The men, it seemed, eating, drinking, chatting, needed nothing, and, too, it seemed they were totally unaware of her.
She smiled to herself. Her master had made it clear to her, earlier, before the guests arrived that she, even though serving, would kneel in the position of the pleasure slave. To be sure, there were only men present. But Ellen knew that she, in her way, was being shown off. This pleased her, that her master was proud of her, and wished to display her. But could he not have done this, as well, if she had been permitted to kneel more demurely? No, she thought. These men remember me from the grasslands, and it is the intention of Selius Arconious to make it clear to them that his slave is different now from what they saw then, that she is muchly changed, that she is now an acceptable slave, a well-mastered slave. Too, her kneeling position was doubtless commanded with the intent as well, that there should not be the least doubt as to the nature of the relationship in which she stood to him, her master, that she was not merely a serving slave, or tower slave, but was to him wholly and fully, and in all ways, pleasure slave.
She had been ordered to make herself up, in the bedroom, and she had done so, she hoped with taste. The cosmetics of slaves are not that different, interestingly, from those of free women on Earth. Gorean free women do not use cosmetics, or supposedly do not use them, though ankle bells, concealed by their robes, and perfumes are permitted to them.
Cosmetics, on Gor, are regarded as salacious, improper, offensive and scandalous in the case of a free woman; such things are associated with slaves. Naturally enough then, that women of Earth not unoften so adorn themselves, and may appear in public so adorned, is taken by most Goreans, at least those who believe it, as evidence that they are slaves, and thus of their fittingness to be placed upon the auction block, appearing before masters to be bid upon.
Some Goreans seem to prefer Earth women as slaves; others prefer native Gorean women; I would not think it would make much difference; they are all women; doubtless it depends on the particular woman and man, on the particular slave and master, on the particular “chemistry,” so to speak; on the other hand I think it is true that their bondage is likely to have a special, remarkable flavor to Earth women, as many of them have been extracted from a crowded, unnatural, lonely, forlorn, miserable, meaningless, frustrating, negativistic, puritanical environment and they find themselves for the first time in a fresh, open, young, vital, exotic, sensuous, joyous, natural world; too, stripped and collared at the feet of a Gorean male they are likely to have experiences and feelings for which their relationships to men of Earth have simply failed to prepare them. For the first time in their lives, they have met masters.
Earth women do have, incidentally, a reputation on Gor for making excellent slaves. They seem to grasp their new identity, their new being, shortly after their collaring, after having been taught to crawl and kiss the whip. Most are comprehending slaves even before they are taken, sold, from the block. Swiftly then do they learn to lick, kiss and caress, to kneel and obey, to serve as what they have then become, as what they then are, the properties of their masters. In their joy they blossom, understanding that they are now owned, that the collar is truly on them. At last they have an identity and an actual value, a place in society. At last, too, and more importantly, they are in their place in nature, with its endemic codes of dominance and submission, selected for in the long biography of a planet’s evolution, codes pervasive throughout all animal life. At last they are where they belong, at the feet of men; at last they are at peace with their genes, with their nature. At last, too, they have a full and rewarding sex life, free of Earth’s conditioned guilts and shames, whose bizarre, twisted, diseased roots lie buried in remote superstition, in antique psychosis. At the feet of masters they find happiness; at the feet of masters they find the answer of nature to pain and suffering.
The sex life of the female slave is a sex life so rich and overwhelming, and transforming, that they could scarcely have dreamed of it on Earth. It is a wholeness of life which on Earth would have doubtless been beyond their ken. They are obedient vessels of sexual pleasure; they are subservient, lascivious beasts, anxious to please; they are summonable; they hope to be summoned; they are needful and zealous; one buys them for pleasure, and from them one will have one’s money’s worth, and a thousand times more. Perhaps it would be more accurate to speak not so much of a sex life, which suggests that sex is only an aspect or part of her life, as a life of sexuality. Sexuality, in its fullness, in its entirety, in its thousand strands and facets, in its thousand modalities and expressions, from almost unendurable, ruthlessly imposed sexual ecstasies, from which the slave may fear she will not survive, to the manner in which a meal is served, from the cruel, raping kiss of the master to the polishing of his boots, from the kissing of his feet to the careful keeping of his quarters, is the life of the female slave. Perhaps, most simply, it should be thought of as a life of femaleness, of essential femaleness, of complete femaleness.
If you would be a woman be a slave.
Ellen thought, again, of cosmetics.
I wonder, she thought, if, in the privacy of their compartments, even free women, with their companions, might resort to cosmetics, perhaps even serving their companions as though they might be no more than slaves, but they would not be, of course, true slaves. Ellen wondered if free women might do such, to keep their companions out of the markets, where they might buy an actual slave, a woman over whom they would genuinely have absolute power, as her master had over her.
Perhaps a brief cast of irritation then traversed the countenance of Ellen, as she thought of free women. Little love is lost betwixt free women and slaves, in either direction. Happily the men did not notice.
It is one of the fears of a slave that she might be purchased by a woman. They know, in their hearts, they belong to men, and wish to belong to men, their appropriate masters in the order of nature.
As Ellen knelt there she suddenly trembled. How vulnerable we are, slaves, she thought. We are owned. We are branded. We are in collars. We can be bought and sold. We must obey. We are subject to discipline. Sometimes we are whipped, it seems, merely to remind us that we are slaves.
Again the men did not notice her tiny movement. She then addressed herself, again, to the retaining of position, that lovely position which had been enjoined upon her for the evening, and which in any event was generally incumbent upon her, given the nature of her bondage, the position of the pleasure slave. She did not wish to risk discipline.
If you would be a slave, dear haughty free sisters, thought Ellen, then be a slave. Know what it is to actually wear a collar and be owned! Know what it is to kneel naked, chained, before your master! Know what it is to cast him shy, fearful glances, trying to read his moods! Know what it is to service his compartments, perhaps shackled, to make his couch, to dust and clean, and cook, and sew, and launder, hoping that your services will be found satisfactory. Let your wash be sparkling, let your stitches be small, fine and straight! Know what it is to kiss the whip, knowing that it will be used on you if you are not fully pleasing. Know what it is to crawl fearfully to him, your master, bearing the whip in your teeth! Where are your brands and papers, dear free sisters? And have you ever stood stripped on an auction block, to be bid upon, as the property you are?