"Crawl to the center of the room, and lie there on your belly," I said.
Swiftly she did so.
"It is your bluff which has been called, little slave," I said.
She lay at my feet, shuddering, prone, her hands at the sides of her head.
"I will let you kiss me," she said "I will even let you make love to me!"
I looked down upon her. I was furious. She had been an insolent slave.
"Let me be your employee," she said. "I am willing, even, to be your love employee! You do not need to pay me much. You do not need to pay me anything at all! I will work for nothing for you! Let me be your love servant! Sometimes I will even serve you as might a slave girl!"
"What did I ever think I saw in you?" I asked her. "What possible interest could I ever have thought I had in you?" I ran the whip along her side, and she shuddered. "To be sure," I said, "you are rather pretty, in a trivial and servile fashion." I continued to move the whip on her body, and she whimpered, helpless on the tiles before me. "I wonder what I could get for you," I said, "such a petty, stupid, worthless, meaningless, stinking little slave." She was whimpering. "Oh!" she said. "You do have the reflexes of the slave though," I said. "That would surely improve your price." She cried out in shame, putting the side of her head down to the tiles, her fingers scratching at them. "I think I shall put you up for sale, you pretty, meaningless little brute," I said.
"Oh, oh," she cried.
"Are you hot in your collar, little brute?" I asked, angrily.
"Oh!" she cried. Then she began to sob. Her tears fell to the tiles.
"But before you could be put up for sale," I said, "you must learn certain lessons, which apparently you have earlier failed to master, on the position, and condition, of the Gorean slave girl."
She shuddered with fear. She saw now, on the tiles before her, gently swinging, the shadows of the five loosened blades of the Gorean slave lash.
"You will not whip me," she said. "Surely you will not whip me!"
I then, furious with her, savagely laid the whip to her beauty. She writhed, and screamed, and twisted, and turned beneath the whip, from her belly to her back, and to her sides, and to her back, and to her sides again, and back, trying to fend the blows. She had displeased me. She had dared even to speak my name.
Then she lay before me, on her back, her legs drawn up, her hands extended. "Please, Master," she wept, "do not beat me further."
"What did you call me?" I asked.
"Master," she said. "Master, Master!"
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you are my Master!" she said. "Because you are my Master!"
"Are you sure of that?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Have you any doubt of it?" I inquired.
"No, Master," she said. "No, Master!"
"What are you?" I asked.
"A slave!" she cried.
"Whose slave?" I asked.
"Yours," she wept, "yours, Master!"
I then permitted her to scramble to her knees and she knelt before me, kissing at my feet. "You seem not as vain and arrogant as you were before," I said.
"No, Master," she said.
"Perhaps you have learned a little more of your slavery now," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What do you wish to do?" I asked.
"Please my Master," she said.
"The answer is suitable," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"Lift your head," I said.
She did so, fearfully, looking at me.
"Drop to your hands and knees, to all fours, and turn away from me," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You spoke my name," I said. "It is strange that you, a Gorean slave girl, should have made that mistake."
"Yes, Master," she said, "but I have been well whipped."
I then struck her again with the lash. "Oh!" she cried.
"Perhaps you should have been slain," I said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said. "Please, no, Master."
"Oh!" she cried out, in misery, the lash again swiftly falling upon her.
"And you were lax in your deference," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."
Again I struck her.
"Did you think that such things would go unnoticed?" I asked her.
"No, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."
Again I struck her.
"And you were insolent," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!"
Again I struck her.
"Did you expect your insolence to be overlooked?" I asked. "No, Master," she said. "Please, please, forgive me, Master!"
"Oh!" she cried, in pain, once more well lashed.
Her head was down. Tears were upon the tiles.
"What shall I do with you?" I asked.
"I am your slave," she said. "You may do with me whatever you wish."
"That is known to me," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Why were you insolent?" I asked.
"It is difficult to speak in this position," she said.
"Speak," I said.
"When I saw that it was you, and remembering you from before, I sought to exploit your weakness, and conquer you. There is some gratification in this for a woman, for she is then a little bit like a man, a master, which she knows in her heart she is not. Too, it pleases her to torture weak men, men too weak to put her in the chains she longs to wear. But these gratifications, ultimately, are shallow and empty, and we, in our hearts, know that. Each sex has its place, and neither will be happy until it occupies that place. The place of man is master; the place of woman is slave. Gorean men, of course, do not see fit to tolerate our nonsense. They put us promptly in our places. They make us slaves. Had you not been from Earth, I would not have dared to behave as I did. Seeing you, remembering you from before, it did not even occur to me that I might be kneeling before one who had become, truly, a Gorean male. I wish that I had understood that, clearly. I could have saved myself much pain. Women engage in battles which they yearn to lose. We wish to be overwhelmed and conquered. That is why we fight. If we do not protest and fight, of what value to a man, we ask ourselves, will be our conquest? But, of course, I should not have fought you. I am only a slave girl, a girl already collared and conquered. I am not a free woman. It was presumptuous of me to indulge myself in the vanities of a free woman. I am a slave. I should have submitted myself to you, immediately and fully. Forgive me, Master. It is my hope that you will permit me to live."
I regarded her. She was pretty, in my collar, and on all fours.
"May I explain my behavior further, Master?" she asked. "It may make you regard me less harshly."
"Do so," I said.
"I want to be a slave," she said. "I feared you would free me. It was thus that I challenged you. It was thus that I tried to incite you to my conquest. It was thus that I tried to make you angry, that you might make me your slave, and keep me as such, uncompromisingly."
"That was not necessary," I said.
"I am now well aware of that, Master," she said. "I did not know it at the time, however."
I said nothing.
"My behavior, however foolish it might have been, was motivated by a desire to be kept in bondage," she whispered. "Perhaps now you will think more understandingly, more pityingly, of your girl."
"So you desire to be a slave?" I said.
"Yes, Master," she said, "fervently."
"And you are a slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said, "completely."
"Do you think that you are free, or that you have any rights whatsoever?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "I know that such delusions are not permitted to a Gorean slave girl."