Kajira of Gor (57 page)

“Yes,” I said, angrily, rising to my elbows, “I, then!”

“I thought so,” he said.

‘It is a flattering tribute to a woman’s power,” I said, “her capacity to arouse

desire!”

“Doubtless,” he said, bitterly.

“I only wish I had known how important I was to you at the’ time,” I said. “That

would have made the matter much more amusing!”

“I see,” he said.

“I am glad to learn, even now,’ I said, “how much I had disturbed you. Thank you

for confessing it to me!”

“You’re welcome,” he said, quietly, perhaps too quietly. “I’m glad I made you

miserable!” I said, angrily. “I’m glad I made you sweat and squirm, when you

could not have me!” I was glad, too!

In Corcyrus he, though desperately attracted to me, I think, had resisted my

advances. This had caused me great frustration. I had, as a consequence of this

spurning of me; taken a woman’s vengeance upon him. I had, in a thousand ways,

in glances, in small words, in smiles, in tiny gesture’s, in movements, in

seemingly careless proximities, seeming inadvertences, tormented him. I had seen

to it, many times, that passions would flash and flame in Drusus Rencius, which

I would then, haughtily, refuse to satisfy.

‘But those days are gone, aren’t they?” said Drusus Renlay back on the tiles.

“Yes, Master,” I said. I swallowed hard. I was very conscious, then, of my

nudity, and of the tight binding on my wrists and ankles, making me absolutely

helpless.

“Things are different now, aren’t they?” he asked. “Yes, Master,’ I said. I was

now a slave. The least discontentment a girl causes her master can be taken out

of her hide. I was now at his disposal, completely. I must now ready myself for

him, and please him fully, at as little as a glance or a snapping of fingers.

“Get on your knees,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. I struggled to my knees. It was not easy, bound as I was.

He did not help me. I then knelt before him. He stood then, his arms folded,

some feet from me, across the tiles.

“You look well on your knees, bound as a slave,” he said. “Thank you, Master,” I

said. I recalled Corcyrus, where I had been to him as a Tatrix. I was now bound

naked before him, as a slave.

“There are vengeances to be taken upon you,” he said.

“Do with me as you will,”. I said. “I am yours.”

“I will,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“How I despise you!” he said.

‘Yes, Master,” I said.

“You are utterly beautiful,” he said “Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You do not seem truly afraid,” he said.

“I do not think you are the sort of man who buys woman to hurt her,” I said.

“You cannot know that,” he said.

“I suppose not,” I said. Consider the matter of marriage Most women, prior to

their marriage, do not truly know the man they are marrying. They will come to

know him, truly only in living with him, his. It is natural, then, that a woman

should enter into such a relation with a certain amount trepidation. How much

more so, then, must this be the ca with the female slave, whose new master, one

who will have total power over her, is likely to be a total stranger, a fellow

whom she has probably never even seen before her sale. Is I going to enfold her

lovingly in his arms, and master her, and cherish her as a treasure, or is he

going to feed her to sleet She does not know. You strive desperately to please

him. You are his. You hope for the best.

“You do not seem convinced,” he said.

“I am not,” I smiled.

“Perhaps suitable lashings would convince you,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I smiled.

“Do you think you are never to be whipped?” he asked.

“No, Master,” I said. “I know that I am a slave. I know that I am subject to the

whip.”

He unfolded his arms and looked at me, with fury. “Ho utterly, utterly beautiful

you are,” he said, “and how provocative, and delicious!”

“And I am yours, and you may do with me as you please.” I said.

‘How you infuriate me!” he cried, suddenly, his fist clenched. He turned away. I

was silent. I squirmed a little the ropes. They held me well.

He stood by the window in his quarters. “I remember Cos,” he said, bitterly. He

put the palms of his hands on the sides of the window, looking out.

“I, too, remember Corcyrus,” I said, happily.

“Slut,” he snarled.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“There are vengeances to be taken upon you, he said, angrily.

“You are certainly entitled to them, “

Yes, Master,” I said, smiling. I loved Drusus Rencius.

He looked about at me, angrily.

“Let us put our heads together,” I suggested. “Perhaps, then, we can plan

certain appropriate exactions, ministrations where with that arrogant slut,

Sheila, may be well punished for her stupidities.”

“You seek to divert my wrath,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I smiled.

He leaned back, wearily, against the wall, by the window, looking at me.

“Surely a girl cannot be blamed for hoping to do that,” I said.

“I suppose not,” he smiled.

“Oh,” I said, “I forgot! I am no longer Sheila, am I? My collar has been

changedi” I looked at Drusus Rencius. “I do not have a name now, do I?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Is master going to name me?” I asked.

“I will, if it pleases me,” he said. “I will not, if it does not please me.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I am a fool,” he said.

“I shall maintain a judicious silence,” I said. “If I agree I Would seem to

proclaim my master a fool. If I disagree, I should, at the very least,

contradict him.” “I am a fool!” he said, miserably.

‘I do not think so,” I said, “but, of course, I am only a slave, and I could

conceivably be mistaken.”

“I should sell you,” he said.

“You may do with me as you wish,” I said. I had no fear, however, that he would

sell me. It was not for such a purpose, I was confident, that he had bought me.

“You do not fear me, truly, do you?” he asked.

“Not, ultimately,” I said.

“Why?” he asked

“Must I speak?” I asked.

“No,” he said, angrily. “You need not speak.”

He turned wearily, angrily, away.

“Master?” I asked.

He turned again to face me. “You are a beautiful, complex woman,” he said.

“I am a simple slave,” I said, “a man’s toy, a bauble for his pleasure.”

“Simple or complex, you are a slave,” he said. “There is no doubt about that.”

