"No, no!" she said. "Excellent," I said. "No!" she said. "Very good!" I said.
"No, please no!" she said. "Oh!" she said. "Oh!"
"Aii!" I said, suddenly, and, in the grip of my reflexes, in my spasmodic tumult, spun about, twisting, rolling in the sand, carrying her lightly, helplessly, with me, as though she might be a doll, and sand scattered about, and she, too, gasped, and then again we lay in the sand as we had before, she as helplessly as ever in my grasp, near, too, where we had before.
She was covered with sweat, and sand, as I. Her hair was about. Her hands were out, over her head, in the sand.
"You treat me as though I were a slave," she said. I did not respond to her.
She had, actually, very little idea as to how a slave might be treated.
"I am not a plaything," she said, sullenly.
"Women are many things," I said, "among them is a plaything."
"I am your plaything," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"When I was bound on the pole and you had touched me, as you put it, in the manner of the master, you apologized to me, and asked my forgiveness, do you recall?"
"Yes," I said.
"You were mocking me, weren't you?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"You are very strong," she said. I did not answer.
"I did not know such power, such lust, could exist," she said.
"But twice before," I said, "you have been known by men."
"I am not even sure, now," she said, "that they were men."
"I would suppose they were men," I said. "Perhaps, on the other hand, it was you who were not the woman."
"I do not understand," she said.
"Were you submissive to them, in the order of nature?" I asked.
"Of course not," she said. "I am a free woman!"
"Perhaps your experiences might have been rather different," I said, "if you had stood to them in a somewhat different relationship, in a relationship more natural to the female."
"I do not understand," she said.
"Consider what your experiences might have been," I said, "had you been their captive, or, ideally, their slave."
"I see," she said, shuddering.
"Submission is appropriate for the female," I said.
"No!" she said. "Yes," she said, softly sobbing.
"Yes," I said.
"But you do not know these men," she said. "How could one submit to them? They were weaklings!"
"Perhaps they were weaklings, perhaps they were not," I said.
"They were!" she said.
"Then why did you admit them to your couch?" I asked.
She was silent.
"Perhaps you wanted males you could dominate, or did not need to fear?"
"I don't know," she said.
"But even to the weakling," I said, "it is appropriate to submit yourself, and fully."
She sobbed.
"In submitting yourself to him you submit yourself to the principle of masculinity, embodied in him. In this submission you recognize the rights of masculinity and fulfill yourself by submitting your femininity to it."
She shuddered in the sand, sobbing.
"To be sure," I said, "it is doubtless easier to do this, and to understand it much more quickly, if the master is strong, if he throws you to his feet, and stands over you with a whip, and you know that your least recalcitrance will not be tolerated."
"It is only to a true master that I could submit," she said, "not to a weakling."
"If you submit yourself, clearly and explicitly," I said, "you may discover that he whom you thought to be a weakling may not in actuality be such at all. Few men, once they have caught the scent of the mastery, and surely once they have tasted of its deliciousness, will even consider its surrender."
"I spoke too quickly," she said. "I myself could never submit to any man. I am a free woman! I could never make a slave!"
"But then," I said, "you have never felt the brand, the whip, the collar."
She was silent. But I felt her tremble, even contemplating such things.
"Slaves are institutionally submitted," I said.
"But they deserve to be such," said she, quickly. "They are only slaves."
"But yet you are in my grip, much as might be a slave," I said.
"I cannot help that," she said.
I tightened my grip a little on her.
"Are slaves often whipped?" she asked, as though nonchalantly.
"Why do you ask?" I asked.
"I was only curious," she said.
"They are whipped when the master pleases," I said.
"Of course," she said.
"Perhaps the answer does not satisfy you?" I said.
"I am a free woman," she said.
"Slaves are often whipped," I said, "-when they are not pleasing."
"But are they often whipped?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Because they are pleasing?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I would never make a slave," she said. "But if I were to be a slave, I think I would try very hard to be pleasing."
"I am sure you would," I said.
"Beast," she said. I tightened my grip on her.
She squirmed a little, in the sand.
"Do you think to escape?" I asked.
"No," she said. She was muchly helpless as I held her. I relaxed my grip.
"No!" she said, suddenly. "Do not let me go!" "A strange request from a free woman," I said. "I am having strange feelings," she said. "I do not understand them. I am frightened of them. I have never felt anything like them before, not like this."
"What sort of feelings?" I asked.
"Never mind," she said. "Just hold me. Don't let me go!"
"Do you beg it?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Yes!"
I was curious as to what might be going on within her. It was apparently of some significance.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked.
"Though I am a free woman," she said, "I was thinking about what it might be to be a slave."
"And that is the occasion," I asked, "of these unusual feelings?"
"In part, I suppose," she said. "I do not know!"
"You're moving," I said.
"Oh!" she said, in frustration.
"And what was it, in particular, about being a slave?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "The wholeness of it, I think, its meaning, its categoricality, its helplessness, the being owned, the being subject to discipline, the having to obey! I do not know! I do not know!"
"Your whole body is becoming excited and vital," I said.
"Hold me," she said. "Hold me." I tightened my grip on her.
"I am to you much as would be a slave, am I not?" she gasped.
"Yes," I said.
"Am I subject to discipline, as would be a slave?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"But you have no whip!" she said.
"I could tie your hands and feet together and lash you with my belt," I said.
"I have never felt feelings like these!" she said. "They are overwhelming. They are all through me!"
"Do not fear them," I said.
"I feel so feminine," she said. "I have never felt so feminine!"
"Do not be afraid," I said.
"I want to please you!" she said, startled.
"Do not be afraid of your feelings," I said.
"I wish that I were a slave!" she cried out, in horror. "I wish I was free to be sexual, that it was commanded of me, that I would have no choice! That I would be forced to be what I am! That I would be truly in my place, where I belong, helplessly, even institutionally, under absolute male dominance!"
"But you are a free woman," I reminded her.
"I want to be subject to sale, to exchange, to commands!" she said. "I want to stand before men, beautiful and exciting, collared, an object of desire, a commodity, to hear their bids, to be subject to their claims, to be such that I may be led away in their chains. I want to love, and serve, wholely, selflessly, helplessly, irreservedly!"