“It seems expulsion is in order,” said Mrs. Rawlinson.
“No!” we wept.
“Would you prefer to serve naked?” she inquired.
“No, no!” we said.
“It is not unusual for a Gorean feast to be so served by kajirae,” she said.
I did not doubt that.
“Many men claim it improves the appetite,” she said.
“No, no,” whimpered Eve, tears coursing down her cheeks.
“I am told so,” said Mrs. Rawlinson.
“Relent, be kind,” pleaded Jane.
“But many,” she said, “prefer the tunic, or camisk. It gives them something to remove.”
“You would punish us so?” I wept.
“Your fault was grievous,” she said. “You may beg to be permitted a camisk.”
“I beg to be permitted a camisk,” said Eve.
“I beg to be permitted a camisk,” said Jane.
“I beg,” I said, “to be permitted a camisk.”
“It is all in good fun,” she said.
Jane, Eve, and I exchanged glances, of dismay, and misery. We would be almost nude, exhibited, as might be slaves, and the others would be fully clothed, veiled, robed, and such.
Clearly she had conceived a suitable punishment for such as we, a punishment fully appropriate, given our fault, having dared to read of a natural world.
“Your left ankles,” she said, “will be encircled several times with small, colored cords, on which bells will be threaded. Slaves are often belled. It stimulates the men.”
We looked at one another, miserable.
“Collars, too, would be appropriate,” she said. “One would not wish your necks to be naked. Common dog collars will do for you, particularly as you are bitches. But they will be locked on your neck. You will know yourself well in them. Small padlocks will do, to which I shall hold the key.”
Eve began to cry.
“I assume you will all know enough to kneel in the presence of free persons, save when you are serving, fetching, and such.”
I nodded, in misery.
And Nora, and her clique, and the others, would be such, free persons!
“You will all need a little coaching,” she said, “in posture, grace, and such, which I shall supply, but the important thing is that you should know yourself as slaves, that you should understand that, fully, in the deepest roots of you. Given that understanding, much will come quite naturally. Most of your serving, I assure you, will be quite proper, quite innocent. For example, in serving wine to a male you need only do so on your knees, your head down, extending the goblet, held in both hands, between your extended arms. You need have little fear that you will be expected to serve wine in the typical Gorean fashion, which is so stimulating to a male, and, I might observe, in passing, too, so helplessly and erotically stimulating to the slave as well. One would not wish you to be dragged to the kitchen by the hair, and enjoyed on the linoleum, would we?”
“No,” we whispered.
“But Mrs. Rawlinson,” said Eve, “if the boys see us thusly, how will they see us?”
“As lusciously desirable,” said Mrs. Rawlinson, “but only as slaves.”
“What if we do not do well?” said Jane.
“I am sure you will do well, very well,” said Mrs. Rawlinson. “And remember, the guests will be furnished with switches.”
We recalled this.
“It is unpleasant to be switched,” she said. “You will try to do your best, will you not?”
We looked to one another.
“Yes,” we said.
“And remember,” she said, “you are to address all free males as Master, and all free females as Mistress. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” we said.
“Yes, Mrs. Rawlinson,” she suggested.
“Yes, Mrs. Rawlinson,” we said.
Several days later, the party took place, and Eve, Jane, and I, half-naked, belled, and collared, served as kajirae. Our punishment, as Mrs. Rawlinson had suggested, was exquisite. As she had anticipated, we were well shamed, excruciatingly so. We knew we were being punished; the guests did not. I supposed I should have been grateful.
I learned, for the first time in my life, at that party, something of what it might be to be looked upon as a slave. I could not remove the collar, of course, unless I had recourse to tools. Accordingly, it was well on me. It was the first time, of course, that I had ever been in a locked collar. Interestingly, though I would have told no one at the time, I was erotically charged, even in my shame. Could I be, I wondered, a slut, or less? The bells, too, with their subtle rustle, marked the least of my movements. It was a strange feeling, to be belled. In some strange way that, too, aroused me. Did they not say, so to speak, ‘You are a slave, a belled slave’?
Eve, Jane, and I were, I suppose, quite popular at the party, at least with the young men. Many times, unnecessarily I was sure, we were summoned to serve one or another of them. I think this did not much please several of our sisters, also at the tables.
“Slave,” called Nora, in her sumptuous robes, as our Ubara, “to me!”
I hurried to her, and knelt before her, head down.
How pleased, I thought, must she, my enemy, be to have me so before her!
“My hands are greasy from the meat,” she said. “Come closer.”
Then, while she chatted with the young man beside her, she pulled me by the hair closer, and held me, painfully, my face down, at the table, and wiped her hands, carefully and firmly, in my hair.
Then, turning to me, as though she had just then noticed me, she said, “Get out!”
I withdrew to the side, kneeling.
My eyes were hot with tears. I kept my head down.
“To me,” she called again, later. “Stop!” she then said, when I was a few feet from her. I knew enough, from Mrs. Rawlinson, to kneel, immediately.
“You must be hungry,” she laughed.
We were hungry, for we were not permitted to participate in the feast. Too, on Mrs. Rawlinson’s instructions, we had been denied lunch, and, later, kept locked in a room behind the kitchen, until we had been brought forth, covered by a large sheet, and introduced into the common room, now arranged as a banquet hall. We had been knelt, and the sheet, swirling, lifted away, revealing us, camisked, collared, and belled. “Slaves!” had said Mrs. Rawlinson, in her own robes, with an expansive gesture, and there had been much laughter, and some gasps, for even our sisters had not been apprised of how we would appear, and, too, there was some hooting from the young men, and vulgar noises, and an appreciative, even enthusiastic, clapping of hands.
Then, at a sharp clapping of Mrs. Rawlinson’s hands, we leapt up and hurried to the kitchen, to bring forth the fare, the sweets, the candies, the nuts, the bowls of fruit, the herbs, the bread, flat, circular loaves of bread, which would be divided into eight wedges, the many covered dishes of boiled vegetables and hot meat, the vessels of wine, and such, and placed these on the serving table, from which place we began to serve the guests.
“Are you hungry?” inquired Nora.
I did not know what to do.
“You may speak, slave,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “-Mistress.” I had been informed by Mrs. Rawlinson that those in collars must tell the truth. How vulnerable this makes them. They are not free women.
She then took some scraps from her plate and cast them about, on the floor.
“Feed,” she said.
Burning with shame, but yet, too, eager for food, I crawled to the scraps and, head down, without my hands,
