markets, some possibly owned by the house itself.
As girls were removed from the coffle, their chaining, with the bracelets and coffle collars, was hung about the neck and shoulders of others. In the vicinity of the Tenth Ahn, as I guessed, I was alone, several loops of chaining, and such, slung about me or wrapped about my body. This was not pleasant, but, too, it was not much of a burden, as the chain was light, being girl chain. We were quite helpless in such bonds, but a man, it seemed, or some men, might have been able to pull apart such links. This is a way in which a woman may begin to understand that she is not a man. The sexes are quite different, and on Gor such picayune details have their role in helping to make the distinction clear. One is suitably master; one is suitably slave.
I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder.
I was also aware that the chaining which I was carrying was being unlooped, and unwound, from my body.
I gathered I was at my destination, wherever it might be. I did not inquire, of course. I did not wish to be struck. I had not been given permission to speak.
There had been two guards with the coffle.
One or both must now carry the chaining and such back to the house.
In the beginning, hooded, I did not know the number of beads on the small necklace. Counting their removal, and adding myself, there had been six.
I felt the coffle collar removed.
I stood there.
Now I was only hooded, and back-braceleted.
I felt a man’s hand on my left arm. “There are steps here, kajira,” he said. He then guided me, carefully, and assisted me up some five or six steps, onto a circular platform, cement, it seemed, but covered with a carpet, or heavy cloth, and then to the left. I heard a gate open, I would see later it was one of bars, and was conducted through it. Within he removed his hand from my arm, and I stood still. I stood on cement. The bracelets were removed.
“You have the papers?” a voice asked.
“Here,” said the guard.
I heard a movement of papers.
“Barbarian,” said the first voice.
“Yes,” said the guard.
“Is she any good,” asked the first voice.
“I do not know,” said the guard. “I have not put her to slave use.”
“I see she is red-silk,” said the first voice. That, I thought, must be on the papers. What right had they to know that?
“Recently,” said the guard.
“Good,” said the first voice. “There is no place for virgins here.”
I heard feminine laughter, from a few feet away.
On the whole, they had not been unkind to me in the Room of White-Silk. I had been handled with authority, of course, and was left in no doubt that I was within the grasp of masters, Gorean masters. I was not sure how many, as I had been hooded, had utilized me for slave pleasure, as some may have done so more than once. It was done to me in various ways. I was not freed of the ankle shackle until they were finished with me, and left, and the instructresses summoned, to unhood me and conduct me to my new domicile, a small, iron cage. I had occupied that cage, at night, until this morning, and my hooding and coffling. The cushions and furs in the Room of White-Silk had been deep. Occasionally the wrist and ankle rings were used, perhaps to accustom me to helpless slave service. I could still remember the feel of the heavy bar of the trestle against my belly. Toward the end, when I was half drunk, lost between confusion and disbelief, with the shocking and flooding of my belly, scarcely able to feel, I was thrown to the cushions and, for a time, left alone.
“Masters?” I said.
Were they done with me?
I was aware of blood on my thigh.
Some of it had been thrust to my lips, and into my mouth, that I might taste my virgin blood, which could be shed but once.
“Masters?” I whispered. Were they still in the room?
Strong hands put me on my back, over the cushions, my head back, and down. My ankles were pulled apart, widely. I left them as they had been placed. I supposed I was again to be put to use, routine, meaningless, forcible use.
I waited.
I did not know how many times it had been done to me.
Then I felt a gentle, soft, moist, caressing touch, and I cried out, startled, drew my legs together, as I could, and reached out, and felt my fingers close in a man’s hair.
“Oh,” I said, softly.
Surely such a caress would never be inflicted on a free woman. It would be disgracefully inappropriate to subject a free woman to such an indignity. It might pull them out of themselves, and make them beg for the collar. It was not for free women. It was fit only for slaves.
“Please, Master,” I whispered. “Again!”
“Oh, yes!” I whispered, my fingers in his hair.
At least, I thought, I was not chained helplessly in place. It was hard to imagine what might be the sensations which a master might inflict, even casually, upon a helpless slave, one wholly at his mercy, their subtlety, their variety, their length, and nature.
How helpless she would be, so in his power!
I feared to be so chained. I wanted to be so chained!
How many ways a man has to conquer a woman I thought, the chain, the whip, the switch, the commanding her to her knees, her lips to his feet, a gesture, admitting no questioning, the casting to her of a rag, fit only for a slave, the ordering of her to her tasks, the masterful seizure of her beauty, a kind word, a caress!
“More, more, more, Master!” I begged. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Master!”
Well now was I aware of how I might have responded had they been concerned less to routinely open a young slave and had they been more patient, slower, less merciful. What if they had been tortuously slow, reading my body, playing upon it, as on a czehar or kalika, bringing forth what music they wished? Could I help what I was, female, and slave? A thousand modalities attend the mastership, and the slave learns a thousand yieldings, and submissions. She may be seized, and put to use in any place, at any time, in any way. She may be used abruptly, and cast aside, and rejoices to have been granted even so much. Does this not inform her, to her delight, that she is a slave? This thrills her that she is such, only slave, that she may be so used. And she may be utilized at length, should he wish, for Ahn at a time. The master may put aside days for slave sport, mastering her in a hundred ways at his leisure. She learns the blindfold, the gag, ropes, wrapped silken cords, thongs, bracelets, and chains. She learns to bring the master the whip in her teeth, crawling to him, on all fours. She cooks, and sews, launders and cleans, and he may observe her at her lowly, servile tasks, until he summons her to his arms, that she may attend to her truest task, the pleasing and pleasuring of her master. She will bathe him, and he may comb her hair. Her garmenture, if she be granted such, depends upon his will. He may dress her and undress her, considering how she may best be displayed. He is concerned with her appearance. In the promenades she must look well on her leash. Perhaps he will have her taught the kalika, or dance, dance such as is appropriate for such as she, slave dance.
“Please, more, Master!” I begged.
Had I been capable of wondering, on Earth, if I were a slave, a rightful slave, a slave by nature? How foolish now seemed such abstract, idle ruminations! It was now confirmed upon me, that I, the former Allison Ashton- Baker, was a slave, and not only by law, however absolute that legal shackle might be, but by right, by nature! Not only was I slave, but I needed to be a slave!
“Master?” I asked, within the hood, the light of a lamp dimly sensed through the closed, buckled artifact.
I lifted my belly, pathetically, piteously, shamelessly, in the darkness.
