Vagabonds of Gor (40 page)

"Do you think to escape?" I asked.

"No," she said. She was muchly helpless as I held her. I relaxed my grip.

"No!" she said, suddenly. "Do not let me go!"

"A strange request from a free woman," I said. "I am having strange feelings," she said. "I do not understand them. I am frightened of them. I have never felt anything like them before, not like this."

"What sort of feelings?" I asked.

"Never mind," she said. "Just hold me. Don't let me go!"

"Do you beg it?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Yes!"

I was curious as to what might be going on within her. It was apparently of some significance.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"Though I am a free woman," she said, "I was thinking about what it might be to be a slave."

"And that is the occasion," I asked, "of these unusual feelings?"

"In part, I suppose," she said. "I do not know!"

"You're moving," I said.

"Oh!" she said, in frustration.

"And what was it, in particular, about being a slave?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said. "The wholeness of it, I think, its meaning, its categoricality, its helplessness, the being owned, the being subject to discipline, the having to obey! I do not know! I do not know!"

"Your whole body is becoming excited and vital," I said.

"Hold me," she said. "Hold me." I tightened my grip on her.

"I am to you much as would be a slave, am I not?" she gasped.

"Yes," I said.

"Am I subject to discipline, as would be a slave?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"But you have no whip!" she said.

"I could tie your hands and feet together and lash you with my belt," I said.

"I have never felt feelings like these!" she said. "They are overwhelming. They are all through me!"

"Do not fear them," I said.

"I feel so feminine," she said. "I have never felt so feminine!"

"Do not be afraid," I said.

"I want to please you!" she said, startled.

"Do not be afraid of your feelings," I said.

"I wish that I were a slave!" she cried out, in horror. "I wish I was free to be sexual, that it was commanded of me, that I would have no choice! That I would be forced to be what I am! That I would be truly in my place, where I belong, helplessly, even institutionally, under absolute male dominance!"

"But you are a free woman," I reminded her.

"I want to be subject to sale, to exchange, to commands!" she said. "I want to stand before men, beautiful and exciting, collared, an object of desire, a commodity, to hear their bids, to be subject to their claims, to be such that I may be led away in their chains. I want to love, and serve, wholely, selflessly, helplessly, irreservedly!"

"But you are a free woman," I said.

"Forget," she said, "that I am your enemy, that you hate me, that you hold me in contempt, that you despise me, that I have betrayed my Home Stone, that I am a spy of Cos! Think of me now only as a woman who has for the first time begun to feel her womanhood, and hold me! Hold me!"

"I do not hate you, or hold you in contempt, or despise you, such things," I said. "And, too, I have little concern personally with the wars of Ar and Cos. To be sure, I do have some reservations pertaining to your character, but I think most people would, apparently including the rencers, who chose not even to keep you as a slave. I think of you primarily as an arrogant and insolent free woman whom I have made my captive."

"I am not now arrogant and insolent!" she said.

"True," I said.

"Hold me!" she begged.

"And you have only begun to feel your womanhood," I said.

"Make me a slave!" she said.

"The rencers did not enslave you," I said.

"No!" she said.

"I suspect they did not regard you as being worthy of being a slave."

"Not even that," she said, "so little?"

"Still," I said, "they may have made a mistake in not enslaving you," I said, "particularly if their hesitancy in this matter had to do with reservations concerning your character."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because," I said, "it is easy to reform a woman's character once she is in a collar."

"Do not let me go!" she said. "I beg it!"

"Ah!" I said.

"Please!" she said.

"Do you think I would let you go, now?" I asked.

"Thank you," she whispered, "--my captor!"

"And what are you feeling now?" I asked.

"I do not know!" she said.

"Female need, perhaps?" I asked.

She cried out, with misery. "Please do not use such words to me. I am a free woman."

"Free women have no needs?" I asked.

"Surely not like this!" she wept.

"Do not be ashamed of what is natural, and grand," I said.

"What have you done to me!" she wept. "What are you turning me into?"

"Shall I release you?" I asked.

"No!" she cried.

