not have a slave whip with me.”
“You would beat me?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
She shrank back against the logs.
I thought she would look well, in her curves, crawling at the feet of men,
reduced to the centrality of her womanhood, the female slave.
I then regarded the four women whose lips I had tasted. Each had, in a sense,
though free, prostituted herself to me, that she might thereby influence me to
rescue her from her clear and obvious plight, that of a debtor slut. Each was
willing to bestow her favors in order to obtain her redemption. These were
women, I had gathered, who had made a practice of relying upon the generosity
and nobility of men, or of some men, to obtain their way in life, in a sense
resorting frequently to types of female fraud, regularly exploiting and, in a
sense, making dupes of men. Doubtless they had, at least until now,
congratulated themselves on their success in such matters. Now, however, they
were chained to a log wall in an inn’s court. Frightened now, it seemed that
they, even though free, were ready to escalate the level of their artifices.
Perhaps in more normal times, perhaps even while they were still fully clothed,
and veiled, they might have found eager fellows to make good their bills,
perhaps at the first sign of distress, even the moistening of an eye. These,
however, were not normal times. I considered the four women. They had requested
to be tastes, as slaves. One had even begged explicitly, as I had seen to it she
would, she who reputed herself to be of high caste. That had amused me. Only the
first woman had not so demeaned herself. She, of all of them, was different.
I heard the small sound of her shackle chains on the ring. “I beg to be tasted,”
she said.
I looked upon her.
I saw that she was beautiful, and not different from the rest. She, too, was
only a slave.
“I beg it,” she said.
(pg.49) I regarded her.
“Are you disappointed in me?” she asked.
“If you were a free woman, perhaps,” I said, “but not if you are a slave.”
Even in the apparently freest of women, of course, there is a slave who waits
for her master. There is a Gorean saying to the effect that among women there
are only slaves who have masters and slaves who do not have masters. Some men
fear the slave in a woman; others provide it with the mastering it longs for,
and needs.
“Please,” she said.
“Who begs to be tasted?” I asked.
“The Lady Amina of Venna begs to be tasted,” she said.
Her sisters at the wall gasped at her boldness, that she should use her own name
in this fashion, rather as might a slave.
She looked at me.
She could not pull far from the wall because of her shackles. If she were to be
kissed, it would be at my discretion.
“Lady Amina begs it,” she said.
She was a free woman. Yet I saw that she was well curved, and would nestle well
within the arms of a master.
“Please,” she said.
I went to her and took her in my arms. I drew her toward me, from the wall. The
shackle chain moved in the ring. Because of the chaining she was bent back. I
looked upon her. Though she was free she, like the others, was neither clothed
nor veiled. Thus, though she was a free woman, her lips were open to me, naked
to me, exposed, in the manner of the slave. She looked up at me, those lovely,
vulnerable lips parted. She felt slave good in my arms. I kissed her.
“Oh!” she said, softly, as I drew back.
I had made the determination in which I was interested. She belonged in a
collar.
I against considered them. They were all beautiful, stripped, and shackled close
to the wall. They had all, it seemed, more or less recently, chosen to live
dangerously. But perhaps they had chosen to live a little too dangerously. I
thought they might all look well on a slave block.
But I proceeded under the overhang to the open space between the two parts of
the inn, the covered way there, with (pg.50) its high roof, that
“You would beat me?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
She shrank back against the logs.
I thought she would look well, in her curves, crawling at the feet of men,
reduced to the centrality of her womanhood, the female slave.
I then regarded the four women whose lips I had tasted. Each had, in a sense,
though free, prostituted herself to me, that she might thereby influence me to
rescue her from her clear and obvious plight, that of a debtor slut. Each was
willing to bestow her favors in order to obtain her redemption. These were
women, I had gathered, who had made a practice of relying upon the generosity
and nobility of men, or of some men, to obtain their way in life, in a sense
resorting frequently to types of female fraud, regularly exploiting and, in a
sense, making dupes of men. Doubtless they had, at least until now,
congratulated themselves on their success in such matters. Now, however, they
were chained to a log wall in an inn’s court. Frightened now, it seemed that
they, even though free, were ready to escalate the level of their artifices.
Perhaps in more normal times, perhaps even while they were still fully clothed,
and veiled, they might have found eager fellows to make good their bills,
perhaps at the first sign of distress, even the moistening of an eye. These,
however, were not normal times. I considered the four women. They had requested
to be tastes, as slaves. One had even begged explicitly, as I had seen to it she
would, she who reputed herself to be of high caste. That had amused me. Only the
first woman had not so demeaned herself. She, of all of them, was different.
I heard the small sound of her shackle chains on the ring. “I beg to be tasted,”
she said.
I looked upon her.
I saw that she was beautiful, and not different from the rest. She, too, was
only a slave.
“I beg it,” she said.
(pg.49) I regarded her.
“Are you disappointed in me?” she asked.
“If you were a free woman, perhaps,” I said, “but not if you are a slave.”
Even in the apparently freest of women, of course, there is a slave who waits
for her master. There is a Gorean saying to the effect that among women there
are only slaves who have masters and slaves who do not have masters. Some men
fear the slave in a woman; others provide it with the mastering it longs for,
and needs.
“Please,” she said.
“Who begs to be tasted?” I asked.
“The Lady Amina of Venna begs to be tasted,” she said.
Her sisters at the wall gasped at her boldness, that she should use her own name
in this fashion, rather as might a slave.
She looked at me.
She could not pull far from the wall because of her shackles. If she were to be
kissed, it would be at my discretion.
“Lady Amina begs it,” she said.
She was a free woman. Yet I saw that she was well curved, and would nestle well
within the arms of a master.
“Please,” she said.
I went to her and took her in my arms. I drew her toward me, from the wall. The
shackle chain moved in the ring. Because of the chaining she was bent back. I
looked upon her. Though she was free she, like the others, was neither clothed
nor veiled. Thus, though she was a free woman, her lips were open to me, naked
to me, exposed, in the manner of the slave. She looked up at me, those lovely,
vulnerable lips parted. She felt slave good in my arms. I kissed her.
“Oh!” she said, softly, as I drew back.
I had made the determination in which I was interested. She belonged in a
collar.
I against considered them. They were all beautiful, stripped, and shackled close
to the wall. They had all, it seemed, more or less recently, chosen to live
dangerously. But perhaps they had chosen to live a little too dangerously. I
thought they might all look well on a slave block.
But I proceeded under the overhang to the open space between the two parts of
the inn, the covered way there, with (pg.50) its high roof, that
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