"May I have permission to speak?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Is it Master's intention to use me?" she asked.
"Perhaps," I said, "and perhaps not. I will do what I please."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I nursed the second cup of paga. Then, after a time, I thrust it from me.
"Is Master going to leave?" she asked.
"Go to the alcove," I said.
She looked at me, agonized. She rose to her feet and, scarcely able to move, numbly, went to the alcove. She could not bring herself to enter, through the red curtains.
I took her by the left arm and thrust her within, onto the furs at my feet. I then turned about and drew shut the curtains, hooking them shut.
I then turned about, again, to face her.
She sat, numbly, on the furs, her knees drawn up. I took the ankle ring and chain which lay at the right corner of the alcove, as you enter. The chain is about a yard long and runs to a ring bolted in the floor. There are similar chains in the four corners of the room, and in the center of the wall, near the floor, opposite the red curtains. In the left-hand corner of the room, as you enter, of course, on its chain, is another ankle ring. At the far corners of the room, of course, the chains terminate with wrist rings. In the center of the wall, near the floor, opposite the curtains, the chain terminates with a collar. There are provisions for lengthening and shortening the chains. All these devices work from locks, answering to a common key, which hangs high on the wall, toward the back and left, as you enter. Needless to say that key cannot be reached by the prisoner if even one of the chains is fastened upon her. Near that common key, which hangs on a peg, there is a second peg. From the second peg hangs a slave whip.
I locked the girl's left ankle in the first ankle ring. She looked, wonderingly, at the steel locked on her ankle. She lifted the chain, leading to the locked ankle ring on her left ankle. She looked at me. "You have chained me," she said. "Oh," she said. I thrust her to her back on the furs. I then fastened her left and right wrists in their respective wrist rings. I then put the alcove collar on her, shortening its chain, fitting it over Pembe's collar. She could not then rise more than a few inches from her back. I then went to her right, and shortened the chain there. I then took her right ankle. "Oh!" she said, as I pulled it far to her right. I then locked it in the ankle ring, on its shortened chain, which is at the left of the alcove entrance, as one enters.
She looked up at me, terrified. I looked down at her. "Do you now begin to understand," I said, "what it might be to be chained as a slave?"
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Look now to your right, high on the wall," I said. "What do you see?"
"A slave whip," she said.
"Do you now begin to understand what it might be to be a slave?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"This is an alcove," I said. "But you may think of it as a very special sort of place."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"As a chamber of submission," I said.
"Yes, yes, Master," she said.
"Think of it now," I said, "think of it deeply and keenly, with every fiber and particle of your lovely body, as a chamber of submission, a chamber in which you, a slave girl, must bend in all respects, a chamber in which you, only a female slave, must submit, in every bit of you, totally, completely, to the will of men."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"I will now touch you," I said.
"I am frigid," she wept. "Do not kill me, I beg of you."
"Think deeply now, fully," I said. "You are in the chamber of submission."
"Yes, Master," she wept.
I then touched her, with exquisite gentleness.
Her haunches leaped, the chains shook. She looked at me, startled.
"Do you submit, fully?" I asked her.
"Yes, Master," she said. Then she lifted her body, piteously. "Please touch me again," she said.
I let her wait for a time. Then, again. I touched her, very gently.
"Aiii!" she cried out, squirming. I continued to touch her for a bit. "Oh, oh," she began to moan.
Then I stopped touching her.
She looked up at me. "What are these sensations? she asked.
"Apparently you should be whipped," I said.
"Why?" she asked. "Why, Master?"
"Because you have lied," I said. "You told me that you were frigid."
She looked up at me, frightened.
"But you are not," I said. "You are only another hot slave."
"No, no," she said. "Not a hot slave, not I!"
"Let us see," said I.
"Oh, oh," she moaned, softly.
She looked up at me. "How can you respect me? she asked.
"You are not to be respected," I told her. "You are only a slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You no longer have any pride to guard," I said. "A slave is not permitted pride."
"Yes, Master," she wept. "Oh, oh." Then she threw her head to the side, on the furs. "I want to respect myself!" she cried.
"Your obligation is not to respect yourself," I told her, "but to be yourself."
She looked at me, tears in her eyes. "I dare not be myself," she whispered.
"Is it wrong for a woman to be a woman?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "yes! It is wrong, and demeaning!"
"Interesting," I said. "What should a woman be?" I asked her.
"She should be a man!" she said.
"But, quite simply, you are not a man," I told her.
"I dare not be a woman," she wept.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," she said, "I sense, in my heart, that a woman is a slave."
"Is it not permissible for a slave to be a slave?" I asked.
"No!" she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I do not know!" she wept. "I do not know!"
"Can it be wrong to be what one truly is?" I asked.
"Yes, yes!" she said.
"It is wrong for the tree to be a tree, the rock a rock, the bird a bird?" I asked.
"No, no," she said.
"Why, then," I asked, "is it wrong for a slave to be a slave?"
"I do not know," she said.
"Perhaps it is not wrong for a slave to be a slave," I said.
"I dare not even think that," she said. Then she said, "Please do not stop touching me, Master."
"Does a slave beg?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Evelyn begs Master not to stop touching her."
I kissed her, softly, about the breasts, but did not stop touching her.
"Thank you, Master," she breathed.
Then, suddenly, she tore at the chains, trying to free herself, but could not, of course, do so.
"What is wrong?" I asked her.
"I must resist you!" she cried. "I must not yield! I must not yield!"
"Why not?" I asked.
"I sense the thing in me," she said. "I have never felt it before, but this must be it. It is like waves, from so deep in me. It is beginning to overwhelm me. It is fantastic. It is unbelievable. No! No! You must stop touching me!"
I stopped touching her. "Why?" I asked.
"I was beginning to come to you," she said.
"So?" I asked.
"You do not understand," she said. "I was beginning to come to you-as a slave to her master!"
"But you are a slave," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And you are in the chamber of submission," I said.
"You give me no choice," she said.
I smiled at her. "This time, and this time alone," I said, "I will give you a choice."
"A choice?" she said.