So they had left the camp the preceding morning, and it was now in the late morning of the second day.
Ellen was now in a brief, sleeveless slave tunic of brown rep-cloth. No longer was she back-braceleted. Her wrists were now crossed and thonged before her, and she was following Fel Doron’s tharlarion-drawn wagon, a tether running from the wagon to her thonged wrists.
When she sensed Selius Arconious’s eyes upon her she walked especially well.
“She-sleen,” he said.
“Master?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I wish you were free, for I would muchly enjoy enslaving you.”
“Alas, Master,” said Ellen, “I am already a slave.”
“And mine,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” smiled Ellen.
“How do you like your garment?” he asked.
“It is not my garment, but the property of my master,” said Ellen. “As master knows, a slave may own nothing.”
“But perhaps you are pleased to be permitted to wear a garment?”
“Yes, Master. A slave is grateful that her master permits her a garment.”
“It may be removed at my whim,” he said.
“Of course, Master,” she said.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It is rather short, is it not, Master?” she asked.
“Beware,” said he, “lest it be further shortened, or removed entirely.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Master made me beg prettily enough for it last night,” said Ellen.
She had been unbraceleted shortly after leaving the camp yesterday morning, and had, of course, prepared the midday meal, and, later, the evening meal for the men. After that, and the cleaning up, and the kissing of, and turning down, and preparation of, the sleeping blankets of the men, he had thrown a bit of cloth to the ground near her. “Master!” she had cried, delightedly. But when she had crawled toward it, not having been permitted to rise, he had kicked it farther away from her. He had played with her for a time in this manner, and had then had her go to her belly before him and lick and kiss his feet. He then permitted her to crawl to the garment, pick it up in her teeth and crawl back to him, and then be before him on all fours, lifting her head to him, beggingly, the garment between her teeth. Would he permit it to her? There had been beseeching tears in her eyes. He had then said, “Very well,” and she had bellied again, tearfully, gratefully, the bit of cloth, now damp, still clutched between her teeth, pressing the side of her face against his bootlike sandals. She had then been permitted to draw it on.
“So do you like it?” he asked.
“Very much,” she said.
“You look well in it,” he said.
“If I look well in it, then I particularly like it,” she said.
“It conceals your defects,” he said.
“Oh?” she said.
“Not that it conceals much of anything.”
“My defects, Master?” she asked, warily.
“Yes,” he said. “Your figure is too exciting, and too lusciously beautiful, and, thus, when one looks upon you it is hard to keep one’s mind on serious matters.”
“I would think,” she said, “that a slave would long for such defects.”
“Well, in any event, they certainly improve her price,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“But you are not worth twenty silver tarsks,” he said angrily.
“Master paid twenty-one,” she said.
“Your master is an idiot,” he said.
“A slave dare not contradict her master,” said Ellen.
“You would actually be of interest,” he said, “if you were not stupid.”
“It is hard to have everything, Master,” said Ellen.
“You should be whipped,” he said.
Ellen was silent then. She wondered if some slaves were whipped because the master was angry at them, resentful of the mesmerizing fascination which such a lovely creature might exercise over them, that they might be furious at a suspected weakness they thought they might detect within themselves, a fear that they might melt, that they might succumb to the power and beauty of such a vulnerable, delicious, beautiful, owned creature. Was the slave to be punished for her own attractiveness, and beauty, for which men were muchly responsible, for that attractiveness and beauty which, despite whether she approved of it or not, her bondage had surely bestowed upon her?
****
Perhaps a word might be here inserted, briefly, as a “beauty bestowed by bondage” might seem to some an unfamiliar concept. First, as I think has been clearly indicated from time to time men, slavers, for example, have criteria. Not every woman is regarded as “collar worthy.” Not every woman is “slave desirable.” Have you not wondered, sometime, for example, if you are attractive enough, desirable enough, to be a slave? The acquisition of slaves is seldom a random matter. Selections are usually involved, often severe and rigorous selections. Some obvious criteria, among several others, are beauty, intelligence, and a latency, at least, for arousable, helpless passion. The captor may, of course, upon occasion, balance out a multitude of features, aspects, qualities or attributes. Women are, of course, complex and various. For example, to take a very simple case, a woman who is less beautiful but more intelligent is more likely to find herself in the chains of a master, subject to his whip, than one who is more beautiful but less intelligent. To be sure, the ideal of the slaver is to find all his desiderata conjoined, as they, fortunately for him, so often are. Commonly the beautiful woman is intelligent, at least latently passionate, and so on. One might note, in passing, that the usual Gorean taste in women tends to favor the statistically natural or normal woman, the lovely, nicely figured woman of average height and weight, who as a slave fits nicely in a man’s arms, as opposed to the more unusual “model types,” who tend to be awkward, scrawny and breastless. Sometimes Earth girls in the pens ask where are the beautiful women, and only later come to understand that it is they who are the truly beautiful women, the ones ruthless men have selected for collars. To be sure, some “model types” are also brought to Gor, and they, too, in turn, will learn to well serve masters, in the kitchens and in the furs.