John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“I have never doubted it,” I said.

“You may serve the black wine now, in small cups, Lola,” said Miss Henderson.

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Lola.

This was a delicacy. I had purchased some, some days ago, but we had not yet served it. In a few Ehn Lola returned with the tray, with the vessel of steaming liquid, the cream and sugars, the tiny cups, and the small spoons for mixing and measuring.

“Delicious,” said Miss Henderson.

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Lola. She then drew back a bit, and knelt, to be unobtrusive, and yet available, instantly, to serve, should free folk wish aught.

“You are a very pretty girl, Lola,” said Miss Henderson, regarding her.

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Lola, her head down.

“Men must find you attractive,” said Miss Henderson.

“Perhaps, Mistress,” said Lola, “some men.” I smiled to myself. The man who did not find Lola attractive must indeed be an inert dolt.

“How long have you been a slave?” asked Miss Henderson.

“Four years, Mistress,” said Lola.

“Have you had several Masters?” asked Miss Henderson.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Lots.

“Have you served them as a slave?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Lola.

“As a full slave?” asked Miss Henderson.

Lola lowered her head further. “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered.

“Do you enjoy their hands on your body?” asked Miss Henderson.

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Lola.

“I see that you are a true slave,” said Miss Henderson.

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Lola.

“Incidentally,” I said to Miss Henderson, “move your things out of the master bedroom.”

“It is my bedroom!” she said.

“No,” I said. “I am taking it. It is larger. And it has a porch, and a view of the garden and sky. I am renting the house. I am making it mine.”

“No!” she said.

“Too,” I said, “it has the great couch, the one with the slave ring at its foot.”

“I see,” said Miss Henderson, looking angrily at Lola. Lola did not raise her head, but knelt there, her knees close together, in the brief slave tunic. “I see,” said Miss Henderson, and rose to her feet, hurrying angrily upstairs.

I finished my black wine, enjoying it. When I had finished I permitted Lola to clear the table and address herself to the work in the kitchen.

After a time I went upstairs. Miss Henderson had cleared the room. I looked at the heavy iron slave ring, about eight inches in diameter, set in the stone of the great couch. I then went into Miss Henderson’s room. She was sitting on the couch. “You did not knock.” she said. “I need not knock to enter the room of my kept woman,” I said. I then took my things from the room and put them into the master bedroom. I looked over the balustrade to the sky beyond It was lovely. As I again started downstairs I met Miss Henderson on the landing. She, too, was going downstairs.

“You seem angry,” I said.

“Not I,” she said.

“Why are you going downstairs?” I asked.

“To supervise the slave,” she said. “Such girls are lazy and will do no work if they are not closely watched.”

I stepped aside and let her precede me down the stairs. She was a free woman, and a woman of Earth. She was not a slave, who must heel her master.

“Come here, Lola,” I said.

It was now in the early evening. Miss Henderson and I, with small cups of a Turian liqueur before us, lounged, in the living room. A tharlarion-oil lamp lit the room.

“Stand here,” I told Lola.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Surely you are not angry,” I said to Miss Henderson, “that I bought her.” I faced Lola away from me. I put my hands on her ankle. “Look at this ankle,” I said. Lola trembled. “And these calves and thighs,” I said, “and the luscious, central curves of her, and these breasts and shoulders.” I was now standing beside the slave. I put my hand under her chin, lifting it up. “And this neck, in my collar,” I said, “and this head and face, and this hair. Surely you can see that she is an excellent buy.”

“Yes,” said Miss Henderson, angrily, “she was an excellent buy!”

“When you have finished your work tonight, Lola,” I said, “go upstairs to the master bedroom. Take your clothes off, and kneel there, by the slave ring, and await my pleasure.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, and went then, hurriedly, to the kitchen.

“Just like that?” asked Miss Henderson.

“Of course,” I said. “She is a slave.”

“It must be pleasant to have such absolute power over a woman,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

In time Miss Henderson and I had finished our liqueur. Lola cleaned the glasses and put them away. Then, head down, quietly, when she had finished, she slipped past us and made her way upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Do you find her more beautiful than I?” asked Miss Henderson.

“She is quite beautiful,” I said, “But I do not think that she is more beautiful than you. You are quite beautiful, you know.”

“Yet it is she whom you kneel at your slave ring, not I,” said Miss Henderson.

I gritted my teeth, forcing the thought of Miss Henderson kneeling naked at my slave ring, awaiting my pleasure, from my mind. It was all I could do to control myself. She was the most incredibly, attractive female I had ever known.

“You are a free woman,” I said.

“Perhaps I would make a good slave,” she said.

“I doubt it,” I said “You are a woman of Earth.”

“Gorean men say that we make excellent slaves,” she said. “It is only necessary that we understand clearly that we are slaves, and are put under discipline. We then blossom in our slavery; beautifully, as much or perhaps even more so than Gorean girls.”

“I have given you respect,” I said. “I have given you freedom. I have given you money. I have relieved you of work. I have denied you nothing. Yet you remain dissatisfied.”

“You have denied me one thing,” she said.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A collar,” she said.

“Go to your room,” I said.

“Of course,” she said. “Let me not keep you from your slut.”

She rose from the table and, lifting the hem of her robes, went to the stairs.

“She is doubtless already naked, and at your ring,” she said.

“She had better be,” I said, “unless she wishes to be whipped.”

Angrily, Miss Henderson ascended the stairs.

“Miss Henderson,” I called.

“Yes, Mister Marshall,” she said.

“Remember that your door is to be left unbolted,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “That my door be bolted is not permitted. A keeper must always have access to his kept woman.”

She then entered her room, the smaller room which, previously, had been mine. She closed the door firmly, decisively, angrily.

I listened carefully.

She did not bolt it.

I then, not hurrying, went upstairs. I entered my room and closed the door behind me, bolting it.

I looked down at Lola. She knelt naked, at the ring. She looked up at me, and smiled. “I await your pleasure, Master,” she said.

“Spread the furs,” I said, “and light the ravishment lamp.”

I removed my tunic, throwing it aside.

In a few moments Lola lay on the furs, at the foot of the couch, on her belly, her hands at her sides, the backs of her hands to the furs, the palms of her hands vulnerably up, exposed.

I crouched beside her and took the nearby chain and collar. I fastened the chain to the slave ring and then closed the heavy collar about her neck, over the other collar. She was then chained by the neck to my slave ring.