'I do own all of you,' I said. 'It is only, now, that I am growing curious about what I own.'
'You wish to make inquiries into the nature of your property?' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
'I am a girl, and a slave, and I love you,' she said.
I kissed her.
'I can tell you my measurements,' she said, 'and my collar size, and the sizes of the wrist and ankle rings that will fit me. I was forced to memorize these things before my first sale.'
'I am tempted to grow fond of you,' I said.
'Of a slave?' she asked.
'To be sure,' I said, 'the thought is surely foolish.'
She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. 'I am almost melting with love for you, my Master,' she said. 'I know my will means nothing, but I beg to be had.'
I then again, this time gently and at length, with tenderness, took her.
I looked down at her, curled on the love furs, so small and curvaceous, in the heavy collar, chained by the neck to the slave ring, asleep.
The light of morning was in the room, filtering through the shutters. It was warm and bright outside. We had slept late. I had been downstairs to get some food. I could hear birds in the garden.
I kicked her in the side. 'Awaken,' I said.
'Oh!' she said, moving with the chain on her neck.
'Position,' I said.
Swiftly she assumed the position of the pleasure slave, on the love furs, head up, back straight, kneeling back on her heels, her hands on her thighs.
'You kicked me,' she said.
I cuffed her, backhanded, striking her from her position to her side on the love furs. She looked up at me from the furs, her eyes wide, blood at her mouth. Then she resumed the position of the pleasure slave.
'Last night,' she said. 'Did it mean nothing? Surely you love me!'
'Be silent, Slave,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I picked up the whip.
'Am I to be whipped?' she asked.
'If it pleases me,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I held the whip to her mouth, its blades folded back.
She kissed it, and shuddered, and I placed it on the couch.
I slid the bronze pot toward her, across the tiles, to where, going to the end of her chain, she might reach it. 'Relieve yourself,' I told her, 'facing me.'
'Yes, Master,' she said and, backing toward the pot, and squatting over it, she did so.
I enjoyed making her perform this simple, homely act in my presence.
'I am a slave, aren't I?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
I then slid the pot to the side of the room, and gave her a pan of water and a rag, with which she might freshen herself. When she had done this I put the pan and the rag to one side. She then knelt again in the position of the pleasure slave, on the furs, the heavy chain dangling between her breasts, and then lying over her left thigh, thence descending to the furs and lifting to the slave ring.
'Good morning,' I said to her.
'Good morning, Master,' she said.
I fed her some dates, by hand, putting them in her mouth, from a tray of food I had brought up from the kitchen.
'You struck me,' she said.
'Do you object, in the slightest?' I asked.
'No, Master,' she said. 'You may do with me as you wish.'
I held a date before her, and she leaned forward, stretching her chained neck to reach it, and I drew it back. She then knelt back again, on her heels. Whether she were to receive the date or not was my decision. I then gave it to her, putting it in her mouth.
'My Master feeds me,' she whispered. 'The slave is grateful.'
I then put a shallow porcelain bowl of water on the floor, and pointed to it.
She drank from it on her hands and knees, lapping from it, as a she-sleen. 'My Master waters me,' she said, looking at me, from her hands and knees, the chain hanging from the collar on her neck. 'A slave is grateful.'
In so simple a fashion, by hand feeding, and floor watering, not permitting the slave to use her hands, I had demonstrated to her, in the Gorean fashion, that her food and water, even such simple things as whether she was to eat or drink, or not, were in my control.
'You may now sit back against the foot of the couch,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I joined her there.
We then, from the tray, feeding ourselves, taking dates, and slices of larma and pastries, breakfasted and chatted.
It is pleasant to have breakfast in bed, so to speak, with a naked young lady, especially when she is chained by the neck to your slave ring.
We chatted of many things, including our former lives, on Earth, and our experiences in the university. She was loquacious and animate.
'I have a surprise,' I told her.
I brought up from the kitchen, where I had been keeping it hot, a vessel of black wine, with sugars, and cups and spoons. Too, I had brought up a small bowl of powdered bosk milk. We had finished the creams last night and, in any event, it was unlikely they would have lasted the night. If I had wanted creams I would have had to have gone to the market. My house, incidentally, like most Gorean houses, had no ice chest. There is little cold storage on Gor. Generally food is preserved by being dried or salted. Some cold storage, of course, does exist. Ice is cut from ponds in the winter, and then stored in ice houses, under sawdust. One may go to the ice houses for it, or have it delivered in ice wagons. Most Goreans, of course, cannot afford the luxury of ice in the summer.
Immediately the girl, kneeling, prepared to serve me. 'I believe Master prefers his black wine 'second slave, ' she said. 'Yes,' I said.
I watched her pouring the beverage. She did so carefully, deferentially, being careful not to spill a drop. I noticed how her breasts depended from her body. How marvelous it is to be served by a beautiful woman.
'There are two cups,' she whispered.
'One is for you,' I said.
'Black wine is expensive,' she said.
'Pour one for yourself,' I said.
'Even though I am a slave?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'Am I a high slave?' she asked.
'Do you wish me to hold your head back, my hand in your hair, your back almost breaking, and force the spout of the vessel between your teeth, pouring the wine as it is, black and scalding, down your throat?' I asked.
'No, Master!' she said.
'Your brand is pretty,' I said.
'Thank you, Master,' she said.
'You are not a high slave,' I said. 'You are a low slave. You are the lowest of low slaves.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
