14

A Girl Becomes More Beautiful; I Must Take My Leave Of Sasi

Sasi opened the door.

"Master," she said.

"Prepare a chain for the new girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I do not think Sasi was too pleased when I carried the blond slave over the threshold and placed her on the straw by the slave ring. Gorean slaves, incidentally, are commonly carried over the threshold when they first enter a master's house or place of residence. This is reminiscent of a bridal custom on Earth, of course. That custom, an ancient one, makes tacitly clear the bride's ownership by the male, and has clear implications of capture and bondage. It is natural that the bride desires this ceremony, and will plead for it. The oafish male, commonly, does not even understand what is going on. He should, of course, take her directly to the bed, and throw her upon it, his.

Women wish to be the slaves of their men. What woman would want a man who is not strong enough to be her master?

Not all Gorean slaves, of course, are carried over a threshold. Some are leashed and enter on their hands and knees. Some, perhaps bound and collared, are thrust through. The common denominator of these customs, of course, is that the slave must understand that force, either explicitly or implicitly, is involved, and that she will enter the stronghold of the master, and as a slave, whether she wills to do so or not.

"Is that not the girl from the Palms of Schendi?" asked Sasi. The blond girl. exhausted, was still asleep.

"Yes," I said.

Sasi fastened a short chain to the slave ring, locking it, with its own lock, on the ring. She then, with a key, the same key which would open the chain lock, opened the chain's ankle ring.

"What do you want her for?" asked Sasi. She handed me the opened ankle ring.

"She interests me, at least for the moment," I told her. I shut the ankle ring then on the blond's left ankle. She was secured. Sasi rose and put the key on a hook to one side of the room. Near it, on another hook, there hung a slave whip. From one of the overhead beams, near the side of the room, there was a whipping ring, to which a slave could be tethered, which could be lowered. It was a furnished room. Slaves, it must be understood, are not that uncommon on Gor.

I covered the blond with one of our blankets. The poor thing was exhausted.

"You did not carry me across the threshold," said Sasi.

"You were bound in a blanket, and on my shoulder," I said, "when I entered this room."

"I mean before," she said.

"No," I said, "I did not. I did, however, if you will remember, when first I used you, order you to my blankets."

"I have never forgotten," she said. She shuddered with pleasure, remembering the moment. "I was simply ordered to your blankets," she said.

A similar sort of thing is done sometimes when a master brings home a new girl to a house which is completely empty, if necessary, by prearrangement, and new to her, and orders her to enter alone. "Warm wine," he tells her. "Light the lamp of love. Spread furs. Crawl naked into them, and await me."

"Yes, Master," she says.

She then enters the house, obeying. Not a shackle or a cord is on her body. But few women could be more slave than she, entering fearfully the strange, empty house, and preparing herself for her master's pleasure.

"It is difficult to convey to a man," she said, "the feelings of a woman at such a time."

"They are the feelings of a slave," I said.

"So simply put!" she said. "Yes," she said, "they are the feelings of a slave. But I wonder if a man, ever, will truly understand what a woman's collar can mean to her… I wonder if he, ever, truly, will be able to fathom the nature and depth of the emotions of the woman who kneels at his feet."

"Surely free women, too, have emotions," I said.

"I was free," she said. "I did not know what it was to feel until I became a slave. I was free. There was no need to feel, or be aware. But this has changed since I became a slave. I must now be sensitive to the feelings of others. I have never been so aware of other human beings as now. And I cannot always have my way, and I must yield to male domination. I can be commanded, and I must obey, and be pleasing. This answers to something very deep in me, Master."

"Of course," I said, "to the slave in you."

"Yes," she said, "to the woman, and slave, in me."

"They are the same," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"It is hard to be a man," I said, "until one stands in a relation to a woman. And, I suppose, it is hard to be a woman until one stands in a relation to a man."

"What relation," she asked, "Master?"

"That of the natural order of nature," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I looked at her. "I cannot know well the nature of your feelings," I said, "but I know, and well, that women are deep as well as beautiful."

"We are so different from you," she said. "I fear you will never understand us."

"It is doubtless easier to put you on your knees and push the whip to your teeth than it is to understand you," I said.

"The man who truly understands us," she laughed, "is the first to put us on our knees and make us kiss the whip."

'Take off my sandals," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "Never until I was a slave," she said, "did I feel so helpless, alive and vulnerable."

I said nothing.

"I must untie your sandals," she said. "I must crawl to you, if you wish. I must do anything you want. I am happy."

"Attend to your work," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she had removed the san-dais. She kissed them, and looked up at me.

"Tonight," I said, "before I leave the room, I will pierce your ears."

'Thank you, Master," she said.

"You will then be," I said, "for all practical purposes, irrevocably a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "You do understand us, don't you?" she asked.

"It will improve your price," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

"I think also," I said, "I will pierce her ears, too." I indicated the sleeping blond girl. She had been an agent of Kurii. I decided that I would guarantee, for all practical purposes, that she would remain in a collar on Gor. I would pierce her ears.

I looked over to the sleeping girl, so worn and exhausted. I went over to her and, with one hand, lifted the blanket away from her. She stirred, troubled, sensing the difference in the temperature, the air, upon her skin. "No," she whimpered, softly, in English. "I do not want to get up." How beautiful she was, lying soft and helpless in the straw. She stirred again, and lifted her knee, shifting the position of her shackled ankle. "No, I do not want to get up," she whimpered, in English. She reached down, searching for the blanket. I then held her by the upper arms. "Oh!" she said, half awakening, twisting. But I held her. "Oh," she said, "oh," suddenly, rudely, returning to a slave's reality, then understanding that she lay in straw, her back on a wooden floor, held in the arms of a man. She moved her ankle, frightened, and felt the shackle and chain.

"Who is it?" she asked. I did not speak to her.

"Is it my Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Who is my Master, please," she begged. I said nothing to her.

"Who is my Master!" she cried out, miserably.

"I am," I told her.

"Who owns me?" she begged.

"I do," I told her.

She turned her head to the side, and moaned. Then she again turned her face toward me, its upper portions obscured by the black, knotted blindfold.

"Why are you holding me like this?" she asked.

I said nothing to her.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

I did not speak to her.