"Put it on," be said.
Still kneeling, I drew it happily over my head. Then, slipped into it, I smoothed it down about my body.
"You are so beautiful," he said. "Stand."
I stood, and pulled it down more about my thighs. "It is rather short, though, isn't it?" I said.
"It will be shorter," he said, drawing out a knife.
"Master!" I protested, but he, with the knife, cutting and tearing, must have shortened it by at least two horts.
I looked down, dismayed.
"Later," he said, "sewing, smooth out the hem."
"But if I take up the hem," I said, "it will be even short" "Must a command be repeated?" he asked.
"No, my master!" I said.
He then stepped back, to regard me.'
I pulled down at the sides of the garment. If it had been much shorter I feared my brand might have shown!
"Stand straight," he said.
I did so, my hands at my side.
"A great improvement," he said. "Even though it is perhaps a bit long it is now, at least, within the normal ranges for slave lengths. Yes, I think it is now, even though a bit long, acceptable for a slave, even perhaps suitable for one. Before, of course, it was suitable, intentionally, only for a free woman pretending to be a slave."
"Turn," "he said.
I did so.
"Yes," he said, "I think it is now suitable, or will be, when you' have attended to the hem, shortening it still further."
I knew that I must learn to go forth in such garments, the garments of slaves. I stole a furtive glance at a mirror. The garment, I saw, to my pleasure, set me off beautifully, though, to be sure, as what I was, a slave.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said.
"You may now remove it," he said, "and kneel again, as you were before, before me."
"Yes, Master," I said, He returned to the curule chair.
I was then again before him as I had been, naked and kneeling.
"You are aware, doubtless," he said, "that my feelings toward you are, or were, extremely complex."
"Yes, Master," I said. "And if I may speak of such matters, in my opinion, you have understood me very well in some things, and very little in others. Also, it seems you have sometimes wanted me to be, or expected me to be, things which I was not."
"Do you understand what we are doing here?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. It was now clear to me. He had seen me as a Tatrix, he had seen me stripped, he had seen me again in the garment, subsequently shortened to slave length, which I bad worn in the house of Kijomenes and in the room in the inn of Lysias.
"When we have completed this symbolic re-enactment," he said, "you, regardless of what you may or m~ not have been, will be, in my mind and in yours, my slave, in a modality which I find acceptable."
"Yes, Master," I said. I was, of course, already his slave, legally, totally, and in my heart. I suspected that he might now have come to sense this, but that he was not sure of it.
Accordingly, he would take no chances with me. I would be put through processes of enslavement, and rites of submission, the, outcome of which, no matter what might be my nature, motivations or dispositions, would be to make clear to me my condition, that I was, whatever I was, scheming woman or loving female, his slave, and totally.
"Three things will now be done to you, matter-of-factly, and in order," he said. I looked at him, puzzled.
"Down on all fours," he said, "and crawl here, head down, to the foot of the chair."
I did so and there, unceremoniously, he crouching down, behind me and to my left, I was collared. He was not gentle with me.
"Kneel back on your heels," he said, "and extend your arms, wrists crossed." I looked at him, startled, protestingly, as my wrists, with one end of a long leather strap, were lashed together.
"Stand up," he said. I was pulled to a position at the side of the room. The long end of the strap was tossed up, through a ring fixed in a beam, and then put through another ring. Drusus Rencius then drew on the strap and my bound wrists were drawn up, above my head. He then looped and knotted the long end of the strap about a hook, on the side. I then stood there, at the side of the room, naked, in the collar, my hands bound together, held over my head.
"Master," I said, "this is not like you! Where is your concern for me?" "Were you given permission to speak?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master!" I looked up at my bound hands. The strap was dark on them. I jerked at it. I could not free myself. I was tied in place. My entire body, suddenly, felt very bare, very exposed, very vulnerable. I looked over my shoulder. I was frightened. This was clearly a whipping position.
"Please, Master!" I whimpered.
"Kiss the whip," he said.
I did so, fearfully.
I recalled that only an Ahn before I had begged his lash, in my joy at learning myself his. I had pleaded for the stroke of the whip that I might, in my joy and pain, in tears, reveling, experience his dominance over me, and know myself his. Now, however, this seemed very different' I had been put in place as though I might have been anyone, any slave! Did I mean so little to him? Was I so unimportant?
Then behind me, before I was fully set for it, I heard the hiss of the five supple blades. I screamed, struck, sobbing! I knew he had not struck me with his full strength. I could tell that from the sound. Still my back seemed to burst into flame. The blades had seemed, too, to encircle me, scalding and tearing at me. "No more!" I begged. Then I was again struck.
Had I stolen a pastry? Had I not cleaned my kennel well enough? Had I not pleased some master well enough in the furs?
I was struck again.
"Oh," I sobbed, in misery.
Then twice more was I struck~ Drusus Renc~s did no~ much vary the locus of the impact nor the timing. He did not When he freed my hands of the strap I sank to my knees on the tiles under the ring.' I was half in shock. I knew he had not struck me with his full strength and, indeed, I had been struck only five times. It had been little or nothing as beatings go. Had I truly stolen a pastry, or done something displeasing, I would doubtless have been much more seriously beaten. The beating had been little more than informative in nature, not even really admonitory. Still I had felt it keenly. I had now felt the Gorean slave whip. No woman who has felt it ever forgets it. If I had had any doubts about the wisdom of being pleasing to masters these blows, few and light though they might have been, would have dispelled them. The beating had been little or nothing. Still, and I knew it, I had been under the whip.
He gave me scarcely a moment to recover. Then, crawling, swiftly, crying out, half dragged, I was pulled by the hair to the center of the room.
He knelt me there.
"Put your head down, to the floor," he said. "Clasp your hands, firmly, behind the back of your neck."
"Yes, Master," I moaned. He was then behind me. He put his hands, under my arms, on my breasts, sweetly and firmly. Then he moved his bands back, caressing my flanks. My head was down. My fingers were together, behind the back of my neck. I was in his collar. It was steel, I could not remove it. I belonged to him. My body hurt, from his whip, that of my master. My head hurt, from my hair, where I had been conducted, unceremoniously, to this location. "Please, Master," I sobbed. "Not like this! Not you, please!"
"The slave is pretty," he remarked.
"Oh!" I cried. "Oh!"
"You have a lovely ass," he said.
"Ohhh!" I said.
"You may thank me," he said.
"Thank you, Master!" I said. I tried not to move. It was difficult. "Please do not treat me like this. Please do not handle me like this!"