He had looked, of course, upon many slaves. But this one seemed unusual, in many respects. Her demeanor was odd. She was trying to shield herself, however ineffectively, from his scrutiny. She could be punished for that. And she had not performed an obeisance, nor had she addressed him in Gorean. As she was in the container, it had not occurred to him that she might be a free woman. It had not even occurred to him to see her as a free woman, robed in dignities, a citizeness, entitled to respect and deference. He saw her instantly, doubtless as the Priest-Kings had intended, in terms of the brand and collar, in terms of shackles and the whip, in terms of the auction block and cage. She was the sort of woman a man would put joyously, triumphantly, to his feet. She was far too beautiful and desirable to be free. Freedom was not for such as she. She was the sort of woman a man would not accept, except upon the terms of absolute and complete ownership.
You could look upon her, and see she was a natural slave.
The man who does not see natural slaves as slaves is a fool. They are slaves, and are whole only at a man's feet.
She decided she would turn her head to him, pleadingly. Surely he must understand her distress, her fear, her confusion, her consternation, her predicament!
The blond uttered a menacing, soft growl.
The brunette shuddered, frightened of the other female.
But, too, suddenly, instinctively, she understood where might lie her one hope, her single protection, from the hostility of the other girl.
It would lie with this taciturn, supple, naked, powerful man.
Never before had she depended on a male for anything.
She was acutely conscious of her nudity.
Perhaps she could smile at him.
She was in no way unaware of her effect on males, and had often, shamelessly, pleasurably, made use of her sex to tease, torment, and exploit them, even while pretending to a sexless neutrality, putting forth then a charade of impartial personhood which was only too obviously, to an astute observer, belied by the subliminal signals she was at pains to project, and the tumults and furies they inevitably kindled, to which she would then, were they manifested, react with surprise and indignation.
We earlier alluded, as I recall, to such aspects of her persona.
The males with which she was familiar were easily manipulated. A clever woman, particularly if lovely, could do with them rather as she pleased.
They were, of course, not Goreans.
Suddenly their eyes met.
Directly.
Fully.
She did not smile, as she had intended. She could not. Her lower lip trembled. She was profoundly startled.
She had not expected this.
What manner of eyes were these?
She trembled, and if she had tried to speak, she would have stammered, helplessly.
But she could not speak.
And she felt that if he had spoken to her in some settings, the rug in a Tuareg tent, the tiles of a Roman villa, she would have instantly knelt before him, and pressed her lips fervently, placatingly, to his feet.
She found herself looking into the eyes of a dominant male, for the first time in her life, into the eyes of a man who was by nature the master of such as she, a woman.
This could not be, she thought, a man of Earth.
These surely did not seem the eyes of a man of Earth. In them reposed resolution, and power.
Before them she felt small, helpless, vulnerable, female, and weak.
Never before had she felt like this before a man, so graspable, so weak, so female.
She felt him a thousand times her superior.
And what only could such as she be to such as he?
She suspected she knew.
Where had she seen such eyes before?
Could it have been in her dreams?
Then she sensed herself surveyed.
She shuddered.
But certainly more was involved here than merely the eyes of a dominant male, regarding a female.
To be sure, that in itself might have been shocking to her, to find herself looked upon as one might look upon a property, something desirable that one might own, and would be appropriately owned, but a great deal more was involved. We recall that she had been selected as a match for the particular male in question, and that, thus, they would find themselves irresistibly and excruciatingly attractive to one another. She was, in effect, a slut he might pursue in dreams, and he was to her, too, in her dreams, one to whose feet such as she would hasten, to kneel, and press her warm, moist lips upon them, hoping to be found pleasing. She seemed to him one for whose throat was made his collar, and he to her as one for whose collar her throat was made.
She found these moments, these sudden sensations and feelings, unprecedented and inexplicable, suffusive, shocking, overwhelming.
She had the sudden sense she belonged in a collar, a slave collar, and that such as she was the rightful property of such as he.
And he, too, though this was much concealed, looked upon this frightened, shapely, stripped beast with remarkable intentness.
There was little doubt as to her suitability.
Such women are made for the slave block.
It is wholly right for them.
They belong upon it, to be taken from it by masters.
What would it be to have her at his feet?
How startling, he thought, that so extraordinarily attractive and luscious a slut should be before him.
And how unique and special she somehow seemed!
He was pleased with the look of her.
She had promise.
The limbs of such women call for chains, their throats for collars. They are whole only at the feet of a man.
And here, as she was, she must be a slave!
He must have her, he thought.
On the outside he would doubtless have brought her quickly to his chains.
But then, suddenly, he grew suspicious.
How unlikely that this female should be in the container! Many were beautiful slaves, and it would not be hard to find them on Gor. He had been a man of wealth and power, even a captain, with many ships, in Port Kar, and had lusted for and possessed many branded beauties, acquiring them and discarding them in the markets as he pleased. But this female was surely amongst the small number of those he had found most tormentingly desirable. She was one of the most exciting sluts he had ever seen. Everything about her seemed to beg to be possessed, to be mastered. The Priest-Kings could have placed any of thousands of collar sluts in the container. But this one seemed special to him, as though tailored from his dreams. Perhaps, he thought, she had been! Might not the Priest-Kings, with their wizardry, have inquired into such things, and perhaps, in the female's case, too, might they not have accessed her own needs, fantasies, and dreams?
This match, he suddenly suspected, is too close, too well done.
In this, he speculated angrily, is seen the hand of Priest-Kings.
I must be on my guard!
The girl, meanwhile, was struggling to regain her former sense of self, somehow lost before this man. But it seemed dashed, and irrecoverable.
She thought of herself in his arms and had the sudden sense she would oil and leap within his arms as no more than a helpless, manipulated toy, as not other than a meaningless slave.
Then she strove to discard such radical and disturbing thoughts.
All the shallow, torrential, withering blasts of her former life rose up before her, outraged and denunciatory.
She had always had power as a female. She would now exert it. Men were weaklings.
She smiled at the brute in the container.
Clearly he might protect her from the other female, whom she feared.
He did not smile back.
This disconcerted her.
Her smiles had always proved a successful coin on her old world, easily purchasing accommodations and favors.