Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 56
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
"Do not kill me!" she begged. It must have been painful for her to hold her head up, as she was, on her belly, in the furs, in the net, to look at Marcus. He did not speak.
"Please do not kill me," she wept, "a€”Master!"
"I am not your master," he said.
She looked at him, wildly. "Who, then," she said, "is my master?"
"I am," I said.
I seized her by the upper arms, from behind, and half lifting her, pulled her up, and back, to her knees, tangled in the net. She turned wildly in the net, to see me over her right shoulder, and our eyes met, and she recognized me, and she gasped, and half cried out, and then I had to hold her on her knees, as she had fainted. I lowered her to the furs. I then threw the bracelets with the linked shackles on the furs to her left. I then removed her, carefully, from the net. Then, in a moment, she was in the bracelets, back-braceleted, with her ankles, shackled, pulled up, and back, attached by a short chain to the linkage of the bracelets.
"I shall sign the papers," I said to Tolnar.
"And I shall stamp, and certify them," he said.
27 We Take Our Leave
"Extend your left wrist," I said to Milo.
He did so, and I unlocked the silver slave bracelet there, and handed it to him, with the key.
The new slave, the dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty who had but recently been the Ubara of Ar, was still unconscious. I had removed her from the couch and put her on the floor, on the heavy, flat stones, on her side, some feet to the left of the couch, as one faced it, from the foot, her wrists behind her, braceleted, chained to her ankles, her neck fastened by a short chain to a recessed slave ring. Near her, but not yet fixed upon her, were the makings of a gag.
"I do not understand," said Milo.
"It is silver," I said. "Perhaps you can sell it."
"I do not understand," he said.
"And these papers," I said, "are pertinent to you. They are all in order. I had Tolnar and Venlisius prepare them, before they left."
"Papers, Master?" he asked.
"You can read?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," he said.
"Do not call me "Master'," I said.
"Master?" he asked.
"The papers are papers of manumission," I said. "I am no longer your master. You no longer have a master."
"Manumission?" he asked.
"You are free," I told him.
Lavinia, kneeling nearby, gasped, and looked up, wildly, at Milo.
"I have never been free," he said.
"No," I said.
"Does master not want me?" he asked.
"I do not even have a theater," I said. "What do I need with an actor?"
"You could sell me," he said.
"You are not a female," I said.
He looked down, wildly, at Lavinia.
"Now that," I said, "is a female. That is something fit for slave."
"But your loss is considerable," he said.
"One tarsk bit, to be exact," I said.
He smiled.
"For so little," I said, "one could purchase little more than the services of a new slave for an evening in a paga tavern, one still striving desperately to learn how to be pleasing."
"Women are marvelous!" he exclaimed.
"They are not without interest," I granted him.
Lavinia put down her head, as it had been she upon whom his eyes had been fixed when he had uttered his recent expression of enthusiasm. To be sure, when one sees one woman as beautiful, it is easy to see the beauty in thousands of others.
"I have always been a slave," he said, "even when I was a boy."
"I understand," I said.
"I was a pretty youth," he said.
"I understand," I said.
"And I have always been denied women, warned about them, scolded when I expressed interest in them, sometimes beaten when I looked upon them."
"I know a world where such things, in a sense, are often done," I said, "a world in which, for political purposes, and to further the interests and ambitions of certain factions, there are wholesale attempts to suppress, thwart, stunt and deny manhood. This results, of course, also in the cessation or diminishment of womanhood, but that does not concern the factions as it is only their own interests which are of importance to them."
"How could such things come about?"
"Simply," I said. "On an artificial world, conditioned to approve of negativistic ideologies, with determination and organization, and techniques of psychological manipulation, taking advantage of antibiological antecedents, they may be easily accomplished."
"Even deviancy, and madness, threatening the future of the world itself?" he asked.
"Certainly," I said.
He shuddered.
"Some people are afraid to open their eyes," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"They have been told it is wrong to do so."
"That is insanity," he said.
"No," I said. "It is cleverness on the part of those who fear only that others will see."
He shuddered again.
"But perhaps one day they will open their eyes," I said.
He was silent.
"But put such places from your mind," I said. "Now you are free. No longer now need you deny your feelings. No longer now need you conceal, or deny, your manhood."
"I am truly free?" he said.
"Yes," I said. I handed him the papers, and he looked at them, and then put them in his tunic.
"I do not know how to act, how to be," he said.
"Your instincts will tell you, your blood," I said. "Their reality transcends your indoctrination, presented under the colors of reason, as though reason, itself, had content."
"I am a man," he said.
"It is true," I said.
"You would touch my hand?" he asked.
"I grasp it," I said, "in friendship, and, too, in friendship, I place my other hand on your shoulder. Do so as well with me, if you wish."
We held one another's hand, our hands then clasped. My left hand was on his right shoulder, and his on mine. "You are a man," I said. "Do not fear to be one."
