"Yes," I said. I watched her as she mixed in a plentiful helping of powdered bosk milk, and two of the assorted sugars. She then left the small, rounded metal cup on the tray.
"Why do you not drink?" I asked her.
"A girl does not drink before her master," she said.
"I see that you are not totally stupid," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
I then sipped the black wine. She, too, then, after it was clear that I had drunk, lifted her own cup to her lips. "Yes," I said, "you may drink, Slave." She then, head down, holding the small cup by its two tiny handles, sipped the beverage.
We drank the black wine in silence, sipping it, looking at one another.
How beautiful she was, and I owned her!
"I love belonging to you, Master," she whispered.
"Finish the wine," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said. I put my own cup on the tray.
I looked at her, from her small feet, to her ankles and calves, her sweet thighs, the sweet belly of her, her waist, and marvelous breasts, her shoulders, and arms and hands, her fair throat, chained, her lovely lips, her sensitive, I delicate features, her deep, vulnerable eyes, and the marvelous wealth of her dark, cascading hair, perhaps never cut, except for shaping, since she had been brought to Gor.
Timidly she put her own small cup on the tray. "Master desires me," she said.
I moved the tray to the side, well away from the furs.
She was half kneeling, half crouching, near the far corner of the large couch. I saw that she was frightened.
"Do you sometimes fear the desire of your Master?" I asked.
"Sometimes," she said. "Your eyes."
"What is it that you see in my eyes?" I asked.
"A Gorean lust," she said, "and I, a chained slave, know myself the helpless vessel upon which it will be vented."
I snapped my fingers. She, even though frightened, must come to my arms.
I threw the chain back over her shoulder, and held her. She half tried to pull away, frightened.
"How can you feel such desire for one who is only a slave?" she asked.
"How could one feel such desire," I laughed, "for one who was not a slave?"
She shuddered. It was pleasant to feel her enslaved beauty trembling in my arms.
"To be sure," I said, "you are only a nameless slave."
"Has Master considered a name for me?" she asked.
"Down!" I said. "On your hands and knees on the furs, head touching the furs!"
Swiftly, fearfully, she complied.
I slapped her. "Oh!" she cried.
"I can think of a name for you," I told her.
"Please, no, Master!" she cried.
I then put my hand on her. She squirmed. "You seem well informed as to the desires of Masters," I said. "I trust you are similarly well informed as to the desires of slaves."
She whimpered.
"I can think of another name for you," I said.
"Please, no, Master," she said.
"But then why should I publicize so blatantly the heat of my little slave?" I asked.
She sobbed.
"I can name you anything, you know," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Now on all fours, arms straight, head up!" I said.
Immediately she assumed this position.
"Please do not put me in the slavery of the she-quadruped, Master," she begged.
"I will put you there, and keep you there, if it pleases me," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Perhaps I should call you 'Princess' or 'Trixie'," I said. I used the English expressions for these names, as there are no precisely equivalent Gorean expressions for them.
"Master may do as he wishes," she said.
"But such names are perhaps better reserved for our occasional private sport," I mused. "Too, they would make little sense to our Gorean friends."
I walked about her. "You would make a pretty poodle," I told her. I used the English expression 'poodle, of course, as the animal is unknown on Gor.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"You might be interesting as a poodle," I told her.
"Doubtless I shall perform for Master in many ways," she said.
"You will," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I then took her by the hair, and twisted her about, so that she lay on her side, I crouching beside her. "But, generally," I said, "I think I shall keep you as an enslaved human female, for that is what you are."
"Yes, Master," she said, wincing.
"I could give you the name of a Gorean girl," I said, "but since you are of Earth origin, and are a low slave, it seems more appropriate that you be given the name of an Earth girl."
I then flung her to her back, threw apart her legs and entered her.
"Ohhh," she sobbed, softly.
"You are a hot slave," I observed.
"You are going to name me, in the having of me, aren't you?" she asked.
"Perhaps," I said.
"And you will give me the name of as Earth girl, won't you?" she asked.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Even knowing what such a name will do to my slavery," she asked, "making it the slavery of an Earth girl on Gor?"
"Of course," I said.
"Cruel Master," she said.
"I am rather fond of Earth-girl names for slaves," I said.
"And so, too, are Goreans, the brutes," she said.
"Earth girls are commonly regarded as being among the most desirable of slaves on Gor," I said.
"At least among the lowest and most helpless," she said.
"True," I said.
"I shall tell you a secret, Master," she said. "So much a slave am I that I desire to wear no other sort of name."
"I know," I said.
Then she clutched me. I saw that she was on the brink of orgasm.
"Do not move, in the slightest, Slave," I told her.
"Please, Master," she said.
"No," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"There are many fine Earth-girl names," I said.
"Please, Master," she said.
"'Phyllis' is a lovely name," I said.
"Name me," she begged. "Name me!"
"'Tracy' and 'Stephanie', too," I said, "are lovely names."
"Anything," she said, hoarsely. "Anything! Name me, I beg you. I cannot stand it! I must move! I beg to be named!" I felt her fingernails digging into my flesh. Her eyes were wild. "Name me, my Master," she whispered, begging, "name me, name me, please, name me!"
"Very well," I said, and began to move within her. Immediately she was clutching me and shuddering. She looked at me, wildly. Then she threw back her head, helplessly. "I name you 'Beverly'," I said.
"I am Beverly!" she cried. "I am Beverly!"
Then, in a few moments, she was sobbing, and clutching me. "I am Beverly," she sobbed. "I am Beverly!" Then, after a time, still holding to me, she lay trembling in my arms. "I am Beverly," she whispered. Then, in a few minutes, she lay softly on her side on the furs, facing away from me, her knees drawn up. "My Master has named me," she said. "I am Beverly."
I stood up and looked down at her. She rolled to her back, and looked up at me.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Beverly," she said.
"I do not think you will forget your name," I said.
"No, Master," she smiled.
"Do not forget, either," I said, "that you wear it now as a mere slave name."
"No, Master," she said. "I shall not forget."
She knew that, as a slave, she had no more right to a name than a tarsk or sleen, or any other form of domestic animal. She then rolled to her stomach, and began to kiss my feet. Then, tenderly, she rose to her knees, still kissing my feet, and then began to kiss my ankles, and calves.
"I love you, Master," she whispered. When she lifted her head, tears in her eyes, she seemed suddenly startled, troubled. She put up her hand to my left arm.
"Master," she said, "forgive me!" I have hurt Master!" There was blood on my arms, from the gouging of her nails, and blood at my left shoulder, from the cut of her teeth.