'Permit me to yield!' I begged.
'Do not move,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' I said, through gritted teeth. I was so much his! Why would he not have me?
'You speak Gorean with an accent,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' I said. 'Forgive me, Master,' I begged.
'Do not change,' he said. 'The accent becomes you. It marks you as different and makes you more interesting.'
'Perhaps that is what Master finds interesting about his girl,' I said.
'Perhaps,' he said. 'But I have owned barbarian girls before.'
'Other girls from the planet Earth?' I whispered.
'Of course,' he said. 'Do not move.'
'No, Master,' I said. Suddenly I resented and hated those other girls from the bottom of my heart. How angry and jealous I was!
'The little slave is angry,' he said. 'Do not move.'
'No, Master,' I said.
I lay in the darkness, in his arms, trying not to move.
'What became of the Earth girls whom you owned before me, Master?' I asked.
'Was a slave given permission to speak?' he asked.
'Forgive me, Master,' I said. 'May a slave speak?'
'Yes,' he said.
'You owned other Earth girls,' I said. 'Where are they?'
'I do not know,' he said.
'What did you do with them?' I asked.
'I have had five such women, not including yourself, my dear,' he said. 'I gave two away, and sold off three.'
'Are you going to sell me, or give me away?' I asked.
'Perhaps,' he said.
I moaned. He could do what he wished, of course.
'Did they love you?' I asked.
'I do not know,' he said. 'Perhaps. Perhaps, not.'
'Did they protest their love to you?' I asked.
'Of course,' he said. 'That sort of thing is common among slave girls.'
'And yet you gave them away, or sold them?'
'Yes.'
'How could you do that, Master?' I asked.
'They were only slaves,' he said in explanation.
I uttered a cry of anguish. I could be discarded as easily. 'You were cruel,' I said, 'Master.'
'How can one be cruel to a slave?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said. 'How can one be cruel to a slave?'
'You're crying,' he said.
'Forgive me, Master,' I said.
We lay together in the darkness, I not permitted to move. I heard the peasant boys finishing with my sisters in bondage. Afterwards they would be put in slave hobbles.
'What was your barbarian name?' he asked.
'Judy Thornton,' I said, 'Master.'
'How came you into my possession?' he asked.
'You won me in challenge, Master,' I said. 'Then you made me your slave.'
'Ah, yes,' he said. What a beast he was, me so naked, so helpless in his arms.
'Barbarians have such complicated names,' he said.
'It is two names, Master,' I said. 'My first name was Judy, my second name was Thornton.'
'Barbarous,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' I said.
'I do not like those names,' he said. 'Therefore they will not be yours.'
'Yes, Master,' I said. I supposed such names did sound unfamiliar, and barbarous, to a Gorean ear.
'What was the name of your barbarian master?' he asked.
'I do not understand, Master,' I stammered.
'The barbarian who owned you on Earth,' he said. 'Perhaps we can use his name.'
'But I was not owned on Earth, Master,' I said. 'I was a free woman.'
'Women such as you are permitted to be free on Earth?' he asked.
'Yes, Master,' I said.
'Of what sort are the men of Earth?' he asked.
'Of a sort other than Gorean, Master,' I said.
'I see,' he said. 'Are the men happy?' he asked.
'No,' I told him.
'Are the women happy?' he asked.
'No,' I told him.
'I see,' he said.
'Do the men of Earth not find you beautiful and desirable?' he asked.
'They have been weakened,' I told him. 'I did not know what it was to be desired until I came to this world.' I clutched him. 'It is only in the arms of true men, such as you, Master,' I said, 'that I have learned what it is to be a woman.'
'You may move,' he said.
With a cry I began to respond spasmodically to him.
'Stop,' he said.
'Master!' I cried.
'Do not move,' he said.
I wept with misery. How cruel could he be. 'Yes, Master!' I wept.
He had raised me to the point at which another instant's movement would have precipitated that most incredible and fantastic of sexual experiences to which a human female can attain, that in which she knows herself cognitively and physiologically submitted, fully and completely, absolutely, to a master, the psychological and somatic raptures of submission spasm, the slave orgasm.
'I must drive you from my mind,' he said.
I moaned.
'What is your brand?' he asked.
'The Slave Flower, the Dina!' I cried. 'The name,' he had said, 'for you are a common girl, and worthless, should be an unimportant name, one plain and simple, one fitting for a valueless girl, an ignorant, branded she- slave such as you.'
'The Dina!' I cried.
He had begun to have me.
'Permit me to yield! Permit me to yield, Master!' I cried.
'No,' he said.
I cried out with misery. I tried to hold myself immobile.
'You are going to be named,' he said.
I could not even speak.
I was the only Dina among his girls. It was a common brand. Often girls who wore it were called Dina. For a low, common girl, one not to be distinguished from others, it was a suitable name. It was unimportant. It was simple. It was plain. I was common, and of little value. The name, too, was common, and of little value. It was thus not unfitting for a girl such as I, not unfitting for an ignorant, branded she-slave such as myself.
'You will not forget your name,' he said.
