require little cloth. Too, many are designed with a disrobing loop, by means of which the garment may be easily removed, to be swept from her, or dropped, to fall about her ankles, depending on the garment. The loop is usually at the left shoulder, as most masters are right-handed.
She turned away from me.
“We are now out of the Steel World,” she said.
“So?” I said.
“You freed Ramar,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Will you not now free me?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Do not be absurd. You are not a sleen. You are nothing, only a human female.”
“And one who belongs in a collar?”
“Obviously,” I said.
“In your collar?”
“In a collar,” I said, “whomsoever’s it might be.”
“In any man’s?” she said.
“In some man’s,” I said.
“Yours?”
“Not necessarily,” I said, “but in some man’s collar.”
“I belong in a collar?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I gather,” she said, “that female slavery exists on this world?”
“That is true,” I said, “and male slavery, as well.”
“But most slaves are female, are they not?”
“Yes,” I said. “Slavery is a misfortune for the male, for the male, or most males, are naturally free, and master, but bondage is apt for the female.”
“Females are not the same as males?” she said.
“No,” I said. “They are quite different, profoundly, radically different.”
“The male is to own, and the female is to be owned?”
“The female, as a female,” I said, “can find her total fulfillment only in bondage, only at the feet of a powerful male, who will see her and treat her as the property she wishes to be, and nature intended her to be.”
“I see,” she said.
“It does not matter whether you do or not,” I said.
“I am in a collar.”
“Yes.”
She looked away.
“I suppose female bondage has a justification,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Nature,” she said.
“Certainly,” I said. “Nature. Let her tell you of the rightfulness of your collar.”
She spun about, tears in her eyes. She clutched her collar. “She has told me!” she cried.
“I know,” I said.
“But we are no longer in the Steel World,” she said. “Here, surely, whether I will it or not, you will free me!”
“If you are testing me, trying my patience,” I said, “I do not care for it.”
“But we are alone,” she said. “You need not now, nor could you, continue to hold me in bondage!”
“Do you wish to be freed?” I asked.
“No,” she cried. “I do not wish to be free! But you must free me! You are not Gorean! You are of Earth, of Earth! You have no choice but to free me!”
“I do not understand,” I said. Did she not know she stood on the soil of Gor, and was collared?
“You must take me away from myself!” she sobbed. “You must rob me of myself!”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“You are of Earth, of Earth!” she said. You have no choice but to free me! You must free me!”
“You think so?” I asked.
“Certainly,” she wept.
“Certainly?” I inquired.
“Certainly,” she said.
“Remove your clothing,” I said, “and approach me, with your wrists crossed, before your body.”
“What?” she said.
“Now,” I said.
In a moment I lashed her wrists together before her body. I then drew her, stumbling, by the loose end of the strap to the edge of the forest. There I thrust her against a tree, belly against the bark, and flung the free end of the strap over a branch. “Master!” she cried. I then drew her crossed, bound hands up, high, unpleasantly so, over her head, and fastened them in place, that by means of the same strap, it now tied beneath the straps on her wrist.
“Master!” she wept.
She was stretched, on her tiptoes.
“You have not been pleasing,” I informed her.
“Forgive me, Master!” she cried.
I removed my belt.
In a moment I was through with her, but it had been enough.
“Do you think you will be freed?” I asked.
“No, Master!” she wept.
“Perhaps I will sell you,” I said. The former Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym had not been pleasing.
“Please do not sell me!” she begged.
I replaced my belt, freed her and turned away.
In moments she had followed me, and was on her belly on the pebbled sand, naked, sobbing, licking and kissing my feet, in piteous supplication.
“Do you think you will be freed?” I asked.
“No, Master!” she wept. “No, Master!”
“I am Gorean,” I said.
“Yes, Master!” she said.
“Do you understand that, Earth female?” I said. “You are owned —
“Yes, Master!” she said.
“Do you understand the meaning of that?”
“Yes, Master!” she said. “I am a slave, only a slave, and no more!”
“The most abject, worthless, and meaningless of slaves,” I said.
“Yes, Master!” she wept.
“What a miserable lot is yours,” I said, “that of helpless, abject bondage.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Perhaps you understand better now the peril and degradation of your condition?”
“Yes, Master!”
“Do you still wish to be a slave?” I asked.
“Do not make me speak!” she begged.
“Speak,” I said.
“Yes, Master!” she sobbed. “Yes, Master!”
“Why?” I demanded.
“For then,” she said, “as a woman, I am wholly myself!”
“Do you think you will be kept as a slave for any reason of yours?” I asked. “Perhaps because you wish to be
