There can be many dangers involved for the slaver in the capture of women for slave markets. Accordingly, generally, at any rate, he wishes to take no risks which are not justified.
Too, of course, he has his reputation to consider. When he leads his chain to market he wants it to be a chain of beauties. Too, of course, obviously, he is out to make money on these women. It is thus in his best interest to put up for sale the highest quality merchandise he can obtain. The collar, thus, particularly statistically, is a symbol of excellence and quality, of value, among women. It says, in effect, "Here is a woman whom men have wanted. Here is a woman whom men have found beautiful enough, and desirable enough, to enslave." The slave girl, in her tunic and collar, trembling, kneels in the street before the ornately robed, arrogant, imperious free woman. Perhaps she is even struck or kicked by her. But who, truly, is the superior woman? Many Goreans believe that it is the girl who kneels on the stones.
But, "officially," of course, the functions of the collar are simple. It serves to mark the girl as a slave, and identify her master. The true momentousness here, of course, is not the collar, but what it signifies, the condition of bondage. This condition, also, of course, could be signified in many other ways, for example, by such devices as a bracelet or anklet, or even a ring. But I think that there is no real competitor to the collar.
It is the bondage device, particularly on a girl, par excellence. It is beautiful, and the throat seems the perfect place for mounting the bondage symbol. On the throat it is prominently displayed, for all to easily see. One may see at a glance that she is slave. Too, the throat is beautiful, and soft and vulnerable. How appropriate then that it should be here, in this delicate, prominent and defenseless place that the steel, or the leather or chain, should be placed. Too, where else on the body, that the impossibility of escaping it could be more obvious, could it be placed? Surely the physics of widths dictates such a mounting. But, too, psychologically, where could it be more advantageously placed? Where else on the body might it be placed that its security, its effectiveness and its meaning could be more clearly brought home to its lovely captive?
The collar also, of course, has other utilities. For example, it can be useful in leading her about, either because of its ring, to which a leash may be attached, or in connection with a leash with a snap lock, which can be placed about the collar itself; similarly it is useful, in connection with various forms of hardware, in fastening her to such things as trees and slave rings; her hands, too, can be tied at her collar, making it impossible for her to defend her beauties from the master's assault. Lastly, of course, many animals wear collars; in animals the throat seems a natural place in which to place such an identificatory control and guidance device; the slave girl, too, of course, is an owned animal. Thus it seems appropriate that she, too, wear her device in the same place.
I looked down on the slave before me. She lifted her head to me. It was almost entirely covered by the tightened slave hood. "I thank you for my collar, my Master," she whispered. "I am yours, and I love you." I took her hands in mine and I crouched down, and, lifting them, touched their small fingers to my face. "My Master has removed his mask!" she said surprised. "But then it does not matter," she laughed, wryly, "for I am well and effectively hooded."
I then released her hands and stood before her. Immediately she assumed the position of the pleasure slave.
I looked upon her, at length. She was quite beautiful, the former Miss Henderson, now only a rightless, nameless slave at my feet.
With my hand under her chin I then indicated to her that she should draw herself up from her heels. She did so, this action bringing her body upward and forward, and bringing her knees more closely together. "Master?" she inquired. I then untied the straps of the slave hood. "Am I to be unhooded?" she cried. "But Master is not masked!" I loosened the hood. I might then remove it from her. "Am I to be permitted to see the face of my Master?" she whispered. She put her hands on mine. Her lips trembled. "Truly?" she asked. "Truly?" She felt my hands at the edges of the slave hood. "But wait a moment, Master," she begged. "Let me first kiss your feet!" I permitted this. She put her head down, the slave hood loose on her head. I felt her lips kissing my feet. "I love you, my Gorean master," she said. "I love you, and I am yours." She then lifted her head, the slave hood loose upon it. "Now unhood me, or not, as you will, my Master," she whispered.
I took the hood with my two hands, and, keeping the edges under, getting a good grip on the sides, rolled it an inch or so upward on her face. I could now lift it from her with one motion. Still, of course, as it was placed, she could not see. I looked down upon her. "I love you, and I am your slave, my Gorean master," she whispered.
I flung aside the slave hood and, quickly, holding my left hand behind the back of her neck, covered her mouth, pressing it tightly shut, with my right hand. I feared that she might cry out my name, and that it might then be necessary to put her again under the whip, for such an insolence. Her eyes, over my hand, were wild, and incredulous. I held her mouth pressed shut for some time, that she might collect herself and make her adjustments. Then, when her breathing was calmer, though still deep and swift, I released her mouth. I stepped back from her. I saw consternation in her eyes, and confusion and uncertainty. She did not speak. She did not know what to do. She did not know how to relate to me.
To make it easier for her I went to the wall and removed the slave whip from its hook.
"You?" she said. "You are my Gorean master? It was you who did those things to me?"
"Yes," I said. I shook out the blades of the Gorean slave whip.
"The strength, it was yours?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"And it was you who forced slave yieldings from me?"
"Yes," I said.
"I am unclothed," she said.
"Of course," I said. I saw that she thought of turning from me, and covering with her hands, as best she could, her nakedness. But she did not do so. She still did not know how she must behave with me.
"I was whipped," she said. "Did you do that?"
"Yes," I said.
"I was well whipped," she said.
"Of course," I said.
"This collar?" she said, touching it.
"It is mine," I said.
"Yours?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
I saw that she had not yet called me "Master," but, too, I noted that she had, as well, carefully refrained from using my name. She was a highly intelligent girl.
"Surely you will now take the collar off me," she said.
"No," I said.
"Surely you know the meaning of such a collar on Gor," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I cannot take it off myself," she said.
"I suppose not," I said.
"Then how am I to get it off?" she asked.
"You are not," I told her.
"It designates bondage!" she cried.
"Yes," I said.
She drew back, and looked at me. Then she laughed, with rather an uneasy, forced merriment I thought. "What a joke!" she laughed. "What a little fool I was! I thought for a moment that you were serious, that you might have an actual intention of keeping me as a slave!"
I did not bother responding to her.
"It is a joke!" she cried.
"You have been stripped, and collared and whipped," I said. "Does that seem to be a joke to you?"
"No," she said, suddenly, angrily, "it does not!"
"Do you object, in the least?" I inquired.
"No, no," she said, quickly. "Of course not!" I smiled inwardly. How uncertain she was as to her position, and condition. Slaves, of course, are not permitted to object to what is done to them.