"And so, too, really," I said, "are you."
She looked at me, angrily.
"Would you rather do it naked?" I asked. "That can be arranged." I took a step towards her.
"No!" she said, putting out her hand, stepping back.
"Very well," I said. It did amuse me to think of her trying to make her way back to wherever she lived, probably a good way from here, as she seemed an educated, refined, perhaps affluent woman.
"What if I am surprised?" she said. "What if I am caught? What if slavers pick me up?" "I really do not think there is much chance of that," I said, "not at the present hour, with it getting light. This is not an ideal hour, too, as you are probably aware, for the practice of activities such as slaving, raping, capturing and such. It is just too miserably early. Don't you really think so? What self-respecting rapist or slaver would be abroad at this hour? What would he expect to find? A miniature domestic sleen among the garbage cans? A brawny teamster bringing in produce from the country? Similarly I assume you live in a frequently patrolled, well-to-do district. I really do not believe you will be in any danger whatsoever. Run along."
"Run along?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Just because I am dressed like this, do you think you can dismiss me like a slave?"
"I would go while I can," I said.
She looked at me, suddenly. "This is the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla," she said. "Escort me at least back to the Avenue of Turia." "Very well," I said.
She then led the way back across the street, to the opening between the buildings, one of several which joined the Avenue of Turia, in this section, with the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. She walked well before me. A few yards into the passageway, which was winding, and about a hundred yards long, with some side passages, she stopped, and turned, and faced me.
"I am cold," she said.
"Oh?" I said.
"Put your arms about me," she said.
I did so. She fitted well within them.
"Is that better?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. She looked up at me. "You have saved me from an unspeakable fate," she said, "one worse than death, that of a man having his way with me, against my will."
"Do not be absurd," I said. How seriously some free women took themselves! Such ridiculous vanity! A week in a collar would straighten her out on such matters. She would then know what women were for, and all about.
"However that may be," she smiled, "it is to you that I owe my rescue from the shackles of a slave alcove."
I began to think I had probably made a mistake. I should of left here there. "I owe you much," she said. "I am grateful. I would show my gratitude." "No thanks are necessary," I said. I wondered if she knew what she was doing. She lifted her lips. I felt her in my arms rising up on her toes. "There," she said, kissing me.
"Beware of what you do," I said, "dressed as you are." Her body was luscious, rounded and slave soft. I forced myself not to seize it to me, and crush it in my arms.
"There," she said, kissing me again, "can a slave kiss like that?" This second kiss, with its remark, was a mistake on her part, an irrevocable one.
"You know nothing of kissing," I said. "If a slave could not do better than that, she would be whipped."
"Sleen!" she cried, and tried to strike me. I caught her wrist with my right hand and twisted her suddenly and forcibly about, startling her. I took her left upper arm in my left hand, holding her, making her helpless, and with my right hand forced her right arm up suddenly and angrily behind her back. She cried out in sharp pain. I held her in this position for a moment, letting her know how helpless she was, keeping her in pain. She was high on her toes to relieve the pressure on her arm. She did not so much as move. Then I released her. She spun about, looking at me, wildly. She rubbed her arm. She had been in a man's power. She looked small then. "You hurt me!" she said.
"Was it not your intention to hurt me?" I inquired.
She looked down. She seemed small, and beautiful. She continued to rub her arm. "What you attempted to do would earn a slave a beating at least," I said, "if her hands were not cut off, or if she were not fed to sleen."
"I wouldn't have done it, if I were a slave," she pouted. "No," I said, "I do not think you would have, Free Woman." "Must I throw myself to you?" she asked.
"After that second kiss," I said, "that would not be necessary."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I am going to give you what you want," I said.
"No!" she said. "Not that! I meana€”I meana€”!" But I had swept her into my arms and carried her a few yards down the passageway and then into one of the side passages, where, sticking out from a rear area, I had seen the corner, in the mist of other garbage, refuse and trash, of a discarded, ragged, thick, roughly woven reed slave mat. "No!" she said. "Not now! Not this way!"
"Be silent," I said. What was she complaining about? I had even carried her to this place in honor, in my arms, as a free woman. I had not thrown her over my shoulder, her ass to the front, her head scornfully to the rear, as properties are commonly carried, such as sacks of grain and female slaves.
With my foot, not yet putting her down, I dragged the mat free of the garbage and trash, and kicked it back to where I wanted it, back further in the rear area, between the high walls. I then threw her down upon it "Get your clothes off," I told her. "Be quick!"
Sobbing, she stripped herself.
"Please!" she begged. "No! Please!"
"Perform obeisance," I said.
"I am a free woman!" she said.
"Out of your own mouth you have said it," I said. "You are a woman." "I do not know how to do so!" she said.
"There are many ways to perform obeisance," I said.
"I am a free woman," she said. "I know none of them."
"I shall instruct you briefly in three," I said. "First, kneel before me, back on your heels, yes, with your knees wide, wider, your hands on your thighs, your back straight, your breasts out, good, your belly in, good, and now lower your head in deference, in submission."
"Like a slave!" she said. "Do it," I said. She looked well, "now that," I said, "may not be exactly a performance of obeisance, for authorities do not all agree, but for our purposes we shall count it as one. It is, at any rate, a beautiful position, and it is, certainly, a common position of slave submission."
"Slave submission!" she cried.
"Yes," I said, "and you do it well. It looks natural on you."
"Now," I said, "and this is clearly a form of obeisance, bend forward and put your head to the mat, the palms of your hands on the mat. Good. Now lift your head a little and come forward, substantially keeping the position. Forward a little more."
"But then my face will be at your feet," she said. "My lips will be over them!" "Yes," I said. "Good. Now put your head down and lick and kiss my feet." "I am a free woman!" she said.
"You are a woman," I said. "Now, softly, lingeringly and lovingly. Good." "I am not a slave," she said.
"All women are slaves," I said. "Imagine what this would be like if you were truly a collared slave."
She gasped.
"Good," I said. "Continue."
Frightened, she did so.
"Now," I said, "for a third form of obeisance. You may "belly' to me." "I do not understand," she whispered.
"There are various forms of bellying," I said, "and bellying may be suitably and pleasingly combined with other forms of floor movements, approaching the master on all fours, turning to your sides and back, writhing before him, and so on. We shall take a very simple version, suitable for an ignorant free female who has not yet even begun to discover the depths of her sexuality."
She looked up at me.
"On your belly," I said. She backed off a bit, and went to her belly. Her hair was before her face, as she, now on her belly before me, looked up at me.