crying.
'Crawl now to the straw, by the slave ring,' I told her. 'Lie down there, drawing your legs up.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I then went to her, with a blanket, and threw it over her, but not yet covering her head.
She looked up at me, so vulnerable and delicate, so helpless and frightened. 'I am more beautiful now,' she said. 'But how? How could it be?'
'It is the result of an inward change in you,' I said, 'outwardly manifested in expression and bodily mien.'
'But what?' she asked.
'Speak your feelings,' I told her.
'Never before,' she said, 'did I feel so helplessly owned.'
'That has something to do with it,' I told her.
'You subjected me so casually, so forcibly, to your will,' she said.
'That, too, has something to do with it,' I told her.
'You are my Master, aren't you?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'You can do with me whatever you want, can't you?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'And you will, won't you?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'I love being owned,' she said, suddenly.
'Of course,' I said, 'you are a woman.'
'If a woman loves being owned,' she said, 'must she not be a natural slave?'
'Answer your own question,' I told her. 'You are the woman.'
'I dare not answer it,' she whispered.
'Do so,' I told her.
'Yes,' she whispered, frightened, 'she must be a natural slave.'
'And you are a woman,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Draw your conclusion,' I told her, 'out loud.'
'I am a natural slave, Master,' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
She looked up at me. 'Never, never did I think I would admit that in my life,' she said.
'It takes great courage,' I told her.
There were tears in her eyes.
'But, as yet,' I said, 'it is largely only an intellectual recognition on your part. It is not yet internalized, not yet a part of the totality of your being and responses.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Nonetheless, the intellectual recognition, abstract and superficial as it is, is a useful first step in the transformation of your consciousness, and the freeing of your deepest self, with her profundities of emotions and needs.'
'My deepest self is feminine,' she said.
'Yes,' I said, 'it is only your present consciousness which has been to some extent masculinized and, to a larger extent, neuterized. Beneath the patterns, the trainings, the roles, lies the woman. It is she whom we must seek. It is she whom we must free.'
'I am afraid to be feminine,' she said.
'You will be punished for femininity on this world,' I told her, 'only by free women.'
'Free!' she laughed, miserably.
'They think themselves free,' I said.
'Could I dare to be a woman on this world?' she asked.
'Yes,' I told her.
'But what if I wish to crawl to a handsome man, and beg to obey him?' she asked.
'On this world,' I told her, 'you may do so.'
'But would he not then, as a gentleman, scandalized, lift me hastily to my feet, embarrassed, implicitly belittling me, and encouraging me to the pursuit of masculine virtues?'
'Would you fear that?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said.
'Is that why you would hesitate to crawl to a man?' I asked.
'Of course,' she said.
'On this world, as a slave,' I said, 'you need have no fear.'
'What would he do on this world?' she asked.
'Perhaps instruct you in the proper way to crawl to his feet,' I said.
'Oh,' she said.
'If you did not do so beautifully enough,' I said, 'he might whip you.'
'Whip me?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
She looked at me.
'Gorean men are not easy to please, Slave,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Masculinity and femininity are complementary properties,' I told her. 'If a man wishes a woman to be more feminine, he must be more masculine. If a woman wishes a man to be more masculine, she must be more feminine.'
'I am thinking of the far world from which I came, Master,' she said. 'I think there may be a fearful corollary to what you have said. Perhaps if a man fears a woman he will want her to be more like a man, and if a woman fears a man she will want him to be more like a woman.'
'Perhaps,' I said. 'It may depend on the individuals. I would not know.'
'I am more beautiful now,' she said. 'I saw it in the mirror.'
'Yes,' I said.
'I still do not understand, clearly,' she said, 'how it could be.'
'You were taught,' I said, 'that you were owned, and that you were subject, totally, to the male will.'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered.
'You had begun to learn just a little then, you see,' I said, 'that you, a lovely woman, were truly under male domination.'
'And that made me more beautiful?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'How?' she asked.
'By releasing, in response, more of your femininity,' I said.
She looked up at me, frightened.
'It is a natural thing,' I said. 'As a woman becomes more feminine, she becomes more beautiful.'
'I am afraid to be feminine, and beautiful,' she said.
'As well you might be, on this world, as a slave,' I said, 'knowing what it will mean for you, how it will excite the lust of masters and make men mad to own you.'
'No,' she said. 'That is not it. It is rather that I fear that self. I fear it might be truly me.'
'Have you never wondered,' I asked, 'what it might be like, men with whips standing near you, to dance naked in the firelight, your feet striking in the sand, before warriors?'
'Yes,' she said. 'I have wondered about that.'
'You see,' I said, 'that self you fear is truly you.'
'Give me a choice,' she begged.
'You will be given no choice,' I told her. 'Your femininity will be forced to grow, nurtured, if necessary, by the
