“I do not understand,” I said.
“Get your knees apart,” he snarled.
“Master?” I said.
“Now,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Now,” he said, “that is the way you should be.”
Yes, I thought to myself, this is how I should be, and how I want to be. On Earth I had been a slave, not collared. I had been exploitative, selfish, shallow, petty, and nasty. Then, suitably enough, appropriately enough, I was brought to Gor and must wear the collar for which I was born.
“I am in the position of a slave, a pleasure slave,” I said, “before my Master.”
“You were trained as a pleasure slave, were you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion, in Ar.”
“Stand,” he said, “face away from me, put your hands behind your back.”
I did so, and was braceleted.
He then took me by the hair, forced my head down to his hip and then, I in leading position, he drew me beside him deeper into the courtyard, and then, in a concealed place, on the thick, soft, flowing grass, so rich and deep, so living, threw me to his feet.
I looked up at him.
I jerked a little at the bracelets.
“Here, Master?” I said.
“I am tired of being tortured,” he said. “You may be worthless, but you are an interesting piece of meat, on which I intend to feast.”
Then he took me in his arms, and I felt ecstasy.
“Yes, yes, Master!” I cried out, a third time.
“Please free my hands!” I begged.
“No,” he said.
Later, my hands freed, I clung to him, under the moons of Gor. Later he let me creep to his thigh. Still later, he lifted me in his arms, almost as though I might be free, and he carried me into the domicile, and up to his room. There he lit a lamp, and chained me by an ankle, to the ring at the foot of his couch. I gathered I would be slept there, chained at his feet.
“Thank you, Master,” I wept.
In the collar I had found my fulfillment, my joy, and my redemption.
“Oh, please, Master, again,” I begged.
He then drew me to him, again.
“Surely I am not to be back-braceleted again?” I said.
Then my wrists were again braceleted behind my back.
“On the furs,” he said. “Kneel, get your head down!”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
His hands were then on me.
I jerked at the bracelets, but was helpless within them.
“Ohh,” I cried, softly. “Oh! Oh! Yes, Master, yes!”
“Master will not sell me, will he?” I said, frightened.
“How good are you?” he asked.
“Surely Master has formed some sense of my possible value,” I said.
“We shall see,” he said.
“Oh!” I cried.
“Are you suitably humbled?” he asked.
“I have been long humbled,” I said. “I was humbled as soon as I was collared. A slave is not permitted pride.”
“Still,” he said, “I occasionally felt you were a bit pretentious.”
“It is hard to be pretentious,” I said, “when one is muchly bared, in a slave tunic.”
“I occasionally thought you an arrogant little slut,” he said, “when you were in my keeping, you knowing that you would not be touched.”
“I was angry,” I said.
“You wanted to be touched,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“You were a tempting little tasta,” he said.
“Perhaps I taunted you a little, a subtle movement, a way of turning, a glance over my shoulder, a smile.”
“I was well aware of such things,” he said.
“I hoped you would be,” I said.
“It is one thing for a free woman to do such things,” he said. “It is quite another for a slave.”
“I do not think so,” I said.
“A slave might be simply taken in hand,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“You are seductive little brutes,” he said.
“We are slaves,” I said.
“Slaves want to be touched,” he said.
“Of course,” I said. “Oh!” I said, for I was touched, and as a slave might be touched.
How helpless we are!
“It is pleasant to touch you,” he said.
“I assure you,” I said, “I am now well touched.”
“It is a beginning,” he said.
“You will not sell me, will you?”
“Now that you have been reduced, shattered, and well used, again and again, and have cried out, piteously, for more, and more, again, and again,” he said, “it would be amusing to take you to the market, and rid myself of you.”
“It may be done with me,” I said, “as Master pleases, for I am a slave.”
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Keep me in your collar,” I begged. “I have been yours, even from the Sul Market!”
“Do you think you might be a good slave?” he asked.
“I will try my best, Master!” I said.
“Very well,” he said. “Please me, and as the slave you are.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, gratefully.
“On your world,” he said, “I would suppose you were literate.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And you had station and resources, were refined, and educated, might come and go as you pleased, muchly had your way, were elegantly clothed and shod, and such?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And here you are a naked slave,” he said.
“It is my hope,” I said, “that my Master, if I prove sufficiently pleasing, may grant me a garment.”
“A rag, or such,” he said, “provided, of course, that you are fully pleasing.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
