'Perhaps you will come to like it,' I said. In the beginning perhaps it would be down her throat, her head held back by the hair, by masters. Later, she might find herself wheedling and groveling for it, grateful to have anything that good.
'You haven't touched your wine,' she said, reproachfully.
'Come here,' I said.
She came about the table, kneeling near me. It was the first time she had obeyed me. It pleased me to have her obeying me.
'Close,' I said.
She then became quite close to me.
'Cuddle,' I said.
She snuggled up close to me. Her nearness made me master hot. Her breasts were exciting. I put my arm about her, that I might hold her to me. She looked up into my eyes. 'You haven't touched your wine,' she pouted.
'Oh?' I said.
'Drink, drink,' she wheedled, picking up the glass, lifting it toward my lips. 'Drink,' she said, 'and then we may hurry to your room, where I may serve you, even as a slave.'
'You are luscious, and tempting,' I said. 'Drink,' she said.
I forced myself to remember that she was for the other fellow, the one slumped across the nearby table.
'Drink,' she whispered.
I took the glass from her. I set it down on the table.
'What is wrong?' she asked.
'Encourage me,' I said.
She then began to kiss me, and lick me, about the face and neck. She did it quite well. With training she would do it much better.
'Do you know the wine?' I asked.
'No,' she said.
I turned the bottle so that she might read the label. It was a small bottle of Boleto's Nectar of the Public Slave Gardens. Boleto is a well-known winegrower from the vicinity of Ar. He is famous for the production of a large number of reasonably good, medium-grade ka-la-nas. This was one of the major wines, and perhaps the best, served in Ar's public slave gardens; indeed, it had originally been commissioned for that market; hence the name.
'Oh,' she said.
'I hope you like it,' I said.
'It's very nice,' she said.
'I'm glad you like it,' I said.
'Here,' she said, picking up the glass, 'hurry, drink. I wish to hurry to your room.'
'Let us go to the room now,' I said. I considered giving her this option, this chance to save herself. Did she accept it I would release her from the ring in the morning, with perhaps no more than an admonitory bruise or two.
'Hurry,' she whispered. She lifted the glass to my lips. 'Drink,' she whispered, invitingly, seductively.
I smiled to myself. She had had her chance. To be sure, I had offered it to her only as an irony and amusement. That would doubtless sometime become quite clear to her. I had known she would not accept it.
'Drink,' she whispered. I took the glass from her hand. 'Drink,' she whispered. 'But it is for you,' I said. 'What?' she said.
'I bought the wine for you,' I said.
'But I have had some,' she said.
'Have some more,' I said.
'You may pour me some,' she said, uneasily.
'Take mine,' I said.
'I could not do that,' she said.
'Of course you could,' I said.
'I do not want any more,' she said.
'You were willing, a moment ago, to have me pour you more,' I reminded her. 'I have really had enough,' she said. She squirmed a bit. She was locked, kneeling, in my arm.
'No,' I said, 'you have not.'
She looked at me, frightened. 'I do not want it,' she said.
'Of course you do,' I said.
'No,' she said.
'Is there anything wrong with it?' I asked.
'No,' she said. 'Of course not.'
'Then drink,' I told her. I lifted the glass toward her lips. She tried to pull back. 'What is wrong?' I asked.
'Nothing,' she said.
'Drink,' I said.
'No,' she said.
'You are going to drink this,' I told her.
'No!' she said.
'Shall I call for a slave tube?' I asked.
'No,' she begged. My grip on her was merciless. The slave tube is a device for force-feeding a slave. It is not a pleasant device. A round, cylindrical, truncated cushion, usually of cork or leather, with a circular hole in its center, is forced into the slave's mouth. This prevents her from closing her teeth on the tube. The tube is then introduced through the circular opening in the bite cushion into her mouth and run down to her stomach. There is a funnel at the mouth-end of the tube. It may be used for such purposes as feeding a recalcitrant slave liquids, such as juices or broths. Some tubes come, too, however, with plungers, so that semisolid food, such as slave gruel, or hash, or even damp bread and tiny pieces of meat, indeed, about anything the master may please, may be forced into her stomach. The girl is usually on her knees when this is done, with her head back and her hands tied or braceleted behind her. Afterwards her hands are usually left confined for an Ahn or so in this fashion, so that she cannot rid herself of the nourishment.
'Drink,' I said.
'Please, no,' she wept.
'Then you desire the slave tube?' I inquired.
'No,' she said. 'Mercy!'
I pulled her head back, by the hair, with my left hand. 'Open your mouth,' I said. 'Do not spill a drop.'
She squirmed, helplessly. Her teeth were gritted.
'I see that it is your intention to be difficult,' I said.
She struggled but then, by the hair, I held her precisely; where I wanted her. Her mouth remained tightly closed. I gathered she did not wish for so much as a drop of that liquid to cross her lips. It must be rather strong, I surmised. To be sure, the dosage had been intended for a male.
I looked up, and noted Louise, who had been returning to her place to the left of the open space, coming back from the bar. She was standing there, observing me with horror.
'We are going to give her a little drink,' I said to Louise.
'Master?' asked Louise, frightened.
'The slave tube is not going to be necessary after all,' I told the Lady Tutina. She looked at me wildly, her mouth tightly shut.
'A simpler, more primitive method, quite suitable for small amounts, is at our disposal,' I told her.
'No!' she said.
I put the tiny glass of wine to the side, on the floor.
'Slave,' I said to Louise.
