Forgive me, dear reader!
Forgive me, too, Masters!
I have been instructed to leave the above passage as it is, for purposes of comparison, but now to speak the truth. I must obey. How merciless they are!
Yes, Masters, Ellen put herself before Gart — as a slave! There, it is said!
I dare not lie. The masters will have the truth of me. The free woman may lie. I may not. I am slave. Is this so hard to understand, my terror in these matters, dear reader, that I dare not lie? I assure you that you will understand it, dear reader, and very well, should you one day find yourself in the collar.
The use of their sex, and desirability, to achieve their own ends is, of course, common with women generally, whether bond or free. One supposes, accordingly, in that sense, that all women are prostitutes. And men, it seems, do not object to this. Indeed, it seems to be one of the things they find most charming and endearing about the truly opposite sex. The slave girl, of course, is far less capable of profiting, certainly in a commercial manner, from her prostitute inclinations than is the free woman. The free woman, being free, can sell, barter or trade her beauty for favors or gain. The beauty of the slave girl, on the other hand, like she herself, is owned, and can thus be commanded by the master for his pleasure, at any time, in any way he may desire. Thus, though the slave girl has, like any other woman, her charming, delicious, ingrained, biologically selected-for prostitute tendencies, she is scarcely in a position to use them in order to garner for herself rich gifts, economic privileges, appointment preferences, status, prestige, advancements, power, and such; rather she might hope to have a pastry cast to the floor before her, to win a smile from her master, to be granted the modesty of a slave strip, to be permitted to elude, at least for a time, the whip. But despite sharing with her free sister her charming prostitute tendencies the slave is, in a more serious sense, not a prostitute. The prostitute is a thousand times above the slave. The prostitute is a free woman, and the slave is bond.
“Yes,” said Gart.
Ellen lifted her head a little and threw a glance at Nelsa, who turned white.
“While in the laundry I have seen girls come and go, Master,” she said. “Some stay longer, some less. How long, if I may ask, am I to work here?”
One of the sisters from Venna uttered a small inadvertent noise, one of shock, startled at the boldness of the young slave.
But Gart did not strike the young slave.
“I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps a day, perhaps a week, perhaps a month, perhaps a year, perhaps ten years, perhaps the rest of your life.”
Ellen, head down, moaned.
“Your master is Mirus, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” said Ellen. That information, she was sure, was on her collar.
“Perhaps he has forgotten about you,” said Gart.
“Could you not remind him that I am here, Master?” said Ellen.
“Do not be silly,” said Gart.
“Forgive me, Master,” said Ellen.
Gart made as though to turn away.
“Master!” called Ellen.
“Yes,” he said, turning about.
“If you should see him, tell him that Ellen is ready to beg!”
“What does that mean?”
“He will understand, Master.”
Gart fingered the whip at his belt.
“Please do not make me speak, Master,” pleaded Ellen.
“Is this the standard begging?” asked Gart.
“I do not know what the standard begging is, Master,” said Ellen.
“To please a man, any man,” said Gart.
“Yes, Master,” whispered Ellen, head down.
“And you are now ready to so beg?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Then you are not only truly a slave, which is obvious, but you are prepared to acknowledge that you are truly a slave,” said Gart.
“Yes Master,” said Ellen.
Gart removed his hand from the whip.
“If I see him, I will mention it,” said Gart. “But I doubt that it will be of much interest to him.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“Return to your work, slave.”
“Yes, Master.”
Ellen had arrived at a bold plan. That she was in the iron belt must be meaningful, an indication of her master’s interest in her, his solicitude for her, his reserving of her deflowering, or her “opening for the uses of men,” for himself alone. He must want her, as a special slave, perhaps even a preferred slave! He had put her in the laundry, why? He must be waiting for her to respond affirmatively to the question put to her that evening after supper, an affirmative response that would indicate her interest in, and desire for, sexual experience, in and for itself. What could that response mean, other than the fact that one was at last brave enough, courageous enough, to break through the shackles of Earth conditioning, to admit explicitly to oneself and others that one was a sexual creature, a human female with genuinely human female needs. Surely it could mean no more than that. Too, he presumably wanted her before him naked and kneeling, and uttering such a formula, to further humiliate her, to further pursue his program of vengeance upon her. That would give him an opportunity to again subject her to scorn, another opportunity to exhibit his contempt for her, another opportunity to force her to recognize the debasement, the degradation, to which he had brought her. She must, before him, confess herself the lowest of slaves. She must acknowledge freely what she had now become, make clear to herself, and others, her own abjectness. Very well, she thought. So be it! If that is what he wants I shall give it to him, and meaningfully, and freely. I am a slave. Why should I not admit it? Apparently I must stay where I am, in the laundry, as a naked, sweating work-slave, until I do this. I acknowledge that his will is stronger than mine. Of course it is. My will is nothing. It is that of a slave. He is master, I am slave. I do not want to remain another minute in this place. I will do anything he wants, anything to escape the misery of this room, the tubs and the heat! But, she told herself, smiling inwardly, I think this is in the nature of a test. He must like me. Perhaps he loves me! Once I beg to serve a man, any man, he will be satisfied, and then, of course, keep me for himself, for himself alone. I love him so! I want to be his slave and serve him. Even from the first time I saw him, so many years ago, something in me wanted to be his slave!
Later that day Gart was again out of the room.
Nelsa was now working at a nearby tub. The black woman, with the chain collar and disk, who was awaiting her consignment to a black merchant, was now carrying the ewer.
“So the little slave is now ready to beg?” asked Nelsa.
Ellen pretended not to hear.
“Slave,” sneered Nelsa.
“I did not tell on you, for nearly scalding me this morning,” said Ellen. “Perhaps I will do so when Gart returns.”
“Thank you for not telling on me,” said Nelsa, turning white.
“Perhaps I will do so when Gart returns,” said Ellen.
“Please do not do so,” said Nelsa.
“I understand,” said Ellen, “that if I had been damaged, you might have been boiled alive. As I was not damaged, I gather that your actual punishment may be less severe.”