“Men cannot concern themselves wholly with slaves,” said Mirus. “Certainly not,” said Selius Arconious.
“It seems there is much to remember,” said Mirus.
“Not really,” said Selius Arconious. “Just keep in mind that she is a slave, and is to be fully pleasing. If she is not, lash her.”
“It is pleasant,” said Mirus, “to be on a world where there are female slaves.”
“Who would wish to be on any other?” said Selius Arconious.
Ellen lay on her belly at the left knee of her master, Selius Arconious. She lifted her head a little, and pressed her lips softly, almost timidly, to his left knee, a slave’s kiss.
It is doubtless pleasant for the masters to own us. I wonder sometimes, on the other hand, if they understand us, or fully, our feelings, the feelings of the slave, the thrill for a woman of having a master, the rapture of being possessed, literally, how we desire to give ourselves up to them, the bliss we experience in our collars, our love. Is it so strange that we make excellent slaves? Do they really think that our desire to please, and be found pleasing, is motivated by nothing but the fear of blows or worse? We wish to love and serve. It is our nature. We are women. We are slaves. We long for our masters. We are incomplete without them.
Selius Arconious tore off a bit of warm, juicy meat and held it to the slave, who took it delicately between her teeth, juice running at the side of her chin, but he did not release it. She looked up at him, not understanding, uncertain. Would he permit her to have it? He released it and she took it gratefully, chewed it, and swallowed it. With his hand then he took her by the hair and gave her head a good-natured shake. She thrust her right cheek to the side of his knee, lovingly, fervently.
She lay amongst them, in her tunic, on her belly.
Her master had decided that she had been sufficiently fed.
Mirus was looking down upon her. She had little doubt he found her of interest, of interest in the keenest way a woman can be of interest to a man, of “slave interest.”
She felt a frisson of apprehension and pleasure, as when a woman senses that a man sees her as what she is, a slave.
Will he then do contest for her?
If she is free, will he then move to collar her?
How pleased he must be, she thought, considering our pasts, and my pretenses and frivolities, to see me as I am now, a slave.
But I am pleased that he can so see me!
That is the way I want him to see me!
I would not want him to see me otherwise.
I want him to see me as I am, as what I am!
I am shameless, and happy!
Put me on a block, Masters, and sell me, if you wish. Let it be done to me as men choose. I would not be other than I am.
“Move your hair,” he said, “that I may better see your collar.”
She moved her hair forward, before her shoulders.
“Such things look well on women,” said Mirus.
“Yes,” said Selius Arconious.
The collar was a simple one, of a familiar type, particularly in the northern hemisphere, a band collar, about a half inch in height, closely fitting, locked at the back. Most such collars range from a half inch to an inch in height.
How far away now seemed Earth, and her former life! But had she not, even then, so long ago, dreamed of lying half naked, collared, beside a master?
“You may now lie as you wish,” said Selius Arconious.
She brushed her hair back, behind her, and lay then on her left side, facing her master.
She had not been given permission to rise, of course.
She did dare to again kiss his knee, softly, timidly.
Perhaps he would caress her later.
She lifted her head to her master, tears in her eyes.
“How your slut looks upon you!” laughed Mirus.
“She is only a slave,” said Selius Arconious.
Mirus looked at Ellen. “It seems you have learned your collar,” he said.
“It has been taught to me, by masters,” said Ellen.
“You are his,” said Mirus.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “I am his, wholly. I belong at his feet, as no more than his slave. I can be no more. I can be no less.”
“You seem happy,” said Mirus.
“We are happiest when we know that we will be lashed if we are not pleasing.”
“That does not sound like the lessons you mouthed long ago,” said Mirus.
“I was a fool, Master,” said Ellen.
“I see,” said Mirus.
“We resist that we may be conquered. We wish to know if you are strong enough to subdue and enslave us. We wish to belong to the strongest, to the most magnificent.”