“On your feet,” he said.
She struggled to her feet.
He took the leash and drew her to him, quite closely. He then regarded her, about a foot from him, he holding her there, by the leash.
“You have served well in quick usages,” he said. “We will see later how you do when put to service for Ahn at a time.”
“I know nothing!” she said, in alarm. “I have not been love-trained!”
“I will train you to my tastes,” he said.
“Whip-train me,” she whispered.
“The training of such as you is always subject to the whip,” he said.
“Good,” she said.
I recalled, as undoubtedly she had, as well, his often-remarked observation, early in their acquaintance, that she was in need of whip-training. Now, it seemed that that deficiency would be remembered. It would be attended to.
She inched closer to him. She was now almost touching him, looking up at him.
“And as what shall I be trained?” she asked.
“As a pleasure slave, of course,” he said.
“You dare?” she asked. “You dare do that to she who was once the Lady Constanzia of Besnit?”
“Certainly,” he said.
“Why?’ she asked.
“Because that is the way I want you,” he said.
“You are a beast,” she said.
“I am a man,” he said.
“But what of my will in these matters?” she asked.
“You have no will in these matters,” he said. “You are a slave. Your will is meaningless, it is nothing.”
This was true. The will of the slave did not count. The will of the master was all.
“But would I be a good pleasure slave?” she asked.
“I will see to it,” he said. “And you will be not only a good pleasure slave, but, I assure you, you will be a perfect pleasure slave,”
“I see,” she said.
“Then you are serious,” she said. “I, the former Lady Constanzia of Besnit, am to be a pleasure slave, and you will train me as such.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“Did you ever doubt it?” he asked.
“No,” she smiled.
“It is not the sort of training you want?” he asked.
“It is the sort of training I beg!” she said, suddenly, delightedly, earnestly. He then crushed her to him.
I had realized, of course, for some time, that there was not only a slave in the Lady Constanzia of Besnit, but a pleasure slave. It had been obvious, for some time, that she wanted desperately to submit herselfto the mysterious visitor to Treve, to submit herself in the most perfect and complete way a woman can submit herself to a man, to be his ardent, devoted, helpless pleasure slave.
Then he thrust her from him, reluctantly, an effort which must have cost him much will. “Later, later,” he said. “We must from here,” he said. “There are matters to attend to. There are others to join, agents of our house.”
“Master!” she protested.
“In the first camp,” he said, “you and other slaves will be put in cages. I will have you drawn forth from your cage. I will have you brought to me and changed to a stake in my tent.”
“And how shall I live till then?” she asked.
“On water,” he said, “and a handful of slave gruel.”
“Yes, my master,” she breathed.
He then stepped from her, releasing a coil or two of the leash, permitting it to slacken.
“Are you prepared to be led forth?” he asked.
Surely something might be arranged from the remnants of the robe, or from pieces cut from the hood! Indeed, even the veil, a large one, might be wrapped about her body!
“You have your collar,” he said.
“Master!” she protested.
“Certainly you do not think I would deny my house this triumph,” he said.
She straightened herself, as the leash went taut, between the ring on the leash collar and his fist.
“Yes, Master,” she said, answering his earlier question, “I am prepared to be led forth!”
He then turned about and strode toward the door. She hurried to follow him.
“Master!” she said.
He stopped, and turned about.
“Should I try to place a downcast expression on my face, Master?” she inquired.
“You may do as you will,” he said, irritatedly.
“Doubtless you should treat me in your house, publicly, as a despised slave.”
“I suppose so,” he said, “at least for a time.”
“They need not know I am your love slave,” she said. “I am your love slave, am I not?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Am I subject to the whip?” she asked.
“Certainly,” he said. “You are a slave.”
“Am I to be whipped in your house?” she asked.
“It will undoubtedly be expected, upon occasion,” he said. “You were, after all, once the Lady Constanzia of Besnit.”
“And who will whip me?” she asked.
“Whoever wishes to do so,” he said. “Even other slaves. I advise you, thusly, to try to be quite pleasing, to everyone.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, trembling.
He turned about, and took a step toward the door.
“Master!” she said.
He turned to face her.
“You will whip me sometimes, will you not,” she asked, “that I may know that I am a slave, and that you are truly my master?”
He did not respond.
“Can you not understand?” she said. “I love you, truly love you, helplessly! With slave helplessness! As a slave her master! And I am a slave, and you are my master! I want reassurance. I want proof, in my deepest heart, that you can do with me what you want, and that you will, that I am your slave, that you own me!”
“Be in no doubt as to the matter,” he said.
“I would be convinced!” she said.
“On the practical level?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I see,” he said.
“Perhaps I will displease you!” she said.
“Then you will find yourself punished quickly enough,” he said.
“Could you punish me?” she asked.
“Test me,” he said.
“You could!” she said. “You could!”
“And would,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” she said, happily.
But I did not think she would wish to displease him. And, too, once she had felt the whip, once it had made it clear to her what she was, once it had confirmed her bondage upon her, once it had imprinted upon her an understanding of what could be done to her, I did not think it likely that she would be eager to feel it soon again, even lightly, even in the hands of a beloved master, one to whom she had surrendered everything, one to whom she belonged, totally. The whip, as a tool, is a quite effective implement. It serves to keep us well in line. Free women may make men miserable, and even attempt to destroy them, but slaves may not do so.
It is ours, rather, to strive to be pleasing to our masters.
“In my house,” he said, “it will be I who will first tie you to the whipping ring, who will give you your first public lashing.”
“Thank you, Master,” she said. “It is your whip which I would feel first, before all others.”
It is not that unusual, incidentally, to whop a new slave, upon her first being introduced into a house. To be sure, the custom apparently varies from city to city. In any event, giving the background and interactions of the Lady Constanzia of Besnit and the House of William, in Harfax, I did not think that they would wish to wait long before seeing the lash laid to her-well laid-to the back of the new slave.
“Master!” she cried. “Look!”
“What?’ he said. “The girl in the shadows, the creature with her?”
“It is Janice!” she wept, joyfully.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Please let me go to her, just for a moment, please, my beloved master!” but the leash restrained her. “Oh!” she wept, in misery, held, helpless to approach me. But then he advanced toward me, letting her hurry before him. The pit master, near me, threw his cloak over his head, and turned away, that his features not be seen.
Constanzia knelt before me, I kneeling, too. “It is he, Janice!” she said. “I am a slave! I am his slave! I am happy! I am so happy! I love you, Janice!”