'How you Gorean beasts,' she said, 'take naively for granted the glorious riches at your disposal.'
I shrugged.
She looked at me. 'How ir it,' she asked, 'that on your world things are not as on my world?'
'Gorean men are not weaklings and fools,' I said.
She looked at me.
'They have not chosen to surrender the dominance which is the blood and backbone of their nature.'
She swallowed hard.
'They keep it,' I told her.
'Yes,' she said.
'Yes, what?' I asked.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'What of me?' asked Sasi. 'Am I not beautiful? Are not my earrings lovely?'
'Yes,' I said, 'you are beautiful, and your earrings, you little she-sleen, are marvelous upon you.' Sasi's earrings, too, of gold, were the same as those of the blond-haired barbarian.
'Thank you, Master,' she said. Sasi was in a good mood. After I had had the blond this morning, early, upon returning from the tavern of Pembe, I had slept for several hours. But when I had awakened I had contented her slave appetites. We had then eaten, from foods which she had, during my rest, I having given her a few coins, purchased in Schendi. Some of this food I gave to the blond who, at that time, was still blindfolded. I thrust it, some bread and fruit, in her mouth, while she had knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. This is something done with a girl in her first feeding, or feedings, and may, upon occasion, be repeated. She is fed as an animal, and from the hand of the master, and while in the position of the pleasure slave. This helps to reinforce the centrality of her condition upon her. This helps her to understand what she is.
'At least,' smiled the blond, 'I am almost beautiful.'
'Perhaps,' I said, 'You will someday become beautiful.'
She looked at me.
'Women grow in beauty, and slavery,' I told her.
She looked in the mirror. 'Beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said, 'I think that someday you may find that you have become beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl.'
Her eyes were startled.
'Yes,' I said, 'I think that possibly one day you will find that you have become exquisitely beautiful and desirable, and that your least movement, that of even a wrist or hand, or smallest expression, will be tormentingly attractive to a man. You may then tremble in terror, for you will have become a beautiful Gorean slave girl.'
'I am afraid,' she said.
'Of course,' I said.
'I am afraid to be beautiful,' she said.
'Naturally,' I said. 'But I am afraid you will not be able to help yourself.'
'But as I become more beautiful, and desirable,' she said, 'I would become more helpless, more a slave, more than ever at the mercy of these mighty men of Gor.'
'Yes, I said, 'of course. You would be then only their helpless, beautiful slave.'
'How fearful,' she said.
I said nothing.
'Do you truly think I might become beautiful?' she asked. She lifted her hair over her head, straightening her body, and regarded herself in the mirror.
'Yes,' I said.
She then removed her hands from her hair. Behind her, her hair came, falling, to the sweetness of her shoulder blades. This was a bit short for the hair of a Gorean slave girl. Their hair, as is required by most masters, is usually somewhat long. There is more that can be done with long hair, both with respect to adding variety to the girl's appearance and in the furs, than with short hair. Sometimes the girl is even tied in her own hair. Most importantly, perhaps, long hair is beautiful on a girl, or surely, at least, on many girls. Too, many masters enjoy unbinding it, before ordering a girl to the furs. Unbinding a girl's hair, on Gor, incidentally, is culturally understood as being the act of one who owns her. A free woman, captured, whose hair her captor unbinds, usually the first time by the stroke of a knife, a precaution against poison pins and other devices, knows full well by this act that she will soon be made his slave. Many Gorean masters, incidentally, shape and trim the hair of their own girls. This is less expensive than having it done in a pen. Too, it is pleasant to cut the hair of a girl one owns. She generally kneels, a wrap of rep-cloth about her shoulders, while this is done. Beneath the wrap of rep-cloth, of course, she is naked and in the position of the pleasure slave. When one is through with the cutting it is then convenient to have her.
She looked at herself, kneeling, in the mirror.
'The earrings are beautiful,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said. She brushed her hair back with her two hands and, turning her head from side to side, her finger tips at her ears, again regarded herself.
She had the vanity of a lovely slave.
'What do you see in the mirror?' I asked.
'A slave girl,' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
'A girl to be bought and sold, and abused for a master's pleasure.
'Of course,' I said.
'I may not be beautiful,' she said, 'but I am delicate and lovely, am I not?'
'Yes,' I said, 'you are.'
'Could you truly bring yourself to put me beneath your heavy and uncompromising will?' she asked.
'Certainly,' I said.
'You could, and you will, won't you?' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
'Could you whip me?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'It is a strange feeling, being a slave,' she said.
'You will grow used to it, Slave Girl,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I went to her, behind her, standing there, before the mirror.
'What do you see?' I asked.
'A slave girl,' she said, 'at the feet of her master.'
I put my hand in her hair, and turned her head, from side to side. Then I stopped.
'What do you see?' I asked.
'A slave girl, at the feet of her master,' she said, 'his hand in her hair, commanding her, making her do what he wishes.'
I then, with my hand in her hair, turned her to the side and bent back her body, exposing, as she knelt there, helpless, the lovely slave bow of her beauty.
'What do you see?' I asked.
'A displayed slave,' she said. I did not release her. Suddenly she said, 'No! Oh, no!'
I waited for a full moment, holding her helplessly there, letting her see well whatever it might be that she saw. And then I released her. She knelt there, terrified, shuddering, before the mirror.
'What did you see?' I asked.
'It is hard to explain,' she said, shuddering. 'Suddenly, for a fearful moment, I saw myself as incredibly beautiful, as beautiful as I might someday be, but the beauty was not the cool and formal beauty of a free woman, something I can understand, but the hot, sensuous, helpless beauty of an owned slave, and I was the slave! And, too, for a moment I thought I understood how such a woman might look to a man. It was so frightening! How we must fear that they might simply seize us and tear us to pieces in their lust! Then suddenly I understood the brand and collar, the whip, the chain! Of course they would brand us, marking us as their own. Of course they would put