"I would not blame me too grievously," I said. "The nature, you must realize, is yours, and the feelings."

"Oh," she said. "Oh!" I forced her hips lower, in the sand. "Ohhh," she said.

"Can you stand it?" I asked.

"I do not know!" she cried. "I do not know!" She clawed at the sand, gasping.

"You are squirming like a stuck tarsk," I said. She cried out, angrily.

"Ahh," I said.

"Oh!" she cried. Her small fingers tore at the sand. Her head moved from side to side. Her hair was about.

"Now," I said, "you are wriggling like an aroused slave." She pounded her small fists into the sand.

"Perhaps it is a matter of needs," I said.

" 'Needs'!" she cried. "That is so pale a word! It is like screaming in my body. It is like writhing, piteous, helpless beggings!"

"Interesting," I said.

" 'Interesting'!" she cried.

"Yes, interesting," I said.

"Are these the feelings of a slave?" she asked.

"In a sense, yes," I said. "All females are slaves, and you are a female."

"I am a free woman!" she insisted. "Certainly in a technical, legal sense," I said.

"Oh!" she cried.

"Steady," I said.

"Stop!" she said.

"Very well," I said.

"No!" she cried. "Do not stop! Do not stop!"

"Can you stand it?" I asked.

"I do not care if I can stand it or not!" she wept. "Do it! Do it! Do it to me!"

But I eased her a little.

"What were you doing to me?" she asked. "Where were you taking me?"

I was silent.

"Take me there," she wept. "Take me there, as though in your arms, higher and higher, to dizzying heights of terror, to the clouds, the winds, the sun and beyond, I dependent on you!"

I was silent.

"Force me upward," she said. "Drive me there, as though by wings and whips. Show me no mercy!"

"No mercy?" I said.

"I want none!" she wept.

"You will then receive none," I said.

I then, as she wished, began again to carry her upward. "Captor!" she wept.

"There is no going back," I told her.

"This must be what it is to be a slave!" she cried. I was silent.

She was beautiful, sweating, alive, clawing, squirming, in the sand.

"Chains, flowers, fire, helplessness, love!" she wept. "Love! Love!"

Then she was sobbing, gratefully, and then was lying astonished, sober, in the sand.

"Surely that is what is to be a slave," she whispered.

"You are still only a free woman," I said to her. "Your experience was not conditioned by the categoricality of bondage, by the reality of it, and the slave's knowledge of that reality, by the full belonging of the slave to her master, so to speak, and her understanding, legal, and personal, and such, of that full belonging. Also, it takes time to develop, improve and hone slave reflexes, both specific and totalistic. Slaves grow and improve in such matters."

"Ohh," she said, softly.

"But perhaps you understand now," I said, "in virtue of this experience which you have had, as rudimentary, or merely indicative, as it may have been, that it may not be only the whip, and such, that explains the slave girl's desire to please."

"Yes!" she breathed.

"And what is the whip to it?" I asked. "Very little," she whispered.

"Yet the whip is real," I said. "Yes," she said.

"Do you doubt it?" I asked. "No," she said.

"Nonetheless," I said, "your responses, even as a free woman, suggest to me that if you were to become a slave, you would, in time, become a hot slave."

"A hot slave!" she said, in horror.

"That is the indication," I said.

"A hot slave!" she said, in fury.

"Yes," I said.

"But such a slave," she said, "is helpless in the arms of men, her responsiveness uncontrollable!"

"It would improve your price," I said.

She moaned.

"Perhaps you can imagine yourself naked on the slave block, in chains," I said, "this excellent feature of yours, considerably enhancing your value, being called to the attention of buyers, and you standing there, naked, in your chains, knowing it was true."

She shuddered and moaned, in the sand. "I see you can well imagine it," I said. We then lay together, quietly.

"If I were a slave," she said, softly, after a time, "I could be purchased by anyone."

"Yes," I said, "who could afford your price, and it would not be likely to be high at first, early in your slavery."

"And I would have to submit to whoever purchased me," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Even if he were hideous," she said, "or a despicable weakling."