"Master is undoubted familiar with many slaves, and things having to do with slaves," said Phoebe. "Perhaps then Master can teach his slave such things." Though Marcus was a young man and, as far as I knew, had never owned a personal slave before Phoebe, he, as a Gorean, would be familiar with slaves. Not only were they in his culture but he probably, as he was of the Marcelliani, which had been a prominent, wealthy family in Ar's Station, would have had them in his house, in growing up, the use of some perhaps being accorded to him after puberty. Similarly he would be familiar with them from his military training, which would include matters such as the hunting and capture of women, who count as splendid trophies of the chase, so to speak, and his military life, as officers and men commonly have at their disposal barracks slaves, camp slaves, and such. Too, of course, he would be familiar with the lovely properties encountered in paga taverns, and such places. Indeed, together we had frequented such establishments, for example, in Port Cos, after our landing there, as refugees from Ar's Station. The Gorean slave girl seldom needs to fear that her master will not be fully familiar with, and skilled in, the handling, treatment and discipline of slaves.
"I am not a professional slave trainer," said Marcus, "or costumer or cosmetician, but I will show you two of the most common ties. Others you might inquire of, when the opportunity permits, of your sister slaves."
"Yes, Master," she said.
Phoebe, because of the nature of her acquisition and holding, and our movements, and such, had had very little chance to associate with, or meet, other slaves. On the other hand this deprivation might soon be remedied. I supposed, if Marcus should take up a settled domicile. Indeed, even if we remained n the camp for a few days, it was likely that Phoebe would soon find herself in one group or another of female slaves, conversing, working together. Perhaps laundering, or such. From her sisters in bondage a girl, particularly a new girl, can learn much. In such groups there are normally numerous subtle relationships, hierarchies of dominance, and such, but when a male appears they are all instantly reduced, before him, to the commonality of their beauty and bondage. "Also," said Marcus, sizing up the slim beauty before him, "we can always, if we wish, extend our repertoire of ties by experiment."
"Yes, Master," said Phoebe, eagerly. It seemed she had forgotten her cuffing. Yet I had little doubt that its admonitory sting lingered within her, not only as a useful memorandum of her bondage but recalling her to the prudence of caution.
Marcus looped the cord and put it over her, so that the loop hung behind her back and two loosed ends before her.
Already, it seemed, Phoebe had returned to her normal mode of relating to him, as a mere, docile slave, not daring to confess her love openly. Yet I think there was not something subtly different in their relationship. Phoebe now, given his recent intensity, his denunciation of her mendacity, his fury, his excessive reaction to them, had more than ample evidence of the depth of his feelings toward her. She was more than satisfied with what had occurred. Such things, to the softness and intelligence of her woman's heart, spoke clearly to her. She was not in the position of the helplessly loving female slave at the feet of a beloved master who regarded her with indifference as merely another of his women, or was even cold to her, perhaps disdaining her as a trivial, meaningless possession.
Marcus now, roughly, took the forward ends of the cord, where they dangled before her, and put them back, beneath her arms, through the back loop, and drew them forward where he tied them, snugly, beneath her breasts.
"Oh!" she said.
"You are pretty, slut of Cos," he said, standing back, admiring his handiwork. "I wish I had a mirror," she said.
"You may see yourself, in a sense," I said, "in the mirror of his desire."
"Yes," she whispered, shyly.
"And this," said Marcus, loosening the cord, "is perhaps the most common way of wearing the slave girdle." He then took the forward ends of the cord, again free, and this time crossed them, over the bosom, before placing them again through the loop at the back, drawing them forward and, once more, fastening them, perhaps more snugly than was necessary, before her.
"Ohh," he said. "Yes."
"Aii," I whispered. I then needed a woman. I must leave the tent and search for one, perhaps a girl in one of the open-air brothels, forbidden without permission to leave her mat or even to rise to her knees.
"Is it pretty?" asked Phoebe.
"It is a perhaps not unpleasing effect," said Marcus.
"Yes," I agreed.
"There are, of course, numerous ways in which to tie slave girls," said Marcus. "True," I said. To be sure they tended to have certain things in common, such as the accentuation and enhancement of the slave's figure.
Phoebe moved about in the tent, delighted. She could perhaps suspect what she might look like.
"You see," I said, "there is some point in permitting a female clothing."
"Yes," said he, "providing it may be swiftly, and at one's will, removed."
"Of course," I said.
Phoebe then, beside herself with passion, knelt swiftly before Marcus. "Please, Master!" she said.
I saw that Marcus was in agony to have her. He could scarcely control himself. "Please!" wept the slave.
I expected him to leap upon her and fling her to her back to the dirt, ravishing her with the power of the master.
Please, please, Master!" wept the slave, squirming in piteous need before him. "What do you want?" asked Marcus then, drawing himself up, coldly, looking down at her. It amazed me that he was capable of this.
"Master?" she asked.
He regarded her, coldly.
"I beg use," she whispered.
"Do you protest your love?" he inquired. His hand was open, where she could see it. It was poised. She saw it. He was ready, if necessary, again to cuff her. "No, Master," she said, hastily.
"Not even the love of a slave girl?" he asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"And in any event," he said, "the love a slave girl is worthless, is it not?"
"Yes, Master," she whispered, tears in her eyes. This was absurd, of course, as the love of a slave girl is the deepest and most profound love that any woman can give a man. Love makes a woman a man's slave, and the wholeness of that love requires that she be, in truth, his slave. With nothing less can she be fully, and institutionally, content.
"You do not then protest your love," he said, "not even the love of a slave girl."
"No, Master," she whispered.
"What then?" asked he, casually.
"I beg simple use," she said.
"I see," he said.
"I am a slave in desperate need," she said. "I am at your mercy. You are my master. In piteous need I beg use!"
"So," said he, scornfully, "the slut of Cos, on her knees, begs use of her Master, one of Ar's Station."
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"You will wait," he said.
"Yes, Master," she moaned.
"I hear music, outside, the instruments of peasants, I believe," said Marcus, turning to me. "Perhaps they are holding fair or festival, such as they may, in such times."
"Perhaps," I said.
"Let us investigate," suggested Marcus.
"Very well," I said.
"Oh, yes," said he, looking down, "what of this slave?" She squirmed. It seemed she had slipped his mind.
"Bring her along," I suggested.
"You are an ignorant and unworthy slave, are you not?" asked Marcus.
"Yes, Master," she said. She was flushed and helplessly needful, even trembling. "Better surely," said Marcus, "that she be stripped and left here, behind, alone, bound hand and foot."
"Perhaps if you have a slave ring to chain her to," I said.