'How could I take to my bed in honor one who had dared to confess her slave needs? Such girls I could buy at the market. We parted, naturally. But our families, desiring the companionship, pressed us for explanations. That our honors might be protected, of course, yours that you had dared to confess your slave needs, and mine, that I had been the scandalized auditor of so shameful an admission, we remained silent.'
'But,' said she, moist-eyed, 'that our courtship not appear to have failed, and that our families not be disgraced, you agreed to proceed with the companionship, this in accordance with your conception of your duty as an officer and a gentleman.'
He looked down at her, not speaking.
'I did not wish to languish, scorned and neglected, in a cold bed, while you contented yourself with market girls. I fled the city.'
'You are mistaken in at least one thing,' he said. 'I had not determined to proceed with the companionship because of family pressures. I am not so weak. Similarly, my duties as an officer and a gentleman were not implicated in the matter.'
'But, why then?' she asked.
'I wanted you,' he said.
'But I have slave needs,' she said.
'I thought long after our conversation,' he said. 'You had dared to confess your slave needs, and this had shamed you, and it had scandalized me. But, why, I asked myself. Should not, rather, one be more ashamed by deceit than the truth? Can there truly be a greater honor in hypocrisy than in honesty? It does not seem so. I then realized how bravely you had trusted me and revealed this to me. My outrage gave way to gratitude and admiration. Similarly, I asked myself, why was I scandalized. Was this not connected with hidden fears of my own, that I might discover complementary needs within myself, the needs to own and be a master? Your confession, so expressive and poignant, tended to undermine a deceit of free persons. You had dared, it seemed, to break the code of hypocrisy. Had the gate to barbarism been left ajar? I regretted, for a time, the loss of the lie. We grow fond of our myths. Yet our myths are like walls of straw. Ultimately they cannot protect us. Ultimately they must perish in the flames of truth.'
'You would have taken me,' she asked, 'knowing that I had slave needs?'
'Your slave needs,' he said, 'made you a thousand times more desirable. What man does not want a slave?'
She looked at him, startled.
'It was thus my intention to take you into honorable companionship,' he said, 'but, in the privacy of our quarters, away from the sight of the world, to put you in a collar, and keep you as a slave, even to the whip.'
She looked up at him, disbelievingly.
'But,' he said, 'such a farce will not now be necessary.'
'I do not understand,' she said.
'Strip,' he said.
'There are others present,' she protested.
His right hand, in a backhand blow, lashed forth, fierce and powerful, striking her from her knees to her side on the tiles. She rose to her hands and knees and, blood at her mouth, regarded him, disbelievingly.
'Must a command be repeated?' he inquired.
Swiftly she tore away the slave tunic, stripping herself. He snapped his fingers and pointed to his feet. She crawled to his feet on her belly. She looked up at him.
'I gather that you accept the gift,' I said.
'I do accept it,' he said, 'and I thank you.'
'I have called her Lola,' I said, 'but you may, of course, call her what you wish.'
'You are Lola,' he said to the slave.
'Thank you, Master,' she said, named. She put down her head and, gently, kissed his feet.
'Lola,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'From the first instant, long ago, when I saw you in Port Cos, I wanted to own you.'
'And from the first instant in Port Cos, so long ago,' she said, 'I wanted to be your slave.'
'You now are,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Here,' I said. I threw Calliodorus an eighteen-inch black binding strap. It was identical to the one I had earlier given to Aemilianus.
'Thank you,' grinned Calliodorus.
'Bind her well,' I said.
'Have no fear,' laughed Calliodorus, 'she will know herself bound.'
There was then laughter, and Gorean applause, congratulating Calliodorus on his good fortune, and me on the loveliness and generosity of my gift. Then again we sat down. The gift, nude and collared, curled lovingly on its side near him, its hand touching his knee.
'It is time now,' laughed Tasdron, 'for me to add something to the evening.' Peggy looked at him, puzzled. 'On your feet, Slave,' said he to her, 'and go to the tiles at the foot of the table.'
Startled, Peggy did as she was told. She then stood there, frightened, in the brief white tunic. She had no idea as to what was to be required of her. She had thought that she had been brought to the supper merely to attend Tasdron, her master.
'Strip,' said Tasdron.
Swiftly, unquestioningly, knowing herself a Gorean slave girl, Peggy unbelted the tunic, parted it, and slipped it from her shoulders. She then blushed crimson. She had been forced to make herself nude, in the presence of others, before the man she loved.
'Slave,' said Tasdron.
'Yes, Master,' said Peggy.
'In the tavern,' he said, 'you have seen various dances, have you not?'
'Yes, my Master,' she said.
'You have seen among them, have you not,' he asked, 'the Sa-eela?'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered, turning white.
'Dance it,' he said.
'I am not a dancer!' she cried.
'Must a command be repeated?' he asked.
'No, my Master!' she cried, and gracefully flexed her legs, and lifted her hands, their backs to one another, above her head.
'Splendid!' said Glyco.
How beautiful Peggy was, and how frightened!
Tasdron lifted his hand.
The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slave dances of Gor. It belongs, generally, to a genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the Master.
Tasdron then signaled to the musicians.
And then Peggy began to dance.
I remembered her then from long ago, from Earth, also from the restaurant, where she had worked as a hat-check girl. She had worn a black ribbon in her blond hair, a long sleeved, white-silk blouse, panty hose of black netting, and a brief, black miniskirt. Her long, shapely legs had been well revealed. She had been very lovely. I did not find it hard to understand that she might have come to the casual attention of a Gorean slaver.
'I thought she was not a dancer,' said Glyco.
'I have never thought of her as a dancer,' said Tasdron puzzled. 'I have never used her as a dancer.'
The former Peggy Baxter, of Earth, nude and in the steel collar of Tasdron of Victoria, her master, now danced before us, a Gorean slave girl.
I sipped a Turian liqueur.
