'No,' he said, and my blood almost froze in my veins.
'You see?' I whispered.
'Yes,' he said, angrily.
'I am a thousand times more than a free woman,' I said 'both to a man and, in my heart and emotions, to myself.'
'How is that?' he asked.
'I am a slave,' he said, simply.
He looked down, sullenly.
'You take free women into companionship,' I said, 'but you dream of slaves. You even dream of the free woman as slave. I doubt that any glandularly sufficient rhale does no want us as slaves. If he doesn't, then I think he must be very short on imagination. What do you think is the meaning of your size and strength, your energy and agility, your dominance? Do you think it is all some alarming, inexplicable, statistical eccentricity? Can you not see the order of nature? Is it so difficult to disclose? why do you think men make us slaves, and put us in collars? It is because they want us a slaves. And why do you think we make such superb slaves Because we are born slaves.'
'if I take my place in the order of nature,' he said, 'then obviously, you will be put in yours.'
I pulled at the ropes. 'I think I am already there, Master,' I said. He looked up at me.
'I am on my step,' I said. 'It is now only necessary that you ascend to yours.' 'You do not even have a name,' he said.
'Perhaps Master will, if it pleases him, give me a name.'
'Perhaps I should name you,' he said. 'Doubtless you might be conveniently ordered about and referred to, if you were named.'
'Yes, Master,' I said. The name would be a slave name, of course. Such names, like collars, are worn whether the slave wishes them or not. Some masters think of such names being along the lines of verbal leashes, the utterance of the name, like the sudden tug of a leash, immediately calling the slave's attention to the master and his wishes. In any even the slave name, and the knowledge that it is a slave name deeply, and appropriately, informs the consciousness of the slave. Too, of course, it is the only name she has.
He turned away from me.
'You still hesitate to accept me as, what I am, a total slave don't you?' I asked.
'Perhaps,' he growled.
'If you wish,' I said, 'relate to me as to a despised slut bondage. You will discover that I will respond well to you m r that role.'
He spun about. 'Do you think that you are not despised? he asked.
'Master?' I asked.
'I do despise you,' he said, angrily, 'for Corcyrus, for your meaninglessness, for your pettiness and cruelty, for what you are, and for what you have done to me I'
I shrank back in the bonds.
'And you are maddeningly beautiful,' he said. 'You are excruciatingly desirable!'
I was silent.
'I am a free man!' he cried. 'I am of the warriors!
'Do you want me to pretend to be a free woman?' I asked. 'I can do that. I did it for years. At times I even believed it. I can do it again! Command me, if you wish, to the pretense!'
'You are a slave,' he said. 'It is all you are. Do not mock me.' 'Forgive me, Master,' I said.
'Day in and day out, night in and night out, I fought my feelings for you,' he said. 'I immersed myself in duties. I adopted strenuous activities. I sought solace even in the taverns, and in the arms of others. I chided myself for my foolishness. I berated myself for my stupidity! I castigated myself for my madness! But I could not drive you from my mind! Ever more hotly burned the flames of my passion! And you are not even free!'
'No,' I said, suddenly, angrily. 'I am not even free!'
'A slave!' he said.
'Yes!' I said. 'A slave!'
'Gloat, Slave,' said he, 'for you, with your wiles, and your insidious beauty, have brought a soldier, and a free man, low.'
'Punish me,' I said. 'You own me.'
'Do not fear,' he said. 'You will be punished, for CorCyrus, and for your insolence.'
'Even now,' he said, 'still, when you are helpless, in my ropes, I find you exquisitely desirable, exquisitely beautiful.'
'Thank you, Master,' I whispered.
'You ruin me,' he said. 'You tear me apart!' I put down my head, frightened. 'You make me a slave!' he cried. 'It is I who am the slave,' I said. 'I hate' you!' he cried.
'I do not think so,' I said.
'As Sheila, who was the true Tatrix of Corcyrus, was to Ligurious, so, too, are you to me!' he said.
'No!' I said. 'There is a great difference!'
'What?' he demanded.
'I love you I' I said.
'Sly, clever slave!' he sneered.
'I do love you!' I cried.
'Cunning, insidious slut,' he said. 'You fear for your own hide! You know that you are now, at least, within my power. You fear that it will be done to you as you deserve, that you A ~ill be thrown to sleen!'
'No!' I wept.
'Sweat and squirm now, luscious slut,' he said. 'Cry out your love for me. Perhaps I will be moved to be merciful, and keep you as the lowest and most worthless slave on Gor!'
'I do love you!' I wept.
'Lying slave!' he cried. He leapt across the room, and, with the flat of his hand, savagely, struck me from my knees. My right shoulder struck the tiles. I tasted blood in my mouth. I lay there, bound, frightened. It had been only a slap, but I felt as though my head might have been almost taken from me. I was awe-stricken. I had not realized how strong he' was. What if he had truly struck me? I knew I must obey him with perfection.
'On your back,' he said, 'knees raised, heels on the floor.' I then lay before him, in a standard, supine capture position.
'You look well at my feet, Slut,' he said.
'Thank you, Master,' I said.
'Have you reconsidered the telling of truth?' he asked.
'I love you,' I whispered.
'Lying slut!' he hissed. He then, with the side of his foot, kicked me. I recoiled, crying out. I would doubtless, for several days, bear a fine bruise there, evidence of his displeasure.
I turned to my side. I put down my head. I kissed the foot that had kicked me. Then I returned to my former position.
He turned away from me and went to the other chair in the room, a curule chair, with ornate, curved arms. I, my head turned to the side, watched him. He sat down in the chair, his hands on the arms, and regarded me.
'Should you not be on your knees, Slut?' he asked.
'Yes, Master,' I said. I struggled to my knees and knelt, facing him. He regarded me. He seemed weary.
'And thus it is,' he said, 'that slaves conquer warriors.'
'It is I who am conquered, Master,' I told him, 'not you.'
'You make me weak,' he said, wearily.
'Unbind me,' I suggested, smiling, 'and I will make you strong.' 'She-sleen,' he smiled.
'Yes, Master,' I said.
He looked to one side of the room, moodily, lost in thought. 'How strange has been the course of events,' he said. 'I took you for a Tatrix, and my enemy. Then, as it pleased you, in the fullness of feminine cruelty, when I