"I am grateful," he said, "a€”sir."
"It is nothing," I said, "sir."
"I think it would be well for him to leave soon," said Marcus. "For all we know Appanius may have repented of his indiscretion and be returning with men." Lavinia looked up, agonized, at Milo.
"I liked your "Lurius of Jad'," I told him."
"Thank you," said Milo.
"I didn't," said Marcus.
"Marcus is prejudiced," I said.
"But he is also right," he said.
"Oh?" I said.
"You see?" said Marcus.
"I liked it," I said.
"I am not really an actor," said Milo.
"Oh?" I said.
"No," he said. "An actor should be able to act. What I do is to play myself, under different names. That is all."
"That is acting, of a sort," I said.
"I suppose you are right," he said.
"Of course, I am right," I said.
"You are a wonderful actor, Master!" exclaimed Lavinia to Milo. Then she put down her head, quickly, fearing that she might be struck.
"You called me "Master'," he said to her.
She lifted her head, timidly.
"It is appropriate," I said. "She is a slave. You are a free man." She had, of course, spoken without permission, but it seemed almost as though she had been unable to help herself. Considering the circumstances I decided to overlook the matter. To be sure, it would not do for her to make a habit of such errancies. "Forgive me, Master!" she whispered to me.
"You may speak," I said.
"It is only," she said, "that I think the great and beautiful Milo is a wondrous actor. It is not that he acts a thousand roles and we cannot identify him from one role to the next. It is rather that he is himself, in a thousand roles, and it is himself, his wondrous self, that we love!"
"There," I said to Marcus. "See?"
"Love?" said Milo, looking at the kneeling slave.
"Of course, my opinion is only that of a slave," she said, looking down. "That is true," I admitted.
"Love?" asked Milo, again, looking at the slave.
"Yes, Master," she said, not raising her head.
"Get your head up, slave," I said to her.
Lavinia raised her head.
"Put your head back, as far as you can," I said.
She did so. This raised the line of her breasts, and prominently displayed the collar.
"She is pretty, isn't she? I asked.
"She is a beautiful slave," said Milo.
Tears of vulnerability, and emotion, filled Lavinia's eyes.
"Milo had best be on his way," said Marcus.
"Yes," I said.
Lavinia sobbed, but she could not, of course, break position.
"But moments ago," said Milo to me, "you owned us both!"
"True," I said.
"You should leave," said Marcus to Milo.
Again Lavinia sobbed, a sob which shook her entire body, but again she could not break position.
"I think," said Milo to me, "that I would fain remain your slave."
"Why?" I asked.
"That I might upon occasion, when permitted," said Milo, "have the opportunity to look upon this woman."
"Do you find her of interest?" I asked.
"Of course!" he said, startled.
"Then she is yours," I said.
"Mine!" he cried.
"Of course," I said. "She is only a slave, a property, a trifle, a bauble. I give her to you. Here is the key to her collar." I pressed the key into his hand. "You may break position," I said to the slave.
She flung herself to her belly before me, covering my feet with kisses. "Thank you! Thank you, Master!" she wept.
"Your new master is there," I said, indicating Milo.
Quickly then she lay before him, kissing his feet. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you!"
He reached down, awkwardly, to lift her up, but it seemed she fought him, struggling, and could not be raised higher than to her knees, and then, he desisting in amazement, she had her head down again, to his feet, in obeisance, and was kissing them. She was laughing, and crying. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you! I will be hot, devoted and dutiful! I am yours! I will live to please you! I will live to love and serve you! I love you, my master!" She kissed him again, and again, about the feet, the ankles, the sides of the calves. Then she looked up at him, timidly, love bright in her eyes. "I will try to be a good slave to you, Master!" she said.
"Surely I must free you!" he cried.
"No!" she suddenly cried, in terror.
"No?" he said.
"No!" she said. "Please, no, my Master!"
"I have waited too long for my slavery! It is what I have desired and craved all my life! Do not take it from me!"
"I do not understand," he said, haltingly.
"I am not a man!" she said. "I am a woman! I want to love and serve, wholly, helplessly, unquestioningly, irreservedly, unstintingly! I want to ask nothing and to give all! I want to be possessed by you, to be yours literally, to be owned by you!"
He was speechless.
"My slavery is precious to me," she said. "Please, Master, do not take it from me!"
"What should I do?" he asked me, wildly.
Lavinia, too, kneeling before him, her arms not about his legs, looked at me, wildly, pleadingly, tears in her eyes.
"What do you want to do?" I asked him.
"Truly?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"She is beautiful!" he said.
"Of course," I said.
"I want her," he said.
"Subject to what limits?" I asked.
"To no limits," he said.
"Then it seems you want her wholly," I said.
"Yes," he said, "wholly."
There is only one way to have a woman wholly," I said, "and that is for her to be your slave, for you to own her."
"Please, please Master!" wept Lavinia, looking up at Milo. "Please, Master!"
