'You are pretty, slut of Cos,' he said, standing back, admiring his handiwork. 'I wish I had a mirror,' she said.
'You may see yourself, in a sense,' I said, 'in the mirror of his desire.'
'Yes,' she whispered, shyly.
'And this,' said Marcus, loosening the cord, 'is perhaps the most common way of wearing the slave girdle.' He then took the forward ends of the cord, again free, and this time crossed them, over the bosom, before placing them again through the loop at the back, drawing them forward and, once more, fastening them, perhaps more snugly than was necessary, before her.
'Ohh,' he said. 'Yes.'
'Aii,' I whispered. I then needed a woman. I must leave the tent and search for one, perhaps a girl in one of the open-air brothels, forbidden without permission to leave her mat or even to rise to her knees.
'Is it pretty?' asked Phoebe.
'It is a perhaps not unpleasing effect,' said Marcus.
'Yes,' I agreed.
'There are, of course, numerous ways in which to tie slave girls,' said Marcus. 'True,' I said. To be sure they tended to have certain things in common, such as the accentuation and enhancement of the slave's figure.
Phoebe moved about in the tent, delighted. She could perhaps suspect what she might look like.
'You see,' I said, 'there is some point in permitting a female clothing.'
'Yes,' said he, 'providing it may be swiftly, and at one's will, removed.'
'Of course,' I said.
Phoebe then, beside herself with passion, knelt swiftly before Marcus. 'Please, Master!' she said.
I saw that Marcus was in agony to have her. He could scarcely control himself. 'Please!' wept the slave.
I expected him to leap upon her and fling her to her back to the dirt, ravishing her with the power of the master.
Please, please, Master!' wept the slave, squirming in piteous need before him. 'What do you want?' asked Marcus then, drawing himself up, coldly, looking down at her. It amazed me that he was capable of this.
'Master?' she asked.
He regarded her, coldly.
'I beg use,' she whispered.
'Do you protest your love?' he inquired. His hand was open, where she could see it. It was poised. She saw it. He was ready, if necessary, again to cuff her. 'No, Master,' she said, hastily.
'Not even the love of a slave girl?' he asked.
'No, Master,' she said.
'And in any event,' he said, 'the love a slave girl is worthless, is it not?'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered, tears in her eyes. This was absurd, of course, as the love of a slave girl is the deepest and most profound love that any woman can give a man. Love makes a woman a man's slave, and the wholeness of that love requires that she be, in truth, his slave. With nothing less can she be fully, and institutionally, content.
'You do not then protest your love,' he said, 'not even the love of a slave girl.'
'No, Master,' she whispered.
'What then?' asked he, casually.
'I beg simple use,' she said.
'I see,' he said.
'I am a slave in desperate need,' she said. 'I am at your mercy. You are my master. In piteous need I beg use!'
'So,' said he, scornfully, 'the slut of Cos, on her knees, begs use of her Master, one of Ar's Station.'
'Yes, Master!' she said.
'You will wait,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she moaned.
'I hear music, outside, the instruments of peasants, I believe,' said Marcus, turning to me. 'Perhaps they are holding fair or festival, such as they may, in such times.'
'Perhaps,' I said.
'Let us investigate,' suggested Marcus.
'Very well,' I said.
'Oh, yes,' said he, looking down, 'what of this slave?' She squirmed. It seemed she had slipped his mind.
'Bring her along,' I suggested.
'You are an ignorant and unworthy slave, are you not?' asked Marcus.
'Yes, Master,' she said. She was flushed and helplessly needful, even trembling. 'Better surely,' said Marcus, 'that she be stripped and left here, behind, alone, bound hand and foot.'
'Perhaps if you have a slave ring to chain her to,' I said.
'You think there is danger of theft?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'You think she might be of interest to others?' he asked.
'Undoubtedly,' I said.
'On your feet,' he said to the girl.
Groaning, scarcely able to stand straight, so wrought with need she was, she stood.
'There will be darkness and crowds,' mused Marcus. 'Do you think you will try to escape?' he asked the girl.
'No, Master,' she said.
'Straighten up,' he said, 'put your shoulders back, pull in your belly, thrust forth your breasts.'
'She is a delicacy,' I said, 'worth at least two silver tarsks, in any market.'
'I will try not to escape, Master,' said the girl.
'I wonder,' mused Marcus.
'I am collared,' she said. 'I am branded.'
'True,' said Marcus.
In this way she had suggested that even if she might desire to escape such a hope would be forlorn for her. She was reminding him of the categoricality of her condition, of its absoluteness, of the hopelessness of escape for such as she, a female held in Gorean bondage. For example, there are not only such obvious things as the brand and collar, and the distinctive garbing of the slave, or the lack of garbing, but, far more significantly, the extreme closeness of the society, with its scrutiny of strangers, and the general nature of an uncompromising and inflexible enforcement of, her condition. There is, accordingly, for all practical purposes, no escape for the Gorean slave girl. At best she might, at great risk to her own life, succeed in obtaining a new chaining, a new master, and one who, in view of her flight, will undoubtedly see to it that she is incarcerated in a harsher bondage that from which she fled, to which now, under her new strictures, she is likely to look back upon longingly. Similarly the penalties for attempted escape, particularly for a second attempt, are severe, usually involving hamstringing. Only the most stupid of women dares to even think of escape, and then seldom more than once.
'Will it be necessary to bind you?' asked Marcus.
'No, Master,' she said.
'Turn about, and put your hands, wrists crossed, behind you,' he said.
He then, whipping a short length of binding fiber from his pouch, with two single loops, and a double knot, a warrior's capture knot, tied her hands together.
'Will it be necessary to leash you?' he asked.
'No, Master,' she said.
He then turned her about and put a leather leash collar, with its attached lead, now dangling before her, on her neck.
Although I did not think that Phoebe, who was a highly intelligent girl, would be likely to attempt an escape, even if she were not bound to Marcus by chains a thousand times stronger than those of iron, the chains of love, she might be stolen. Slave girls are lovely properties, and slave theft, the stealing of beautiful female slaves, is not
