"I do, too," I said. "It is a perfectly beautiful brand. Many girls will envy you such a lovely brand."
She looked at me, gratefully. The brand with which she had been marked was the common slave brand for the Gorean female; incised deeply in her thigh, about an inch and a half in height and a half inch in width, was the initial letter, in cursive script, lovely, of the expression 'Kajira, the most common expression in Gorean for a female slave. It was indeed a most beautiful brand. More than half of the branded beauties of Gor, I conjecture, wear that brand.
"Look into the mirror," I said. She did so.
"What do you see?" I asked.
"A slave," she said. She smiled, shyly, lowering her head. It seemed an uncharacteristic gesture for she who had been Elicia Nevins. I smiled.
"But a slave who has much to learn," I said.
She looked at me, questioningly.
"Do you not hear the step of your master, descending the stairs outside the compartments?" I asked.
She listened. "Yes," she said.
"You will learn to listen for that step," I told her.
She looked at me, frightened.
"Is that how you will receive your master," I asked, "standing, like a free woman?"
Swiftly she knelt, in the position of the pleasure slave. "I do not know how to please men," she wept.
"You will be taught," I assured her. "Lift your head a little higher." She did so.
I looked upon her.
I do not know why it is, but the condition of slavery makes a woman very beautiful. It removes inhibitions to the manifestation of her femininity and her deepest needs.
Bosk entered the room. He stopped for a moment, almost startled, then grinned. He saw a slave knelt at the foot of the couch.
"All is in readiness," he said to us. "I shall gag and saddle-bind the slave at midnight," he said, looking at Elicia. "Then," said he, "I will take flight from Ar."
"Master must be wary of the patrols," I said.
"I have counted from the roof," he said. "They are not randomizing their flights."
"I see, Master," I said. Bosk was thorough. He left little to chance. Yet there would be risk. Yet I feared little for him. I did not think I would care to pursue him on tarnback, were I a mounted guardsman of Ar.
He looked down at Elicia. She knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. Her wrists were bound before her body. Her left ankle was chained to the slave ring. "A lovely slave," he said.
"It is not yet midnight, Master," she said.
He untied her wrists. "Serve me wine, Slave," he said. I gasped.
She lifted the vessel of wine I had earlier brought and filled the goblet.
"No," I whispered to her, and then instructed her how to serve him.
"Wine, Master?" she asked.
"Yes, Slave," he said.
Then she knelt before him, back on her heels, head down, lifting the goblet to him, proffering it to the master with both hands.
He took the goblet from her and, regarding her, drank. I could see he was well pleased with his new acquisition, the lovely beauty, Elicia.
"Bring a pan, and pour wine into it," said he to me, "and give it to the animal."
"Yes, Master," I said.
I found a pan and poured wine into it, shallowly, and put it on the tiles before Elicia who, frightened, putting her head down, drank from it. She lifted her head. "You have made me drink like a she-sleen," she said.
"You are a slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said. He was teaching her her slavery.
"Now," said he, "you will serve me the second wine."
Elicia turned to me, frightened. She knew the second wine which was commanded of her. It was the wine of her slavery. Then she looked to Bosk, terrified.
"I shall withdraw, Master," I said.
"I do not know how to please a man, Master," said Elicia.
I saw this did not please Bosk.
"I do not know how, really, Master," she wept. "Forgive a slave, please!"
"Fetch the whip," said Bosk to me.
I went to fetch the whip.
"I will try, Master!" cried Elicia. Then she looked wildly at me. "Please, Mistress," she begged, "help me! Please help me, Mistress!"
"Does a slave wish assistance?" I asked.
"The slave, Elicia," she said, "begs the aid of Mistress."
I looked to Bosk of Port Kar. "Instruct her," he smiled, "with the whip."
