“But let us leave that unusual world to its own devices, its own prevarications, inhibitions, and deceits,” I said.
“You think I am a natural slave, do you not?” she said.
“You are a female, of course,” I said.
“I feel I am a natural slave,” she said.
“And in your feeling,” I said, “is found the truth.”
“My world,” she said, “does not even permit me to entertain such thoughts.”
“But you did entertain them, and do entertain them, do you not?” I asked.
She lifted her head, boldly. “Yes, Master!” she said.
“Put your head down,” I said.
She lowered her head.
“Your body is rich with the curves of a natural slave,” I said. “Consider what you are, your softness, your thoughts, your hopes, the most secret of your secret dreams, your desire to be owned, your desire to belong to a master, your desire to kneel and serve, your desire to be found pleasing, your desire to be uncompromisingly possessed, yes, possessed, and to be treated as, and ravished as, a slave, your femininity.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Think carefully,” I said. “Are you a natural slave?”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Then,” said I, “you should be a slave, and it is right that you should be a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“And on this world,” I said, “what is fitting and right for you has been imposed on you.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“So here on this world,” I said, “you are a slave, and choicelessly, a well-collared slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“You have pretty legs, slave girl,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.
“Were you, and such as you, veiled on Earth?” I asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
“Really?” I said.
“No, Master,” she said.
“That must make things quite easy for slavers,” I said.
“Doubtless,” she said.
“You must have been scouted, reviewed, considered, entered on a slave list,” I said.
“I know nothing,” she said. “I was returning one evening from a library, sensed something behind me, was held, so tightly, found it difficult to breathe for a moment, and lost consciousness. When I awakened, I found myself nude and chained, in a slave pen.”
“I find it difficult to believe that you did not veil yourself in your world. Did you not know you were attractive?”
“I had hoped I might be,” she said, “but I struggled to put such thoughts from me, as unworthy of a woman. We are not supposed to think of such things in my world.”
“Doubtless,” I said, “that is a prescription of those who are unattractive.”
“Many of my fellow female students,” she said, “made clear to me the unimportance of beauty.”
“It is quite important on the block,” I said.
“And they lost no opportunity to scorn and disparage it.”
“And so,” I said, “the lame might denounce the swift, and the weak the strong.”
“I do not know,” she said.
“Were you popular?” I asked.
“Certainly not with my fellow female students,” she said.
“That is because you are beautiful,” I said.
She was silent.
“On this world,” I said, “we do not object to beauty. Too, on this world, beauty is abundant, and well exhibited, and well owned. That makes things pleasant for men.”
“I am pleased to be on a world,” she said, “where one is not expected to neglect or ignore beauty, nor pretend that it is meaningless, nor apologize for it, nor belittle it, nor treat it as some flaw, or defect.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “they hated you not simply for your beauty, but because they sensed in you the ancient, natural woman, the yearning, needful woman, who cannot help but respond to men as a slave to her master, something they much feared in themselves, something that terrified them, something they would struggle to resist with informative, betraying ferocity.”
“You think they sensed in me,” she said, “that I should most appropriately be a belonging of men, a female slave?”
“Yes,” I said, “and I think what they sensed in you was what they most feared in themselves.”
“I wonder,” she said, “how they might fare in the collar.”
“Most, I conjecture,” I said, “would not be adjudged worthy of a collar. Forget them. And I suspect that those on whom it was found fit to be placed would soon learn the vacuity of their former views, the artificiality and poverty of their previous ideology, and hasten to press their lips fearfully upon the feet of masters.”
“It is my hope,” she said, “that they would find happiness.”
“It matters not,” I said, “as they would then be slaves.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“So you did not veil yourself?” I said.
“No, Master,” she said, “and, in my part of the world, in my civilization, it is not customary to do so.”
“Truly?” I said.
“Truly,” she said.
“What slaves!” I said.
“But few have masters,” she said.
“That is remedied on Gor,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “-my Master.”
“You had best be on your way,” I said.
“Yes, Master.”
“Bargain well,” I said.
“I trust,” she said, “that I will not be switched, if I have done my best.”
“You will be,” I said, “if your best is not good enough.”
“I see,” she said, uneasily.
I had scarcely ever used the switch on her. Like the whip, it is commonly most effective on its peg. When she realizes that she is subject to the whip, truly, and that it will be used on her, if she is not pleasing, it is seldom, if ever, necessary to use it. Knowing it is there, she will commonly do her best to avoid its stroke, will commonly do her best to be pleasing, fully pleasing. Usually, of course, the girl, after a bit of time at the slave ring, does her best to be pleasing not to avoid the whip or switch, which is a rather prudential, mercenary motivation, after all, but, rather, because she wants to be pleasing to her master. She is, after all, a slave, and he is her master.
I did switch her well, once.
The little she-sleen had wished to reassure herself that she was truly a slave, and had dared to be lax in her duties, and, when questioned, had unwisely been curt, even insolent. I think she was surprised at the force with which she was seized and bound.
“Forgive me, Master!” she wept, at my feet, alarmed. “It is not necessary to strike me! I will mend my ways! I will be good!”
It had doubtless been a test on her part, to ascertain permissions, latitudes, limitations, and such, but I thought it well for her to comprehend what might be the consequences of such a test.
She had, after all, been lax in her duties and, when questioned, had been curt, even insolent, and so, whatever might have been the motivation for these unwise hazards or indulgences, they would have their predictable outcome. In moments, startled, disbelieving, she had rolled, twisting, and miserable, sobbing, crying out for mercy, under the blows of the switch.
“You have been displeasing,” I informed her.
“Forgive me, Master!” she wept, her fair skin flaming with pain.
I then put the switch again to her, and, after a time, as she shrieked for mercy, I desisted, and left her, blubbering on the tiles, bound, behind me.
“Master,” she wept. “Master!”
I left her there, bound, for better than an Ahn.
Before I untied her, I put the switch to her lips, and she kissed it, fervently.
Thereafter I had revoked her general permission to speak, for several days. She must then ask permission to speak, before daring to do so. Too, instead of the normal protocol of her kneeling when entering my presence, or being addressed, I forced her to do such things on her belly, to crawl on her belly into my presence, and remain on her belly before me, unless given permission to assume a different attitude. Too, for some days, I kept her in the bondage of the she-quadruped, or she-tarsk, not permitting her to rise to her feet, but she must go about on all fours. Too, her food and water must be taken from pans on the floor, without the use of her hands. More than once, afterwards, I had caught her pressing her lips to her fingertips, and then pressing her fingertips against her collar. More than once, as well, I had seen her lift her slave-ring chain to her lips, and kiss it.