“Mistress?” I said.
“Oh!” I cried, startled, for something of cloth and leather, enclosing, muchly opaque, was pulled over my head, from behind, by one of the instructresses. I heard it buckled shut, and the sound of a tiny padlock being snapped shut, doubtless linking two rings.
“Steady, steady!” warned an instructress.
“Position!” snapped another.
And then I knelt, as I had before, in position, hooded.
“Should we remove her garment?” asked an instructress.
“The men will do that,” said another.
“Stand up, Allison,” said the first instructress, gently. I felt her hand on my upper left arm. I was then being guided from the training room, and turned left, and, in a moment, I felt the smooth, worn, flat tiles of the corridor beneath my bare feet. We made two further turnings, and then we stopped.
“Here,” said the first instructress.
I heard a door opened, and I was conducted within, and released, some feet within the portal.
Where was I?
“Mistresses!” I pleaded. “Mistresses!”
I heard the door shut, and, from the outside, a bar put in place.
“Mistresses!” I cried.
I stood in the room, perhaps near its center, alone, hooded, frightened, disoriented.
“Mistresses! Mistresses!”
I turned, and felt my way, hands extended, stumbling, toward the door, which was heavy, and shut, and locked, barred on the outside.
I pounded on the door, and cried out, again and again, but, if any heard, none responded.
I attempted to tear the hood from my head, but such are not meant to be removed by such as I.
I, fearing to fall, went to all fours, that I might explore my small world. In short order, I felt a carpet, and then furs, and cushions. Such things seemed luxurious, and abundant. Here and there, too, I felt chains, and wrist and ankle rings. At one side of the room, I reached up, and, bit by bit, felt the structure of a heavy, low, sturdy trestle.
I tore futilely at the hood.
I was in the Room of White-Silk.
“Do you not think you have been white-silk long enough?” had asked an instructress.
I trembled. I heard a soft moan, mine.
Helpless, and hooded, I realized what I was here for, what was to be done to me.
I lay on the cushions alone, for a time.
I supposed the guards, some of them, perhaps some who had noted me, or were curious about me, would visit me, when convenient, perhaps with the turn of the watch, when their duties were done.
I am not sure how long I lay alone in the room, hooded, amidst the cushions and furs.
Bars rang, and midbars.
I was tunicked. I did not know if the tunic would be left to me. It might be. It is a simple thing for a master to thrust up the short skirt of the tunic, to the slave’s waist. I wondered if they would be quick.
I clutched at a silken coverlet.
My fingers clenched it.
I dared not cover myself.
The masters might not be pleased.
They might wish to look upon my legs, my ankles, my arms, my throat.
Accordingly, I dared not cover myself.
I knew that a slave is usually expected, on a couch, on a slave mat, on furs, to wait naked, wholly uncovered, for her master.
Tunicked, one is already half naked.
I would not cover myself.
How long must I wait, alone?
Then I seemed suddenly to awaken.
The door had been opened.
I knew they would not talk to me. I must not realize who they were. It is better that way. Awareness is better reserved for a master.
I struggled to my feet.
I sensed there were several in the room.
They must have brought lanterns or lamps. I heard the fire strikers snap more than once. Too, I heard some tiny sounds, some suggesting the placing of lamps on shelves, others the hanging of lanterns on ceiling hooks. I sensed men looking at me, and moving about me. They said nothing. There would not be a great deal of illumination, but it would be soft, and ample, that of lamps and lanterns, two or three, I supposed.
“Masters?” I said.
I was not answered.
I felt my left ankle grasped, and I stiffened. A shackle was closed about it. Some loops of chain were thrown down, beside me. I gathered there was a good length of chain between the shackle and its ring. I do not know why I was shackled. Perhaps because I was a slave, and it was thought fit that I be shackled. I wondered if, later, the wrist rings and ankle rings would be used. I supposed that the length of chain allowed me would not be sufficient to allow me to reach the door, which might now be unbarred. I wondered if others, guards, passing by, might enter.
I knew little of how free women were handled. Perhaps much depends on the caste, or city. I had never encountered a Gorean free woman in any meaningful way, though, from time to time, one had visited the house. At such a time, if one were near, we must kneel in first obeisance position, head to the floor. I had been aware of little more than the almost inaudible sound of a soft slipper on the tiles, a rustle of silks passing me. My knowledge of free women was limited almost entirely to the hints, and gossip, of instructresses, which I had overheard. I gathered that there was little love lost between the slave and the free woman.
I sensed the men standing there, about me.
I did not know if I should kneel, or not.
Should I assume obeisance position, first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the tiles, hands to floor, perhaps second obeisance position, belly to the floor, palms down, beside my head, where one might reach inch forth, to press one’s lips to his feet?
How slave I felt, waiting.
I wondered how free women were handled, or if they were handled, so to speak, at all.
Gorean men, I knew, preferred slaves.
That is the way, I gathered, with men.
They prefer us, slaves.
I sensed myself scrutinized.
I was aware of light, dimly, on my right, through the hood. A lamp or lantern was lifted near me. I felt a warmth on my right shoulder. That would be from the lamp or lantern.
I would be in the light.
I knew that men liked to see their slaves.
They delighted in each nuance, and inch, of them.
In the house I had grown accustomed to being regarded openly, and appraisingly, by the guards. How different it was from Earth! There was nothing secret, quick, shy, sly, or furtive about it. We were regarded with the innocence and interest that one might regard an animal, and, in the case of the female slave, an animal which one might consider owning, and having at one’s slave ring. At first I had been considerably disturbed at the frankness, the openness, the length, of such assessments, particularly if commanded, turned about, and posed, but of course, a slave, I dared not complain, nor evince, in any way, any objection to such detailed, candid perusals, even handlings. I had no wish to be cuffed, or beaten. This was not Earth, in which a battery of social and legal weaponry might be invoked against any fellow so unwary as to dare to look honestly, openly, frankly, naturally, on a
