The occupant of the chair tossed one of the pieces of meat to the floor.
I went to it, on all fours, and put down my head, and picked it up.
The next tidbit of meat he tossed to the first step of the dais, where I retrieved it.
I looked up at him, the palms of my hands on the firs step of the dais, my knees on the flagging below the dais.
He tossed the next piece of meat on the second step.
Obediently I took it. He was drawing me upward.
The next tidbit he threw to the floor of the dais, before his chair. I crawled to the floor of the dais and put down my head and picked up the bit of meat. I was grateful for it. I had not had beat since the pens. I looked up at him. My hair fell before my shoulders. I was nude. My neck was innocent of a collar. On my thigh there was, of course, the brand. Once or twice in the pens I had been given a candy, a hard candy, and once, a part of a pastry. I did not hope for such items here, of course, at least at this time. He now held the next piece of meat between his fingers. I was to approach him, and take the it from his hand. I crawled to him, and knelt before him, and dared to put my hands upon his left knee. Dorna, the high slave, was a little before me, and to my right. She was standing beside the arm of the thronelike chair, at his left. I put my head forward, delicately, to take the piece of meat, but he drew back his hand a little. I then drew back my head a little, and looked up at him.
“You are from the world called “Earth”?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“What have you learned of our world?” he asked.
“Very little, Master,” I said.
“But you have learned how to obey, have you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Are the women of your world obedient?” he asked.
“Doubtless some, Master,” I said.
“But you were not,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“But you have now learned to obey, have you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And you now obey very well, do you not?”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Instantaneously, and unquestioningly?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He then put the bit of meat into my mouth.
I took it, gratefully. I finished it. I looked up at him. I hoped that he found me of interest. Women such as I, on this world, must please men. It is what we are for.
“Do not concern yourself with her,” said Dorna. “She is totally unworthy of your attention. She is nothing, only a slut from Earth.”
The broad-shouldered, large-handed man looked down upon me. How tiny I felt before him. He had been referred to as an “officer” by the jailer. Those large hands, I suspected, were not unpracticed in the techniques of weaponry. Certainly they seemed rough, and strong. I feared to sense what they might feel like on my body.
At his least touch I knew I would respond to him as what I was, a kajira.
Then I put my head down, quickly, for I sensed that he understood this, as well. Indeed, he could doubtless read women such as myself with ease. He had undoubtedly subjugated many of us in his time, reducing us to helpless, spasmodic, begging slaves.
“She has no status, even as a slave,” said Dorna. “Put her from your mind. She is only from Earth. She is entirely worthless.”
The fellow smiled at the insistence of the slave.
“They are the coldest of the cold,” said Dorna.
Two or three of the men about burst into laughter at this remark. They had experienced, and perhaps even owned, I gathered, women such as I, from Earth. Indeed, perhaps they kept one or more in their domiciles now. I doubted that we were brought to this world because we were cold. If anything, for another reason. I kept my head down. I reddened.
“Sometimes women learn heat in a collar,” said a man.
“I have heard that of a slave named “Dorna,”” said another. There was laughter. Dorna looked away, angrily.
“Are you “cold,” little kajira?” asked the man.
“I do not think so, Master,” I said.
I wondered if some women did not, indeed, learn their heat in a collar.
“They are the hottest of the hot,” said a man.
“It depends on the particular woman,” said a man.
That, I supposed, was true.
I did not believe, of course, that the women of my world were cold. Certainly, at least, they did not seem to be once they had come to this world. To be sure, there were doubtless many reasons for this. On this world we found ourselves in a true world, a biologically natural world, a world in which nature was fulfilled, and celebrated, not outlawed, denied, and denounced. Here a natural sexuality was acceptable. Indeed, it was required of us. Here, for example, we need not pretend to subscribe to the pathologies of identicalism, neuterism and personism. Here we found ourselves in the order of nature where, biologically, we belonged. And here, too, at last, after having lived for years in a sexual desert, unhappy, frustrated, deprived and starved, we find ourselves in a land of plenty. How eagerly we eat! How joyously we drink! But, too, of course, we have little choice in these matters. Heat is here required of us. Just as total passion and complete surrender were, in effect, forbidden to us on our old world, here they are, quite precisely, required of us. Do we have reservations, or scruples? Are there lingering vestiges of the barbaric conditioning programs to which we, even as innocent children, were subjected? Such reservations, such scruples, such vestiges, may be quickly removed with the lash.
“They are all cold,” insisted Dorna.
The fellow in the chair reached out and I watched his hand, with apprehension. Then he placed it on my body.
I gasped and drew back. I trembled. I closed my eyes, whimpered.
I tried to hold myself still. He must remove his hand! He must! He must!
“She would be hot in her chains,” laughed a man.
In another moment I felt I must thrust myself against him, again and again, desperately, kissing and whimpering.
Then, mercifully, he removed his hand from my body.
I looked up at him and, my eyes wide, licked and kissed his hand.
“They are all meaningless, hot-bellied sluts!” said Dorna. “That is all they are good for, rolling about, kicking, screaming, moaning, gasping, begging, in the furs!”
“They have many uses,” said a fellow.
“Yes,” laughed another.
“Slave belly!” snapped Dorna.
“I thought you said they were all cold,” said a man.
“No,” said Dorna. “It is rather that they are all trivially, meaninglessly hot.”
“They are the hottest of the hot,” said another man.
“It depends on the individual woman,” repeated another.
Again that seemed to me true.
“They are the lowest of the low!” said Dorna.