'You are lovely,' I told her.
'Thank you, Master,' she said.
'A veritable delicacy,' I mused, 'which was to have been kept simmering on the stove, so to speak, awaiting the pleasure of her master.'
'Yes, Master,' she smiled.
'Why did Artemidorus, the first officer, when he inquired as to your readiness, not attempt to enter the cabin, and check you by hand?'
'None may touch me save Reginald, my master,' She said, proudly, 'unless I have displeased him.'
'Oh,' she cried. 'Oh!'
'Have you forgotten, so soon,' I asked, 'pretty slave, to whom it is that you now belong?'
'To you,' she said, 'to you, Master! Oh!'
'It seems you are still simmering, little sweet, little delicacy,' I said.
She looked at me, wildly. 'Your touch!' she whispered. 'What is it doing to me?' Then she lifted her body, piteously, the sweet, rounded centralities of her, to me. Then I took her by the hips, holding her, pressing my thumbs into the sides of her belly. She recoiled, frightened. 'Show me mercy,' she said.
'No,' I said.
I pulled the portion of the wadded strip of scarlet sheet, wet and heavy, out of her mouth, a portion of the same, and still attached to it, that I had used earlier to blindfold her. I had thrust it in her mouth to muffle her cries. She was moaning softly, and kissing at me.
'I see that you are still simmering,' I said.
'Simmering?' she laughed, ruefully, softly. 'You brought me to a boil, and then, when you had well tasted of me, let me subside, and then again, when it pleased you, made me simmer, and then again brought me to a boil, and then again made me simmer, and then, once again, brought me to a boil.'
I brushed back some blond hair from her face.
'You well know how to prepare a girl for your delectation, Master,' she whispered. 'Surely you are a gourmet of slave use, a master chef well trained in the art of preparing delicious slave viands for the satisfaction of your lustful hungers.'
'Be quiet, little delicacy,' I told her.
She then thrust her body again against me, and I saw her need. Again I thrust the portion of the scarlet sheet, wadded, into her mouth. She could not protest. There were tears in her eyes. Again she pressed herself, as she could, against me.
The candle on the table had burned out. It was dark outside. I returned from the window of the cabin.
'Please, Master, once again,' she begged.
'You are an amorous, passionate wench,' I said.
'I cannot help myself,' she said. 'I am a female slave.'
I smiled to myself. Slavery brings out the female in a woman.
I gently joined her on the berth. My knife was thrust, point deep, in the wood above the berth, and to one side, to my right, where I might reach it, if need be. It had been necessary only once to hold it to her jugular. I wadded the portion of scarlet sheet together in my hands and then, holding it between the thumb and fingers of my right hand, pushed it back in her mouth, deeply, behind her teeth.
I untied her and put her on her stomach, in the darkness, on the berth. The portion of cloth I had used to gag her lay to the left side of her head. Her head, too, was turned to the left.
'Am I not as low and passionate as the collared sluts of Earth?' she asked.
I took her wrists behind her back. 'There is hope for you,' I granted her. I then tied her wrists behind her back.
'Bah,' she said, 'a Gorean girl is a thousand times more passionate than an Earth slut.'
'Perhaps,' I said. I smiled. Let them compete with one another, to see who could please men more. Both Earth girls and Gorean girls, I knew, were marvelous. Both were women.
I then pulled the girl to her feet and stood her beside the berth.
'You have tied my hands behind my back,' she said. 'You have stood me naked before you. What are you going to do with me?'
I regarded her.
I removed the knife from where I had wedged it in the wood above the berth, to one side and to the right. I held it to her belly.
'Please do not kill me,' she begged.
I thrust the knife in my belt.
She shook with relief.
'It is late,' I said. 'Go to the window.'
In the darkness of the cabin, barefoot, stepping softly through the glass and bits of frame scattered on the floor, she went, as commanded, to the window. She stood facing it. I fetched the wadding of scarlet silk which I had earlier used to gag her and put it in my belt. I also fetched the remains of the scarlet sheet from which, standing beside her, I tore what I needed, and then discarded the rest.
'Do you intend to take me with you?' she asked.
I blindfolded her. She would be absolutely helpless in the water.
'Yes,' I said. I thought someone might want her. She was a hot and lovely slave. Perhaps I could give her to Aemilianus.
'Listen,' I said, suddenly. There was a step on the stairs leading down to the companionway.
'It is Reginald,' she said, lifting her head. I did not doubt this. Slaves, like many domestic animals, can often recognize the step of their master.
'Reginald,' she whispered, frightened. Her lip trembled. The step had approached down the companionway, and halted before the cabin door. I heard a heavy key thrust complacently into a lock on the outside of the door. It was late. Reginald had come to enjoy his slave. Gorean masters may or may not knock before entering compartments occupied by their slaves. The decision is theirs, as is the slave. If he knocks it is usually only to make his presence known to the slave, and the knock is commonly authoritative and rude, often startling her, even though she expects it, signaling her in no unclear or ambiguous fashion that she is to prepare herself, and well, to greet him, her master, which she does then in a position of docility and submission, usually kneeling and head down.
I heard the padlock, on its chain, fall to the side of the door. 'Flee!' whispered the girl to me. Her head twisted in the blindfold. Her small wrists fought futilely the thongs that confined them.
I heard the door push inward, but, of course, it could not move, as I had secured it from the inside, with a lock and bar.
There was a silence.
I took the towing rope, attached to the board and packet, and looped it, and put it through the girl's collar. I passed the lower end of the loop about the board and packet.
'What are you doing?' she asked.
'Is this door locked?' inquired Reginald, not pleasantly from the other side of the door. I smiled. Clearly it was locked.
I pulled the rope tight on her collar.
'Open this door!' said Reginald. He struck the heavy wood with his fist.
The girl moaned. As she moved, the board, on its towing loop, cracked against her legs.
'Open this door!' commanded Reginald. He struck it twice, angrily, with his fist.
'Can you swim?' I inquired.
'No,' she said, 'and I am bound!'
'Open the door,' commanded Reginald. Then he shouted, 'Artemidorus! Surtus!'
The girl moaned in misery, unable to obey. I thrust her a step toward the window, holding her by the arm. I looked out I saw no small boats in the vicinity.
'Oh, no,' moaned the girl, 'please, no!'
I heard men joining Reginald, outside the cabin door.
