. Next time he

would surely want at least that, and probably a good deal more. I smiled to

myself. He had seemed surprised. I, too, had been surprised. My tongue, and lips

and fingers, after a few Ehn, astounding me, had been ready and eager, and

quick, subtle and delicate. I was grateful for his instruction, and I sought to

improve upon iL Interestingly, I found that I was pleased to touch him. To be

sure, I was crude and unrefined. I was uninformed in subtleties of technique and

I had too simple a sense of pacings and rhythms, of when to make Iiiin, and me,

wait, of when to be languorous, of when to be merciless. I was unaware, even, of

the fuller possibilities of sound, of speaking to him, and of vocalizing my

emotions and sensations in a variety of ways, adding a whole additional

dimension to the totality of the experience. To be sure, some masters, at least

at some times, desire to be served, in so far as the girl can, in absolute

silence. “What has a slave to say?” they sometimes ask. Forced to perform,

humiliatingly, under the ban of silence, enforcing as it does the male’s total

domination of her, can he very thrilling for a woman. Also, it helps her to keep

clearly in mind that it is a mere animal who is serving.

Also, I was unaware, more seriously, of many of the aesthetic and psychological

aspects of what could be done. I did not make the most of the visual dimension,

for example. Too, more naively, in my almost exclusive concern with touching, a

common error, incidentally, with new slaves, I neglected by expressions and

attitudes, to acknowledge and confess the deeper realities of our relationship,

that I was, in the final analysis, his obedient captive. I was probably

insufficiently alert, too, to the deeper ranges of his desires, of what he

wanted, fully, from a woman. The master is to be served, of course, by the total

slave. On the other hand, within my limitations, and within the ranges within

which I was operating, I seemed to have an almost instinctual sense for what I

was doing. I seemed to have a natural sense of timing and a capacity to

anticipate, on many occasions, probably from subtle body cues, what fie might

desire, or what might please him. I discovered that I had talents I did not know

I had, and I found myself thrilled to apply them. Though it was I, in the, final

analysis, who was in his total power, yet I found, to my gratification and

astonishment, that I could turn him into a twisting, writhing slave under my

touch. Then, angrily, he would seize me and throw me beneath him, making me

helpless. I was then well reminded who, ultimately, was in command. I lay in the

trunk, my legs pulled up.

He had called me a “slut.” I did not really mind this. Indeed, something in me

relished it. I remembered how I had behaved in the furs. The expression was,

perhaps, I thought, with a shudder, quite appropriate.

Certainly, he had not permitted me to relate to him, in the least, in the

inhibitory modalities of dignity and respect; accordingly, I had found myself

relating to him in a deep, real, primitive, sexual, natural, biological manner,

in a manner certainly not that of a free woman, but rather of a slave or a slut.

Doubtless this was supposed to be a part of his vengeance on me, but I,

nonetheless, found it quite fulfilling. Something in me found it quite rewarding

to relate to a man in this fashion. Too, I found it stimulating knowing that if

I did not please him he might punish me.

I bit on the meat he had dropped into the trunk and I had grasped. I had not

been punished. Rather, I had been rewarded.

I was pleased at how well I had done. I wondered if, as Publius, of the house of

Kionicnes in Corcyrus, bad thought, I might be’ a natural slave.

I had discovered, at least, that I was a slut. I did not know if, beyond that, I

might also be a slave.

I chewed on the meat.

I was no longer a virgin now. My virginity bad been taken from me by Speusippus

of Turia. When he had grown angry and would seize me and throw me beneath him,

making me helpless, he would then, without further ado, imperiously, with little

regard for my feelings, have me. Well then was I, held helpless and penetrated,

reminded who held the final power. In these assaults on me, of which there had

been three, I was firmly and fixedly had. On the other hand, in spite, of his

clear conquest of me, and my physical and psychological acknowledgement of this

fact, I did not feel as much as I had thought I might. Perhaps this was because

he had taken too little time with my body. On the other band, I was excited and

aroused, just from serving him. For example, my body had received him swiftly

and obediently. Too, I responded emotionally and psychologically, in a rather

global sense, to what he had done to me.

The last time, however, I had been frightened, for that time I had begun to

sense, deep within me, terrifying me, something that began to hint at what might

be the nature of a slave’s yielding. I now lay in the trunk, in the darkness,

helpless, finishing the piece of meat. No longer was I a virgin. I had now been

opened, as the Goreans might say, for the uses of men. Speusippus of Turia had

done it to me. I finished the meat. I was uneasy and restless in my small

prison. I tried to thrust from my mind the memory of that insinuative, incipient

sensation, that rudimentary physiological hint, that primitive, inchoate

anticipation of what it might be possible for a woman to feel. I must never

permit, I vowed, slave fires to be lit in my belly. I began to anticipate how

inutterably piteous and helpless they might make a woman. I rubbed my thighs

together. I did know I wanted to have more experiences of the sort I had had

tonight. Speusippus of Turia was despicable. He was detestable. Why, then, I

asked myself, was I hopeful that I had been pleasing to him, why did I find

myself, undeniably, wanting to be pleasing to him? He was even going to shear me

in the morning. I wondered why he was going to do that. Perhaps it had to do

with his vengeance on me. Too, perhaps he was greedy, and was eager for even the

little bit of money my hair might bring him. On the other hand, doubtless he did

not want me to be recognized. Shearing would presumably help to prevent that. It

might be a good idea to be sheared.

At any rate, the decision was his, not mine. He knew my secret. He knew who I

was. He, therefore, could do with me as he pleased.

Similarly I, though a, free woman, because of this power he held over me, must

serve him as a slave. I clenched my fists, angrily, in the trunk.

I was suddenly almost overcome with the humiliation of what was being done to

me. I was ‘not a slave! I was a free woman! Yet I must serve him as a slave! How

rich, how glorious, was his vengeance on the Tatrix of Corcyrus. In the morning,

he would even shear her like a slut!

I suddenly cried out with rage and struck at the insides of the trunk.

Speusippus, awakened, came over to the trunk, and, frightening me, beat on its

top with something heavy, perhaps a staff or club.

“Be silent in there,” he said, “or I will pour two inches of water through the

air holes.”

“Yes, Master!” I cried. “Forgive me’. Master!” The sound of the object beating

on the trunk had been fearfully magnified inside it. I had been almost

overwhelmed by the sound. I had tried to cover my ears with my hands. My ears

still hurt.

I now lay shuddering on the blanket in the bottom of the trunk. How absurd my

outburst had been.

What a fool I was. Did I not know I was in his power? What did I need to

convince myself of that, a marked thigh and a band of steel, which I could not

remove, locked on my neck?

I lay there on the blanket. I lifted it, briefly, about my face and nose.

I inhaled deeply. Yes, there was the smell of other bodies on it, bodies

probably as small, and soft and curved as mine. But those bodies, I suspected,

had worn brands and had bad their necks encircled with collars. Slaves,

doubtless, had lain here. Now it was my turn, that of the Tatrix of Corcyrus. I

smoothed out the blanket and paid close attention to its texture and the feel of

it against my cheek and body. The sweat and odors which I might leave in this

cloth, I thought, would probably not differ much from those of my predecessors.

I might be free but here, in this confinement, it would do me no good. Here I,

the Tatrix of Corcyrus, doubtless to the amusement of Speusippus, would squirm,

and sweat and stink no differently from a slave. Indeed, from the point of view

of a new occupant, any lingering traces of my sojourn here would doubtless be

interpreted as indicating the earlier tenancy of merely another slave, no