Still he put his finger under her collar, and, as she gasped, he pulled her even closer to him, indeed, quite close to him, “slave close,” as the expression is. She could not move back, because of his hold on her. I was alarmed. She was a free woman! I could well conjecture her dismay, her discomfort, her fear, her wild sensations-she, a free female, being held so close to him, she half stripped, he fully dressed, so powerful, so masculine!
“’Tuta’,” he read. “It is a good name for you, slave.”
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.
“It is not a state collar,” he said to me, “but, as she is in your custody, one gathers that she must be in the keeping of the state, for some reason, perhaps pending her sale.”
I was silent.
He released the Lady Constanzia’s collar. “Remain where you are,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Slave lips,” he said to her.
She looked at him, wildly, in consternation.
“Purse your lips,” I said to her.
She complied, frightened.
“Close your eyes,” he said to her.
She did so.
She was then standing there, before him, her eyes closed, her lips pursed.
“Her lips are of interest,” he said.
“Please, Master,” I protested.
“I am going to taste your lips, Tuta,” he said.
“Master!” I protested.
He did not immediately address himself, however, to the Lady Constanzia. Rather he stood there for a time, and let her stand there, for a time, her lips in the position he had commanded, her eyes closed, as he had ordered.
I heard a tiny clink of metal as she pulled a bit, futilely, against the bracelets which held her small hands confined behind her back.
Then, to my surprise, and dismay, I saw her lift her chin a little more, and stretch her neck a little, lifting her lips to him. How shameless! She was offering herself to him! Could the Lady Constanzia be a slave?
With a low, throaty laugh, almost a growl, he then enfolded her, she helpless, braceleted, in his arms and, indeed, tasted, and lengthily, and well, tasted the lips of the free woman, the Lady Constanzia!
After a time, perhaps even three or four Ehn, he released her, and she sank to her knees, before him. Then she looked straight ahead. Her eyes were wide. She was clearly shaken. She began to tremble. I feared she might collapse to the stones.
He crouched down beside her, briefly.
“Oh!” she said, suddenly.
“She is not in the iron belt,” he observed.
“She has not had her slave wine, Master!” I said, quickly. “Please, I beg of you! Do not! Do not!”
He stood up.
“Have no fear,” said he.
“May we leave?” I begged.
“Her lips are indeed of interest,” he said to me. “To be sure, she was more kissed than kissing.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Does she know how to use them?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“But she is intelligent, you said?”
“Yes, Master,”
“Then she can learn how to use them?”
“Of course, Master.”
“Does she know the seven basic kisses of the slave?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Not even that?”
“No, Master,” I said.
Naturally the number of “basic kisses,” tends to vary with the nature of the analysis in question, much depending on how broadly or narrowly the notion of “basic” is understood and the criteria for distinguishing between a “basic kiss” and a major variation thereof. If I may be permitted to exaggerate a point, for purposes of clarification, one might as, are there two basic kisses with five hundred variations of each, for basic kisses with two hundred and fifty variations of each, five with two hundred variations of each, ten with one hundred variations of each, or, as some authorities might prefer, merely one thousand basic kisses? Or are there ten thousand, and so on? All authorities agree, of course, that the varieties of possible kisses, with respect to location, pressure, liquidity, duration, timing, and such, are infinite in number. The notion of “seven basic kisses,” however, is, apparently, a common one. It deftly imposes some useful order on what might otherwise be a chaos. It is nothing against the value of a classificatory scheme that it is not the only one possible. As a last note, I might add that there does seem to be general agreement among authorities on the importance of a given number of types of kisses, and perhaps that is more important than whether one accounts a given kiss A to be a variation of B, or B to be a variation of A, and so on. There are apparently, incidentally, on this world, a number of manuals devoted to slave training. In most of these, as I understand it, seven is indeed given as the number of the “basic kisses.” For what it is worth, that is the number which was impressed on me in the pens. I had had seven basic lessons on the matter, with variations taught within the lessons. There were also frequent review lessons later on. One does not, of course, forget such things. To be sure, much depends, as we were always being told, on the individual master. It is his will which, to us, is all. In our practices we were sometimes blindfolded. I presume there were several reasons for that, for example, that we might learn how to concentrate on the tactual sensations involved, that we might be able to kiss well in the dark and, when we are using male slaves to practice on, that we should not become involved with them personally. When one kisses a man as a slave it is hard not to feel oneself as slave to him. I do not think the male slaves objected to being used in our training. Some who began by crying out in rage, perhaps new slaves, ended up moaning with pleasure. They, too, were generally blindfolded, except when we must kiss them upon their closed eyes. Later, as our skills improved, the guards permitted us, sans blindfolds, to practice upon them. And they were harsh taskmasters, I tell you! Diligently must we strive to please them! But we preferred their severities to the helplessness of the slaves for we knew that they were such as to whom we belonged, free men. Sometimes we felt the switch when we did not do well. I so wanted to kiss he whose whip I had first kissed, but he would never permit it. I wanted to kiss him as he had never been kissed before, but he would not permit it. How he scorned me! And perhaps rightly, for I was naught but a slave! After we had kissed the guards we were much aroused. Shamelessly, later, throbbing with need, we would beg their attentions from our kennels. Sometimes they were kind to us and sometimes there were not.
“She is quite ignorant then,” said the fellow.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
The Lady Constanzia, I am sure, did not appreciate my concurrence in this matter, but he was a free man, and I a slave, and his conjecture was, after all, obviously true.
“A pity,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
Do you come often to this terrace?’ he asked.
“We have not, in the past,” I said.
“Will you in the future?” he asked.
“I do not know if we will be permitted aboard,” I said.
“And if you are?” he asked.
“Perhaps then, Master,” I said. I had wanted to come to this terrace for a particular reason. It gave access, by means of a bridge, to an area in which I had hoped I might obtain certain information. This was unknown, of course, to the Lady Constanzia. I had come here some times before, but things had not been satisfactory. One must be here, or rather at a place close by, at a certain time to learn what I wanted to know, if one could know it. The information I wanted, of course, like that which had been denied to me about the reason for my being in the pits, had been denied me. It was a simple enough bit of information, but a slave girl must be extremely careful about certain things. For example, asking a question outright, particularly of a stranger, can involve great risks. The stranger will presumably assume that you are supposed to be denied the information or you would have already obtained it from your master or keeper. To be sure, one may, kneeling, innocently request certain sorts of information, such as the directions to a shop or given street, or such, but to ask about something which is either sensitive or presumed to be generally known can be frowned upon. For example, a slave would not request information as to the departure or arrival times of sky caravans and such, and she would not, presumably, ask something of the simplicity of that which I wished to know. It would automatically be assumed that that information, for some reason, had been denied to her. One night, of course, merely be told that curiosity is not becoming in a kajira, which, I had learned, is something of a saying on this world, but, more likely, one might be cuffed or beaten, and then one might have one’s hands bound behind one and one’s question written on, say, the interior of one’s thigh or on a breast, usually the left, as most masters are right handed, where when one returns to one’s keeper or master, it will be clear that one has been disobedient, and attempted to obtain the denied information illicitly.