"Do with her what you wish," I said. "But she is a slave. It is the only thing which will truly fulfill her. It is the only thing which will make her truly happy."
"I do not know what to do?" he said.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"I want to own her!" he cried, angrily. "I want to own every inch of her, every particle of her, every bit of her, totally, every hair on her head, every mark on her body, all of her, all of her! I want to own her, completely!"
"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!" said Lavinia.
"It is what you want, and it is what she wants, too," I said.
"You understand," said he to Lavinia, "that if I make this decision, it is made."
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"Once it is made, it is made," he said.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"And that is acceptable to you?" he asked.
"She is a slave," I said. "It makes no difference whether it is acceptable to her or not. You are the master."
He looked down at Lavinia.
"He is right, of course, Master," she said. "My wishes are nothing, as they are only the wishes of a slave. My will is nothing, as it is only the will of a slave. I am at your mercy, totally. I am in your power, completely."
"Aii!" he said, understanding this.
"Master?" she asked.
"You are my slave," he announced, accepting her.
"I love you, Master!" she wept, putting her head against his thigh.
"I own you," he said, softly, wonderingly.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Truly," he said.
"Yes, my master!" she said.
"It is one thing to own a woman," I said, "and it is another to have her within the bonds of an excellent mastery."
"Undoubtedly," he said.
"I do not think you have had much experience at this sort of thing," I said. "No," he admitted. "I haven't."
"Perhaps you, slave girl," I said to Lavinia, "can teach him something about the handling of slaves."
"Of course, Master," she smiled.
"You must make certain that you get everything you want from her," I said, "and then, if you wish, more, even a thousand times more."
"Aii!" he said.
"All is your due," I said. "She is a slave."
"How can I believe such happiness?" he asked.
"Do not yield to the temptation of being weak with her," I cautioned him. "She loves you, but she must also fear you. She must know that, you are not to be trifled with. She must know herself to be always within your discipline."
"I understand," he said.
"And as she is female," I said, "she may occasionally, curious, foolishly, particularly at first, wish to test the strength of your will, to discover, if you like, the boundaries of her condition."
"Master!" protested Lavinia.
"It is then up to you to teach her what they are, promptly, decisively, unmistakably."
"I understand," he said.
"She wants to know, so to speak, the length of her chain, the location of the walls of her cell. Too, she wants to be reassured of your strength. She wants to know that you are her master, truly, in the fullness of reality. Having learned this, she need not be so foolish in the future. She will have discovered that stone is hard and that fire burns. Thenceforth she will be in her place, pleased and content."
"The whip, tell him of the whip, Master!" said Lavinia.
"It is a symbol of authority, and an instrument of discipline," I said. "The slave is subject to it. Some masters think it is useful to occasionally use it on a slave, if only to remind her that she is a slave."
"How could anything so beautiful be touched with the leather?" he asked. "That we learn to obey, and who is master!" laughed Lavinia.
"Buy a whip," I advised him.
"Yes, Master," said Lavinia.
"You wish me to buy a whip?" asked Milo of the slave.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"But, why?" he asked.
"So I well know that I must obey, and be pleasing!" she said.
"I see," he said.
"And that you will have a convenient implement at hand for enforcing my discipline," she said.
"A whip, of course, is not absolutely necessary," I said. "There are many other means of enforcing discipline."
"True," said Lavinia.
"But there is much to be said for the whip," I said. "It is perhaps the simplest, most practical device for such purposes. It is also traditional. Also, of course, it has symbolic value."
Lavinia, on her knees, looked up at Milo, her master. "Yes, Master!" she said. "You truly think I should get a whip?" asked Milo. I was pleased that he had addressed this question to me, and not to Lavinia. He was beginning, I noted, to get a sense of the mastery. The decision in such matters lay among free men, not with slaves. Lavinia looked up at, smiling. She, too, to her delight, recognized that she had been left out of the matter. Milo was learning, quickly, how to relate to her, namely, as her master. She was a slave. Such decisions would be made by others. She would not participate in them, but, as was appropriate for a slave, simply abide by their consequences.
"Certainly," I said.
He pondered the matter.
"And," I said, glancing down at Lavinia, "if she is not pleasing, use it on her, literally, and well."
He swallowed, hard.
She put down her head, shyly.
"She is a slave," I said, "not a free companion, who may not be touched, to whom nothing may be done, even if she turns your life into a torture, even if she drives you mad, even if she intends to destroy you, hort by hort."
"She is so beautiful," he said. "It is hard to think of touching her with the whip."
"Sometimes," I said, "it is the most beautiful who are the most in need of a whipping."
"May I speak?" asked Lavinia.
"Yes," said Milo.
"Too, Master," said Lavinia. "I love you, so I want you, sometime, or sometimes, to whip me."
He regarded her, puzzled.
"I want to know I am your slave," she said.
"I do not understand," he said.
