She cried out in misery. 'I do not want to be a slave!' But when I had touched the most intimate beauties of her she became uncontrollable, writhing, and in my arms I knew the feeling of a slave girl and such, for the moment, was the beautiful Elizabeth Cardwell, helpless and mine, female and slave.
Now her lips and arms and body, now those only of an enamoured wench in bondage, sought mine, acknowledging utterly and unreservedly, shamelessly and hopelessly, with helpless abandon, their master.
I was astonished at her for even the touch of the whip, her involuntary response to the Slaver's Caress, had not seemed to promise so much.
She cried out suddenly as she found herself fully mine. Then she scarcely dared to move.
'You are claimed, Slave Girl,' I whispered to her. 'I am not a slave girl,' she whispered intensely. 'I am not a slave girl.'
I could feel her nails in my arm. In her kiss I tasted blood, suddenly realizing that she had bitten me. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her lips open.
'I am not a slave girl,' she said.
I whispered in her ear, 'Pretty little slave girl.' 'I am not a slave girl!' she cried.
'You will be soon,' I told her.
'Please, Tarl,' she said, 'do not make me a slave.' 'You sense that it can be done?' I asked.
'Please,' she said, 'do not make me a slave.'
'Do we not have a wager?' I asked.
She tried to laugh. 'Let us forget the wager,' said she. 'Please, Tart, it was foolishness. Let us forget the wager?' 'Do you acknowledge yourself my slave?' I inquired. 'Never!' she hissed.
'Then,' said I, 'lovely wench, the wager is not yet done.' She struggled to escape me, but could not. Then, suddenly, as though startled, she would not move.
She looked at me.
'It soon begins,' I told her.
'I sense it,' she said, 'I sense it.'
She did not move but I felt the cut of her nails in my arms.| 'Can there be more?' she wept.
'It soon begins,' I told her.
'I'm frightened,' she wept.
'Do not be frightened,' I told her.
'I feel owned,' she whispered.
'You are,' I said.
'No,' she said. 'No.'
'Do not be frightened,' I told her.
'You must let me go,' she said.
'It soon begins,' I told her.
'Please let me go,' she whispered. 'Please'
'On Gor,' I said, 'it is said that a woman who wears a collar can be only a woman.'
She looked at me angrily.
'And you, lovely Elizabeth,' said I, 'wear a collar.' She turned her head to one side, helpless, angry, tears in her eyes.~ She did not move, and then suddenly I felt the cut of herA nails deep in my arms, and though her lips were open, herr! teeth were clenched, her head was back, the eyes closed, her hair tangled under her and over her body, and then her eyes seemed surprised, startled, and her shoulders lifted a bit from r the rug, and she looked at me, and I could feel the beginning n her, the breathing of it and the blood of it, hers, in my own flesh swift and like fire in her beauty, mine, and knowing it was then the time, meeting her eyes fiercely, I said to her, with sudden contempt and savagery, following the common Gorean Rites of Submission, 'Slave!' and she looked at me with horror and cried out «Nor» and half reared from the rug, wild, helpless, fierce as I intended, wanting to fight me, as I knew she would, wanting to slay me if it lay within her power, as I knew she would, and I permitted her to struggle and to bite and scratch and cry out and then I silenced her with the kiss of the master, and accepted the exquisite sur render which she had no choice but to give. 'Slave,' she wept, 'slave, slave, slave I am a slave'
It was more than an Ahn later that she lay in my arms on the rug and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. 'I know now,' she said, 'what it is to be the slave girl of a Master.' I said nothing.
'Though I am slave,' she said, 'yet for the first tinge in my life I am free.'
'For the first time in your life,' I said, 'you are a woman.' 'I love being a woman,' she said. 'I am happy I am a woman, Tarl Cabot, I am happy.'
'Do not forget,' I said, 'you are only a slave.'
She smiled and fingered her collar. 'I am Tarl Cabot's girl,' she said. j 'My slave,' I said.
'Yes,' she said, 'your slave.'
I smiled.
'You will not beat me too often will you, Master?' she asked.
'We will see,' I said.
'I will strive to please you,' she said.
'I am pleased to hear it,' I said.
She lay on her back, her eyes open, looking at the top of, the wagon, at the hangings, the shadows thrown on the scarlet hides by the light of the fire bowl.
'I am free,' she said.
I looked at her.
She rolled over on her elbows. 'It is strange,' she said. 'I am a slave girl. But I am free. I am free.'
'I must sleep,' I said, rolling over.
She kissed me on the shoulder. 'Thank you,' she said, 'Tarl Cabot, for freeing me.'
I rolled over and seized her by the shoulders and pressed her back to the rug and she looked up laughing.
'Enough of this nonsense about freedom,' I said. 'Do not forget that you are a slave.' I took her nose ring between my thumb and forefinger.
'Oh' she said.
I lifted her head from the rug by the ring and her eyes smarted.
'This is scarcely the way to show respect for a lady,' said the girl.
I tweaked the nose ring, and tears sprang into her eyes. 'But then,' she said, 'I am only a slave girl.'
'And do not forget it,' I admonished her.
'No, no, Master,' she said, smiling.
'You do not sound to me sufficiently sincere,' I said. 'But I arm' she laughed.
'I think in the morning,' I said, 'I will throw you to kaiila.'
'But where then will you find another slave as delectable as I?' she laughed.
'Insolent wench!' I cried.
'Oh!' she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. 'Please!' With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of her neck.
'Do not forget,' I said, 'that on your throat you wear a collar of steel.'
'Your collar!' she said promptly.
I slapped her thigh. 'And,' I said, 'on your thigh you wear the brand of the four bask horns'
'I'm yours,' she said, 'like a bosk!'
'Oh,' she cried, as I dropped her back to the rug. She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. 'I'm free,' she said.
'Apparently,' I said, 'you have not learned the lesson of the collar.'
She laughed merrily. Then she lifted her arms and put them about my neck, and lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, delicately. 'This slave girl,' she said, 'has well learned the lesson of her collar.'
I laughed.
She kissed me again. 'Vella of Gor,' said she, 'loves master.'
'And what of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell?' I inquired. 'That pretty little slave' said Elizabeth, scornfully. 'Yes,' I said, 'the secretary.'
'She is not a secretary,' said Elizabeth, 'she is only a little Gorean slave.'
'Well,' said I, 'what of her?'
'As you may have heard,' whispered the girl, 'Miss Eliza- beth Cardwell, the nasty little wench, was forced to yield herself as a slave girl to a master.'
'I had heard as much,' I said.
'What a cruel beast he was,' said the girl.
'What of her now?' I asked.
'The little slave girl,' said the girl scornfully, 'is now madly in love with the beast.'
'What is his name?' I asked.
'The same who won the surrender of proud Vella of Gor,' said she.
'And his name?' I asked.
'Tart Cabot,' she said.
'He is a fortunate fellow,' I remarked, 'to have two such- women.'
'They are jealous of one another,' confided the girl. 'Insolent wench!' I cried.
'Oh' she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. «Please» With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of her neck.
'Do not forget,' I said, 'that on your throat you wear a collar of steel.'
'Your collar!' she said promptly.