I touched her on the neck with the whip. "Put your head down, Slave," I said. She did so. "Although you are only a slave your master is permitting you to serve him," I said. "This is a great honor." She seemed startled. Then it became clear to her that this was, for her, a slave, an honor. "You have a treasured opportunity," I pointed out, "to serve the master." "Yes, Mistress," she said. "A man such as Bosk of Port Kar," I said, "has many women. Will he keep you for himself, or will he throw you to his men, or sell you or discard you?" She trembled. "If you are not pleasing," I said, "you may be slain." She shuddered. "I will try to be pleasing," she stammered. "Do you wish to serve your master?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "yes, Mistress!"
I pointed to the feet of Bosk. "Hold his feet," I said. "Remove his sandals with your teeth."
She did so.
"Begin now," I said, "to lick and kiss below the left shin." She did so. "Desire to please the master as a slave girl," I said.
"I do," she suddenly said, throatily.
I laughed, and stepped back. She seemed startled. She looked up. There were tears in her eyes. "No!" she said, suddenly. "I did not mean that!"
Bosk laughed and slipped to the furs beside her and threw her on her back. She looked up at him, terrified. "I shall have her instructed in long lovings at my leisure," said Bosk to me. "Obviously she is an ignorant slave."
Elicia squirmed on the furs, the Earth girl in her suddenly fighting to retain her self-image.
"No," she wept. "I am not a slave! I am not a slave!"
Bosk kissed her on the throat, and she closed her eyes. I saw her small hands seize at him.
"I am not a slave," she said to him, her eyes open, sternly.
"Touch her," laughed Bosk to me. "Feel the helpless oil and heat of her."
She cried out in misery.
"Naughty, naughty, Elicia!" I laughed.
She looked at me, in fury.
"You are a slave, Elicia!" I laughed delightedly. I was very pleased to have learned this.
She threw back her head, wildly, twisting it from side to side. Bosk had touched her.
I saw her eyes, wild, trying to retain the image of the Earth girl. Then, suddenly, I saw that she was becoming sensuous, uncontrollable, appetitious. She was fighting the Gorean slave girl in herself. In the arms of a man such as Bosk of Port Kar I did not think her struggle would be successful. He toyed with her resistance, sometimes permitting it to become stronger, sometimes even letting her think she might be able to withstand him, but then again he would begin to induce in her, subtly, the surrender spasms of the female slave. She well knew he was playing with her. "Beast," she wept, "how long will you sport with me?" Many times he brought her to the verge of surrender, teeth clenched, eyes shut, and then let her subside, retaining yet, to her cruel disappointment, a shred of her Earth-girl dignity. "I do not want to be a slave," she would cry. But I could see that her eyes, and her body, locked in his arms, were begging him to complete her conquest. How small she seemed in his arms. "You squirm as a slave girl, Elicia," I observed. "No!" she would cry, in her collar. She tried to hold herself still, rigid, but, when he chose, could not do so. "At his least touch, Elicia," I pointed out to her, "you leap as a slave." "No," she would cry. "No!" But it was clear to me that she wanted him to make her a slave girl. She wanted to be his slave girl. "I will show you," she said to me, "how a woman can resist a man." Then he had rolled away from her, turning his back to her. "I am weary," he said. "I would sleep." I suddenly saw, to my amusement, fear, and keen disappointment, registered on the countenance of the beautiful Elicia. "Master?" she said. She turned to him. She touched him on the shoulder. "Please, Master," she said. "What is it?" he asked. Elicia swallowed hard. I was present. "Please do not stop touching your slave, Master," she said. I laughed, but Elicia was not deterred. "Why?" he asked. "Because I am your slave," she said, acknowledging herself his. I smiled gently, but Elicia did not notice. I saw that she was truly his slave. I felt great happiness for her. "Does the slave Elicia beg the touch of her master?" he asked. "The slave Elicia," she said, "piteously and humbly begs with all her heart the touch of her master, Bosk of Port Kar." He rolled over and seized her. "You are a slave, Elicia," I said to her. "Yes," she said, "I am a slave." Then she cried out to Bosk of Port Kar, "The slave is yours. Take her, Master!" Quietly I withdrew.