She uncapped it, and moved the tiny rolled paper a hort from the capsule, that he might see it. Then she thrust it back in, triumphantly, and recapped the cylinder.
"You are a better actor than I gave you credit for," she said.
He had remained impassive.
"You will obey me in all things, and not merely because you are a slave," she said, "but because of this." She tapped the tiny cylinder twice. "I now hold all power over you, my dear Milo, even though I do not own you. It is given to me by this note. Should it come to the attention of Seremides, or Myron, or the high council, or an archon of slaves, or perhaps even a guardsmen, you may well conjecture what might be your fate."
He looked up at her.
"How foolish you were, to write such a note," she laughed. "But then you are a man, and men are stupid."
He put down his head, and again, lifted the wine to her.
He would not recognize the note, of course, but he could immediately realize it must have had some role in my business, in which he was now so deeply involved. Too, almost simultaneously, he would doubtless suspect that the note which he himself had originally received might very well not have come from the Ubara herself. Surely it would now seem to him unlikely that she, so obviously aware of the danger of such notes, would have sent one herself. Surely it would have been at the least politically compromising, if it fell into the wrong hands. He did not glance toward the back room. I myself, incidentally, did not think it impossible that the Ubara herself, in certain circumstances, might be so indiscreet as to write such notes. She was, after all, a woman with feelings, desires and needs. She was quite capable, I was sure, in their cause, of throwing caution to the winds. On the other hand, in this case there had been no need for her to do so.
She let him hold the wine for a time, and then, reaching out, she took the glass.
He kept his head down, and put his hands, palms down, on his thighs.
She lifted the glass to her lips. She took no more, it seemed, then the tiniest of sips.
"Replace the glass," she said. "Then return and kneel as you are now.
She was standing before the couch.
She watched him, in the mirror, replace the glass on the tiny table.
In a moment then he had returned to kneel before her.
"You are the idol of thousands of women of Ar," she said, "but it is my beauty which has conquered you."
He was silent.
Lavinia looked up at me, red-eyed.
"It is my beauty to which you have succumbed," she said.
He was silent.
"It is I before whom you kneel," said the Ubara.
He did not respond.
"You look well there," she said, "on your knees, before me."
He was silent.
"That is where men belong," she said, "on their knees, before women."
He kept his head down, and did not respond.
"You may look up," she said.
She turned about then and went to the couch. She stood there for a moment, beside it, regarding him.
Then, with a graceful movement, she removed the white, silken, sliplike garment, letting it fall about her ankles.
"Ai!" said the male slave, softly.
She then, swiftly, with a smooth, silken movement, ascended the couch and lay curled upon it, near its foot, watching him.
"Mistress!" he said.
"Do not dare to rise to your feet without permission, slave," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
She laughed, softly.
He looked away.
"Do you have the needs of a male?" she asked.
"Yes!" he said.
"Sometimes female slaves," she said, "after their slave fires have been ignited, after hey have become sexually helpless, are deprived of sexual experience," she said. "Did you know that?"
"I have heard so," he said. "Perhaps as a cruelty, to teach them the master's power or that they are slaves, or as a punishment, or to ready them for a successful performance on the block, such things."
"Are such things done with male slaves?" she asked.
"Perhaps," he said.
She laughed.
He did not look at her.
"Look at me," she commanded.
"At least upon occasion," he said.
She laughed again, merrily.
This was true, incidentally. Tauntings, it might be mentioned, are usually involved in such denials. On the other hand, male slaves have much the better of it, in my opinion, in these matters. Sexual gratification is seldom denied to them for long periods. They, like male sleen, tend to become not only restless and aggressive, but dangerous. Accordingly, it is common to see that they are permitted to periodically access a female, almost invariably a slave. No such provision, on the other hand, is prescribed for the female slave. She, as her needfulness increases within her, as she becomes more lonely and miserable, more desperate, is left much on her own, to wheedle and beg, and such. To be sure, most female slaves enjoy an enormous amount of sexual experience. This is largely because they are beautiful and exciting, and slaves.
"You may rise, handsome slave," said she, amused.
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
She lay on her side, watching him. "You are indeed a handsome brute," she said. "Thank you, Mistress," he said.
She then lay on her back, toward the foot of the couch, and stretched, luxuriantly, indolently, before him, savoring the feeling of the fur, the delight of her own movement. She looked upward, lazily. She did not detect the net, of course, as she was not looking for it, and it was recessed in the structure of the ceiling, the ceiling having been designed for its concealment. She had the palms of her hands facing upward, at her sides. Her left knee was lifted.
I thought she would look well in a collar.
She moaned, softly.
She turned her head to the side, toward him. "Sometimes I feel," she said, "as I think a slave must feel."
The net, concealed, was above her.
"Do not approach!" she warned him.
He stood still.
She laughed, and rose, facing him, to her hands and knees, on the couch. She then backed away from him, toward the center of the couch. In this way, unwittingly, she positioned herself under the center of the net. To be sure, it had been designed to cover the entire couch.
"You may approach," she said. "No nearer!" she said.
He then stood near the foot of the couch.
"It seems, Mistress, has come to this room to torture a poor slave," he said. She then slipped to her left side, propping herself up with her left elbow, and, her knees drawn up, regarded him.
"Poor Milo," she said, sympathetically.
He was silent.
"There are slave rings on the couch," she said. "Perhaps I shall chain you to one of them."
"As Mistress pleases," he said.
"What woman of Ar would not desire you as her conquest," she mused.
He was silent.
"And you are mine," she said. "Conquered by my beauty."
He was silent.
"You have told me," she said, "that you have the needs of a male."
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
"It is true?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
"I am Ubara," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
"But I am also a female," she said, "and I have female's needs."
"Mistress?" he asked.
"Yes, Milo," she said. "It is true."
He looked down.
"Happily, of course, they are not those of a female slave," she said. "That, fortunately, has never been done to me."
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
In her last words her voice had almost broken. In them was betrayed a seething half-suspected emotional sea. In the Ubara, it seemed, might be latent depths on the shores of which she stood frightened, and in awe. In her, it seemed, might be revelations, discoveries, and enforcements that in her state of inert freedom could scarcely be conjectured. And well might she have feared such things. How helpless she might be, if she found herself in their chains. The slave girl is the helpless prisoner of her sexuality.