“You are a true slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“If your kennel is so spacious and pleasant,” he said, “perhaps you should soon go to it.”
“It is still a kennel, Master,” she said.
He turned, again, angrily, to face her.
“And doubtless one too good for such as you,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Perhaps I shall speak to Julian,” he said, “that a crate, or tiny bitch cage, may be arranged.”
“As Master wishes,” she said.
“What more could a slave want?” he asked.
She turned a little, putting her fingers on the furs with which the massive couch was bedecked.
“These are softer, Master,” she whispered.
“Turn them down,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, rising.
“With your hands clasped behind you, with your teeth,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
When she had completed her task she knelt again, at the foot of the couch.
“You have brought me a light collation,” he said. “You have turned down the bed. You may now leave.”
“Master!” she wept, pleadingly, looking up at him.
He put his hand upon her.
“Master!” she begged.
“It is well,” he said, “that there is no nether closure in a slave tunic.”
“Yes, Master,” she sobbed.
He pointed to the door.
She rose to her feet and went slowly toward the door. She paused at the door, weakly, defeated, leaning her head against the stout, dark wood.
He looked to the tray on which was the goblet, the decanter of wine, the viands, the slave flower.
She was sobbing.
He heard the latch lifted.
The door had opened only a little, little more than a crack, to let the slave slip through, when she jerked her hands back, alarmed, as the door was thrust shut again, loudly, with fury. She turned, frightened, her back against the wood, looking up at the gigantic form that loomed over her. Otto’s arms were over her shoulders, the palms of his hands flat on the door. His hands then were lowered to her shoulders, to the slave tunic there. Angrily he tore it down, away from her arms, to her hips. For an instant it seemed she would have darted her hands to her breasts, as though, in sudden embarrassment, to cover them, but, just as suddenly, she recalled she was before her master and put her arms down, a little behind her, their palms against the heavy dark wood of the door. Her eyes were frightened. He turned about and strode to the other side of the room. He turned about, again, and studied her, she standing there, against the door, in the light of the lamp, hanging from its tiny chains, hooked to a beam in the ceiling. There was a glint of the warm lamplight on the band on her neck, the steel of her collar. Her long dark hair was behind her shoulders.
“Yes,” he said. “You are a pretty slave. Let us see the rest of you.”
“Master!” she protested.
Then she slipped the shreds of the slave tunic away.
She stood with her back against the wood, the palms of her hands, too, flat, back, against the wood.
“You are a pretty slave,” he said. “Why should you not be used, like any other?”
“Are you too good for use?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
“Turn about,” he said. “Bolt the door.”
Two heavy bolts, one after the other, were thrust home, securing the great door.
“Kneel there,” he said, “facing me.”
“Proud woman of the empire,” he said.
She shook her head, negatively.
“Now only a slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Here,” he said, pointing to his feet, “crawl, on your belly.”
She went to her belly, and crawled to his feet, where, her head down, she covered them with kisses.
“You are afraid, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“On all fours,” he said. “Go to the tray. Fetch the slave flower in your teeth.”
She went to the tray and, turning her head, delicately, managed to grip the stem of the flower in her teeth. She then backed to where he stood, and put down her head, and placed the flower at his feet, between them.
“You offer me the slave flower?” he asked.
She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. “Yes, Master,” she said.
“Pick it up, again, in your teeth,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. Then she had the stem between her teeth, the flower to the left side of her lips, the base of the stem to the right.
She lifted her head to him, the flower between her teeth.
“You again offer me the slave flower?” he asked.
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
“And more properly this time?” he said.
She nodded, again, and lifted her head even more, proffering the flower.
To her consternation, he crouched down before her, and pried open her teeth.
“You do not offer it to me,” he said, angrily. “I take it,” he said. He tore it from her mouth.
She shuddered.
“On your knees, hands clasped behind you,” he said. “Draw the furs to the floor, at the foot of the couch.”
She looked at him, wildly.
“One such as you surely did not expect the dignity of being used upon its surface, did you?”
She shook her head, tears in her eyes.
“With your teeth, of course,” he said.
She drew the furs from the couch.
She then, on all fours, as he stood to one side, her head down, using only her teeth, as she knew she must, spread them carefully.
She knelt to one side.
He snapped his fingers, and pointed to the furs. “On them, slave girl,” he said.
Obediently she crawled to the furs.
He dropped the slave flower down, beside her.
He arranged her, as he wished.
“Master?” she said, as her small wrists were locked in the cuffs of chains, one to each side, above her, behind her.
“I have waited long for you,” he said. “Ever since the court on Terennia.”
“And I have waited long for you, my master,” she said. “Ever since the court on Terennia.”
He crouched down beside her, and put the slave flower again between her teeth, but it did not remain there long.
“This will be done quickly,” he said. “Then I will teach you what it is to be a slave.”
“Oh!” she cried.
He pulled the flower from between her teeth and cast it to the side.
“Your slave flower has been plucked, my dear,” he said. “That can be done but once, and now, among knowing men, you will have even greater value as a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
It was long that she lay in his chains, and in this time she experienced feelings, and ecstasies, which she had not even understood were possible, and further knew that in them she had only begun to sense what might await her, could only begin to dimly sense new dawns, rising on new worlds, far seas, distant horizons, beckoning continents of sentience, realities toward which she wished to race, but knew that she must in any event follow, whether she wished to or not, in the chains of masters.
“Already you writhe well,” Otto commented.
“I am totally yours, my savage master, my barbarian Lord!” she wept.
“That is known to me,” he said, “slave girl.”
“More! More! Do not stop!” she begged.
“I shall do as I please,” he informed her.
“Yes, Master!” she wept.
“This is what you are good for,” he informed her.
“Yes, Master!” she wept. “But I want to serve you, too, in all ways, totally, helplessly!”