On Earth Ellen had seldom, if ever, worn cosmetics, regarding them as ideologically inappropriate, an obvious confession of a terrible, unworthy desire, that of being attractive, literally attractive, in all that that means, to the opposite sex. When Ellen had looked in the mirror, after the make-up had been applied, she had been, for a moment, startled. She remembered a lovely teenager, from long ago, one perhaps no more than eighteen or nineteen, who had once made herself up, and had been shocked and thrilled, and then, suddenly, distraught, overcome with confusion and guilt, had smeared her face with cold cream and wiped away the evidence of that politically harrowing indiscretion. But she did not dare this evening, even if she had desired to do so, to remove from her features these delightful enhancements. The decision was not hers. She had been commanded. She must obey her master. But how charming it had been, to see, again, as it were, that slender, sensitive, lovely teenager. She had feared, for a moment, before the mirror, that her master, regarding her, she seeing him behind her in the mirror, was going to seize her and hurl her to the very floor before the mirror, putting her yet again, imperiously, to the “master’s pleasure.” But he had growled in anger, and, clenching his fists, had turned away. She had smiled, inwardly. Poor master, she thought. Then she pitied free women, they not knowing what it was to be desired as a slave is desired.
Her master had also ordered her to put up her hair, with combs, in an upswept hairdo. Perhaps he thought that that would make her look older, more sophisticated or such. She complied, with pleasure, and admired her handiwork. Her hair had never been cut on Gor, other than to shape it, and it was “slave long.” She saw her master looking at her. “Ah,” she thought to herself, “he will enjoy taking it down, freeing it, and casting it about me!” Much can be done with long hair, to give pleasure to the master. A cruel punishment for slave girls is to shave the head or crop the hair. To be sure, the hair of low slaves, such as factory slaves, laundry slaves, farm slaves, and such is commonly worn short, sometimes cropped.
At that time, she had already muchly prepared the supper, and knew that the guests might soon arrive. She surveyed herself in the mirror, the brief tunic, the make-up, the hairdo. “I think, Ellen,” she said to herself, “that you are worth money, yes, money, serious money. I think, slave girl, you would bring a good price!” She then, as a last touch, adjusted her collar, with two hands, making certain that the lock was squarely at the back of her neck.
The men continued to speak, and Ellen’s mind wandered a bit, drifting from thought to thought.
She saw Portus Canio taking a sip of the wine she had poured.
She had not, of course, offered wine to the men as she might have, in private, to her master, kneeling naked before him, in her collar, touching the cup variously to her body, pressing it here and there against, moving it here and there against her beauty, feeling the steel rim firmly, unyieldingly, against her yielding softness, kissing it, placing it, kissing it, placing it, this commonly done at the belly, the waist, at each breast, and at each shoulder, and then, lifting her eyes, regarding him over the rim of the cup, kissing it again, one last time, lingeringly, lovingly, and then lifting it to him in two hands, her head deferentially down, between her extended arms.
In many ways may a slave girl beg the attention of her master. One of these is “serving wine.”
She heard a snapping of fingers.
She looked up.
“Bread,” said Selius Arconious, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“Yes, Master!” she said, leaping to her feet and hurrying to the kitchen.
In a few moments she was again at her post, kneeling, and the men were once again in converse.
Her thoughts drifted to the slave ring at the foot of her master’s couch and the small, coarsely woven mat there on which she was permitted to sleep, a threadbare blanket her only covering.
Ellen, she understood, was not to be spoiled.
At night she was attached to the ring, by neck or ankle, so that she would always be at hand.
She loved being so chained. She was slave, she was his.
She wondered if, one day, he might purchase a lamp of love, and love furs. Perhaps, someday, who knew, she might, if she served long enough, and deferentially enough, with sufficient perfection, be permitted sometimes the dignity of the surface of the couch, though still chained by neck or ankle, first kneeling beside it, kissing its furs, and then being permitted to ascend to its surface and then, kneeling at its foot, head downward, rendering obeisance there, before being commanded, or positioned, and swept into ecstasies to be known only by chained, ravished slaves.
She knew that she was now much different from what she had been in the grasslands. She knew herself now to be a submitted slave; she had learned submission. She was now hot, devoted and dutiful. She feared her master, but she loved him. He was quite strict with her. No laxity was permitted her. He was, it seemed, keeping a very careful eye on her. She strove to be perfect, and pleasing. She kept her body clean and sparkling, her hair brushed and combed, her tunics crisp and freshly laundered. She gave much concern to her appearance for she was her master’s property, and any fault in her appearance or behavior might be thought to reflect poorly on him, on his capacity to own and manage a slave. She was zealously scrupulous in the performance of all her duties. She tried to stand and move gracefully, was attentive to her servings and kneelings, and to her smallest glances and gestures. She was owned. How can I explain this, these changes in my life and being, she sometimes asked herself, but then the answer came clearly to her, she was a slave girl. She was happy. I must be as I am, she said to herself. My master will permit me no latitude. I love him for it! He has mastered me. I have been mastered!
As she knelt to the side and the men spoke, not considering her, her mind drifted back, several days ago, weeks ago, to the approach to the Viktel Aria, north of Venna, and to a wood, and to an abandoned tarsk pen in that wood.
She recalled her beating and her surprise, and horror, at the first stroke, and how it was like fire and snakes and wire, and how she could scarcely believe what was being done to her. Did they not know she was a woman of Earth? That such things were not done to women of Earth? And then the lash had struck again and she was no more a woman of Earth but only a punished Gorean slave girl.
Then she began to be clearly aware of the pain.
She rose to her feet, bent over, as she was tied.
“Back on your knees!” she was ordered, and she sank down, again, on her knees.
She was then struck again. She screamed, and put down her head, and was struck again, and raised her head and put it back, sobbing, and was again struck.
It was then she knew that she would be mastered, and mastered wholly.
“Please, no, Master!” she wept. “I will be good! I will obey, totally, in all things! I will be pleasing, in all ways! I will try to do my best to be a good slave! Please, no, Master!”
Yes, she would be mastered, wholly.
And the lash fell again. Not so easily would she escape her due!
He is my master, she thought, truly my master!
She sobbed, uncontrollably.
Then strangely, she felt a sudden incredible elation, and fulfillment, in the pain. She recalled how she had, in the depths of her heart, strangely, desired to be whipped, desired to be put beneath the lash of a master! Thus, it seemed, suddenly, she felt her womanhood and slaveness, that this could be done to her, and that she, a female, one in the order of nature to be suitably submissive to a male, had not been found pleasing and that she would pay for that. He owns me, she thought! How better can he teach a foolish slave that she is his? Thus he proves my slaveness to me! Thus he proves his ownership of me! I know now that I am a slave, and that he is my master! I have longed for this beating, this confirmation, this demonstration! Yes, yes, Master, she thought, I acknowledge myself slave and yours! You have put your unmistakable seal upon my embondedness!