Dancer of Gor

"Yes, Master," I said. I had tried to do my best to cook well for him. I hoped he had not been dissatisfied. He had eaten in silence, but well. I hoped I had not done too badly. I had not been whipped. The whip is a very tangible symbol of the relationship between the master and the slave, and if the master is not satisfied, it can quickly become, as the slave knows well, more than a symbol. After he had begun to eat he had given me a piece of bread, thrusting it in my mouth as I was, by his command, on all fours near him. After that he had, from time to time, thrown me scraps, tossing them to the crushed leaves. These I must eat without the use of my hands.

As a female I looked across at him, such a master. To no weaker man would I have cared to belong. He would command; I would obey. I was his.

"Perhaps Master will not bind his slave," I said.

He regarded me.

I could not deny that I loved bonds, both of a physical and social sort, those tangible evidences of my womanhood, and my place in nature. He might bind me, I supposed, merely to secure me for the night. On the other hand, I hoped that he might now bind me not for the night but rather for the evening, either in such a way as merely to make clear to me that I was a slave, little more than a symbolic binding, or even in such a way that I should be utterly helpless to resist his attentions, whatever they might be.

"You are a woman made for bonds," he said.

But he made no move to secure a neck chain, or physical bonds of any sort, not did he order me to fetch such, hurrying to him, say, with chains, responsive to his command, that would be placed on my own body.

"And love, Master," I said, boldly. "And love!"

He frowned.

"Forgive me, Master," I said.

To be sure, I already wore the most marvelous and joyous bonds of all, those of my womanhood, identical with myself, those of my slavery, natural and legal, and those of my love.

When I saw his eyes upon me I moved my knees a tiny bit further apart. I was a subtle thing. He was not surprised, really, to notice it, or much notice it, at least on a conscious level.

"You are a sly slave," he said.

"Forgive me, Master," I said. I considerably narrowed the gap between my knees. "No," he said. "Open your knees even more widely than they were before." "Yes, Master," I said. Now, of course, I was merely a slave, obeying the orders of her master. How far away then seemed Earth, and the library.

"May I speak, Master?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Fulvius," I said, "who was one of the brigands, did not care, it seems, to leave an enemy behind him."

My master nodded.

"I do not care to do so either," he said.

"But you released Sempronius and Callisthenes," I said. "You even showed them hospitality. You even put Tela and myself to their pleasure."

"They are not enemies," he said.

"I see," I said.

"One must beware of enemies," he said, "and the nobler they are, the more dangerous they are."

"I am surprised that you have kept this camp as long as you have," I said. "I gather this was in deference to Mirus, who was recovering his strength."

"Perhaps," he said.

"But you did not leave with him this afternoon," I said.

"No," he said.

"Perhaps you intend to leave the camp in the morning?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said.

I looked at my master. He had never used me. On Earth, and in the first house of my bondage, my virginity, it seemed, had protected me. Such was supposed to improve my price on the slave block, at least for certain buyers. Certainly it must have appealed to Hendow, for he had made good money on me, in the selling of chances, raffling it off. Then I had been lost to him for a long time. Then, in the meadow, he had found me. I had come again into his power. He had put sword claim upon me. I was his, his slave! But he had still not used me. He had put me to the pleasure of Sempronius. Later, by another simple exercise of the rights of his mastery, I must serve Mirus. Yet he had sought me for months. Surely that had not been done merely to put me to the purposes of others. I looked at him. Surely he must desire me. He had said as much. I shuddered. I was afraid, a little but terribly excited, to be the object of his desire, Gorean desire. It was so powerful, so ruthless, so absolutely uncompromising. Yet, too, I though, he must care for me. Surely he must! Indeed, he must care very much for me! Perhaps he even loves me, I thought, absurd though that might seem. Was that really so impossible? He must love me, I thought. He must!

"What is wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing, Master," I said.

I looked at him. I was sure he loved me!

"Are you sure there is nothing wrong?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said. "Master," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"You own me," I said. "I am your slave."

"Yes?" he said.

"But I am curious to know what my status is, Master," I said. I would try, slyly, to determine his feelings for me.

"Your status?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "What sort of slave am I?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Am I a high slave?" I asked.