"Do you know the wine?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I turned the bottle so that she might read the label. It was a small bottle of Boleto's Nectar of the Public Slave Gardens. Boleto is a well-known winegrower from the vicinity of Ar. He is famous for the production of a large number of reasonably good, medium-grade ka-la-nas. This was one of the major wines, and perhaps the best, served in Ar's public slave gardens; indeed, it had originally been commissioned for that market; hence the name.
"Oh," she said.
"I hope you like it," I said.
"It's very nice," she said.
"I'm glad you like it," I said.
"Here," she said, picking up the glass, "hurry, drink. I wish to hurry to your room."
"Let us go to the room now," I said. I considered giving her this option, this chance to save herself. Did she accept it I would release her from the ring in the morning, with perhaps no more than an admonitory bruise or two.
"Hurry," she whispered. She lifted the glass to my lips. "Drink," she whispered, invitingly, seductively.
I smiled to myself. She had had her chance. To be sure, I had offered it to her only as an irony and amusement. That would doubtless sometime become quite clear to her. I had known she would not accept it.
"Drink," she whispered. I took the glass from her hand. "Drink," she whispered. "But it is for you," I said. "What?" she said.
"I bought the wine for you," I said.
"But I have had some," she said.
"Have some more," I said.
"You may pour me some," she said, uneasily.
"Take mine," I said.
"I could not do that," she said.
"Of course you could," I said.
"I do not want any more," she said.
"You were willing, a moment ago, to have me pour you more," I reminded her. "I have really had enough," she said. She squirmed a bit. She was locked, kneeling, in my arm.
"No," I said, "you have not."
She looked at me, frightened. "I do not want it," she said.
"Of course you do," I said.
"No," she said.
"Is there anything wrong with it?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Of course not."
"Then drink," I told her. I lifted the glass toward her lips. She tried to pull back. "What is wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said.
"Drink," I said.
"No," she said.
"You are going to drink this," I told her.
"No!" she said.
"Shall I call for a slave tube?" I asked.
"No," she begged. My grip on her was merciless. The slave tube is a device for force-feeding a slave. It is not a pleasant device. A round, cylindrical, truncated cushion, usually of cork or leather, with a circular hole in its center, is forced into the slave's mouth. This prevents her from closing her teeth on the tube. The tube is then introduced through the circular opening in the bite cushion into her mouth and run down to her stomach. There is a funnel at the mouth-end of the tube. It may be used for such purposes as feeding a recalcitrant slave liquids, such as juices or broths. Some tubes come, too, however, with plungers, so that semisolid food, such as slave gruel, or hash, or even damp bread and tiny pieces of meat, indeed, about anything the master may please, may be forced into her stomach. The girl is usually on her knees when this is done, with her head back and her hands tied or braceleted behind her. Afterwards her hands are usually left confined for an Ahn or so in this fashion, so that she cannot rid herself of the nourishment.
"Drink," I said.
"Please, no," she wept.
"Then you desire the slave tube?" I inquired.
"No," she said. "Mercy!"
I pulled her head back, by the hair, with my left hand. "Open your mouth," I said. "Do not spill a drop."
She squirmed, helplessly. Her teeth were gritted.
"I see that it is your intention to be difficult," I said.
She struggled but then, by the hair, I held her precisely; where I wanted her. Her mouth remained tightly closed. I gathered she did not wish for so much as a drop of that liquid to cross her lips. It must be rather strong, I surmised. To be sure, the dosage had been intended for a male.
I looked up, and noted Louise, who had been returning to her place to the left of the open space, coming back from the bar. She was standing there, observing me with horror.
"We are going to give her a little drink," I said to Louise.
"Master?" asked Louise, frightened.
"The slave tube is not going to be necessary after all," I told the Lady Tutina. She looked at me wildly, her mouth tightly shut.
"A simpler, more primitive method, quite suitable for small amounts, is at our disposal," I told her.
"No!" she said.
I put the tiny glass of wine to the side, on the floor.
"Slave," I said to Louise.
"Master?" she said.
"Take the Lady Tutina's belt," I said, "and tie her hands behind her back." "Master!" protested Louise.
"No!" cried the Lady Tutina.
"She is free," said Louise.
"Must a command be repeated?" I asked Louise. "No, Master!" she said.
She took the Lady Tutina's belt off and pulled her hands behind her back, and tied them there.
"Good," I said. The Lady Tutina squirmed, on her knees, her hands tied behind her.
"Master," moaned Louise, frightened.
"Here," I said, handing her the tiny glass of wine. "Obey me, unquestioningly, when I speak."
"Yes, Master," whispered Louise.
"No!" said the Lady Tutina. "Oh!" I had then, reaching about her head with my left hand, pinched her nostrils tightly together between my fingers. She could now not breathe through her nose. With this same grip, and its afforded leverage, I pulled her head back. Perhaps I was not as gentle as I might have been, considering she was free. Still it might do her some good, like the binding of her hands behind her, to accustom her to being handled in this fashion. She gasped for air. I then wedged my right hand in her mouth and, with my thumb and fingers, my thumb on her upper teeth, my fingers on her lower teeth, forced it open, very widely. Held so, she could not bite.
"Now," I said to Louise. "Now."
The Lady Tutina whimpered. She squirmed. She tried to shake her head, but I held it in position, exactly as I wanted it. Louise carefully poured the wine into that lovely, widely opened orifice, that lovely, widely opened vessel that was the mouth of the Lady Tutina.
"Good," I said to Louise.
Louise looked at me, gratefully. She would not be immediately beaten, at least. She was pretty, naked.
I continued to hold the head of the Lady Tutina in place. As I had timed the matter she had not had a breath left at that point to exhale or blow the fluid from her mouth. She looked at me, wildly.
"I would suppose, sooner or later," I said, "that you would like to breathe. No breath, however, can enter your lungs until you have first cleared your mouth of the fluid in it. There is only one way for you to do that, in your present predicament. That is to swallow it. Perhaps your body will make the decision for you."
She whimpered piteously in protest.
"There is not really much point in holding your breath," I said. "The matter is one of inevitability."
Another whimper.
"You are very pretty," I informed her.
Then wildly, tears plunging down her cheeks, she swallowed the liquid and, choking, gasping wildly for breath.
"You may now unbelt the hands of the Lady Tutina," I said to Louise.
"Yes, Master!" she said, hastening to do so.
"Oh, no, Lady Tutina," I said, holding her hands now. "You would not want to do that."
She jerked her hands, but could not remove them from my grasp. "I hate you!" she said. "I hate you!"
"There is nothing to fear," I said, "unless there might have been something in the wine."