“Your slave,” I reminded him.

“Why did I buy you?” he asked.

“I can think of several reasons,” I said.

“Do you mock me?” he asked.

“I tease you,” I said. “I do not mock you.”

“I care for you,” he said, suddenly, bitterly.

“I know,” I said.

“And you only a slave!”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“What a fool I am!” he cried.

I was silent.

“You did it to me,” he said.

“I?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “you, with your intelligence, your beauty, your vulnerability,

your sensuousness, your glances and movements, your bondage skills, your

insidious slave wiles, the perfections of your servitude, made it impossible not

to desire you, not to lust for you, inordinately, not to want you, not to demand

you, to the point of madness, for my very own!”

I was silent, bound before him. There was some truth’ of course, or at least I

thought so, to these charges. At least I hoped there was. I had tried, with all

the skills I had been taught, and with all the devices, and instincts, of the

natural slave, which I was, to attract and lure him. The outcome of such a

campaign, of course, if successful, is that the girl becomes the man’s slave.

She is then, of course, subject to whatever vengeances he might be pleased to

take upon her.

I squirmed in the ropes. I belonged to him. I began to sweat. For the first time

I felt genuine fear.

“You wrapped me about your finger,” he said. “You manipulated me!”

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“Gloat in your power, Slave!” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.

“Even last night,” he said, “in your writhing on the steps, you made me wild for

you. You made me want to tear off your silk and hurl you beneath me, then to

have you, uncompromisingly, like the luscious slut and slave you are!”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“I saw your body jerk in the hands of the soldier!” he said, accusingly.

“I cannot help what I am!” I cried, looking up at him, angrily, tears in my

eyes.

“You are a slave!” he cried.

“Yes!” I cried. “And had you been there you could, later, have seen my body jerk

in the hands of Miles of Argentum. That night he made me, three times, serve him

well, and the third time, writhing, I cried myself his, a submitted slave. In

the morning I kissed his feet in gratitude!”

“Slave, slave!” snarled Drusus Rencius.

“And do you not make women respond like that,” I said, “the girls in the

taverns, the girls on their mats, the girls thrown to your feet, for your sport,

at the house of a friend?”

“Yes,” he said, angrily. “I make them grovel and scream!”

“And why, then,” I asked, “should you object if other men make me respond in the

same way?”

He regarded me, with fury.

“Am I different?” I asked. “Apparently not,” he said. “I am not!” I said.

“They are slaves,” he said. “So, too, am I!”

“I had hoped you might be more,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“A free woman,” he said.

“I have been a free woman,” I said. “Do not laud them to me!”

“Do you speak ill of free women?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “for I do not wish to be whipped!”

He glared at me.

“Look at me.” I said. “I am naked and bound before you! Would you really prefer

that I was a free woman?”

“No,” he said, and my blood almost froze in my veins.

“You see?” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said, angrily.

“I am a thousand times more than a free woman,” I said “both to a man and, in my

heart and emotions, to myself.”

“How is that?” he asked.

“I am a slave,” he said, simply.

He looked down, sullenly.

“You take free women into companionship,” I said, “but you dream of slaves. You

even dream of the free woman as slave. I doubt that any glandularly sufficient

rhale does no want us as slaves. If he doesn’t, then I think he must be very

short on imagination. What do you think is the meaning of your size and

strength, your energy and agility, your dominance? Do you think it is all some

alarming, inexplicable, statistical eccentricity? Can you not see the order of

nature? Is it so difficult to disclose? why do you think men make us slaves, and

put us in collars? It is because they want us a slaves. And why do you think we

make such superb slaves Because we are born slaves.”

“if I take my place in the order of nature,” he said, “then obviously, you will

be put in yours.”

I pulled at the ropes. “I think I am already there, Master,” I said.

He looked up at me.

“I am on my step,” I said. “It is now only necessary that you ascend to yours.”

“You do not even have a name,” he said.

“Perhaps Master will, if it pleases him, give me a name.”

“Perhaps I should name you,” he said. “Doubtless you might be conveniently

ordered about and referred to, if you were named.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. The name would be a slave name, of course. Such names,

like collars, are worn whether the slave wishes them or not. Some masters think

of such names being along the lines of verbal leashes, the utterance of the

name, like the sudden tug of a leash, immediately calling the slave’s attention

to the master and his wishes. In any even the slave name, and the knowledge that

it is a slave name deeply, and appropriately, informs the consciousness of the

slave. Too, of course, it is the only name she has.

He turned away from me.

“You still hesitate to accept me as, what I am, a total slave don’t you?” I

asked.

“Perhaps,” he growled.

“If you wish,” I said, “relate to me as to a despised slut bondage. You will

discover that I will respond well to you m r that role.”

He spun about. “Do you think that you are not despised? he asked.

“Master?” I asked.

“I do despise you,” he said, angrily, “for Corcyrus, for your meaninglessness,

for your pettiness and cruelty, for what you are, and for what you have done to

me I”

I shrank back in the bonds.

“And you are maddeningly beautiful,” he said. “You are excruciatingly

desirable!”

I was silent.

“I am a free man!” he cried. “I am of the warriors!

“Do you want me to pretend to be a free woman?” I asked. “I can do that. I did

it for years. At times I even believed it. I can do it again! Command me, if you

wish, to the pretense!”

“You are a slave,” he said. “It is all you are. Do not mock me.”

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“Day in and day out, night in and night out, I fought my feelings for you,” he

said. “I immersed myself in duties. I adopted strenuous activities. I sought

solace even in the taverns, and in the arms of others. I chided myself for my

foolishness. I berated myself for my stupidity! I castigated myself for my