John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

She looked up at me, happily.

“Do you think that you are much of a slave?” I asked.

“No. Master,” she said.

“You need a bath,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Your body smells,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“It stinks,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.” To be sure, her pretty little body stank. This was little wonder, considering what her experiences had been, and the beatings I had put her through. Too, it was covered with dirt and sweat, much of the dirt in small, fine rolls on the fairly complexioned, exposed flesh.

There were tears in her eyes.

I heard then a sound at the door.

“On your belly,” I told her.

Swiftly she fell to her belly on the tiles before me, her hands at the sides of her head.

“Master!” she said, then hearing someone at the door.

“Lie quietly, Slave,” I said, “or you will be whipped.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Who is it?” I called.

“It is I, Lola,” I heard. “I have brought your things.” She had followed me, dallying according to my instructions, to give me time to introduce the new girl into my house.

I went to the door and, opening it, admitted Lola. She entered, carrying my gear, that which I had taken to the other house. She knelt deferentially before me. “I kneel before my Master,” she said. “You may arise,” I said. “Thank you, Master,” she said. “Put my gear to the side,” I said. “And lock the door.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. She did these things, and then walked to the center of the room. She looked down at the prone slave. “Well, what have we here,” she asked, “a well-tamed, well-whipped slave?”

The prone slave was silent, trembling.

“Well?” asked Lola, suddenly, viciously, kicking the girl in the side.

“Yes, Mistress,” cried the girl, “I am a well-tamed, well-whipped slave!”

“My Master knows well how to handle a woman,” said Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“Do you remember that, when you were free, you once took me to the docks and sold me?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl, “but now, I, too, am only a slave.”

“Do you think you will make a good slave?” asked Lola.

“I will try, desperately, Mistress,” said the girl.

“Who is first girl?” asked Lola.

“I do not know, Mistress,” cried the slave.

“Lola is first girl,” I informed her.

“You are first girl, Mistress,” cried the slave, “you are first girl!”

“Have you ever seen your collar?” asked Lola.

“No, Mistress,” said the girl. “When it was fastened on me, I was hooded.”

“Would you like to see it?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

Lola, from a chest near one wall, fetched forth a mirror, which she held close to the tiles, that the prone slave might for the first time see the collar in which she had been placed.

“It is beautiful,” breathed the slave, touching it, “it is beautiful!” I smiled. It was only a common collar, of a sort which many girls on Gor wore. Yet, to be sure, it was attractive. It, like most slave collars for women, was designed for both beauty and security.

“You know the meaning of a slave collar, don’t you?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“You look well in one, don’t you?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“You belong in one, don’t you?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“There is writing here on the collar,” said Lola. “It says, ‘I am the property of Jason of Victoria.’”

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“It will well serve to identify you, will it not?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

“Is what it says true?” asked Lola.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl, “it is true!” I thought I saw her shudder with pleasure on the tiles.

In a moment Lola had replaced the mirror in the chest, and closed the chest. She then came to where I stood. Together we regarded the prone slave. “She is a pretty little thing,” said Lola.

“I think she will prove satisfactory,” I said, “for the purposes for which I require her, those of a common slave, a low slave, one to be set chores about the house, and one from whom full domestic services will be required.”

Lola looked at me.

“‘Domestic services’ in the Gorean sense,” I said.

Lola laughed. Certainly the former Miss Henderson, of Earth, should have her sensuous possibilities exploited. How absurd it would be to permit those conquered curves to languish.

“What are your commands, Master?” asked Lola.

“In two days, in the evening,” I said, “I shall have a small supper here, nothing pretentious, just something for a few friends. Substantially the affair will be catered by the tavern of Tasdron, but there will be much shopping and cooking for you, too, to do.”

“I understand, Master,” said Lola.

“The house, of course, is to be spotless,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“And I shall also depend upon you for decorations, that the house may appear festive, lamps and ribbons, and flowers, and such.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Too, see to it that some small, tasteful entertainment is provided.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“If things are not perfect,” I said, “I shall not be pleased.”

“Master will be pleased,” she said.

“It is late now,” I said.

“What of her?” asked Lola, gesturing with her head toward the prone slave.

We walked over to where the former Miss Henderson lay. I turned her over with my foot, and looked down upon her.

“She does not even know how to lie at a man’s feet,” said Lola. She then crouched down and turned the girl’s hands so that their backs rested on the tiles, and the soft, open palms were vulnerably exposed to me. Also she lifted her left knee, that it might be flexed. “There,” she said, “that is better.” There are many ways, of course, for a woman to lie at a man’s feet. Lola had selected, however, one of the loveliest.

The girl looked up at me, frightened.

I walked about her and, with my foot, turned her again to her stomach.

“What is to be done with her?” asked Lola.

“Clean her stinking slave’s body,” I said, “and then kennel her for the night.”

“Look,” said Lola, suddenly, “she is unconscious.” She bent down beside the girl. “She has fainted,” she laughed.

“It has been hard on her,” I said. “She had to learn much this evening.”

“In a collar a girl must learn quickly,” said Lola.

“It is true,” I said.

I turned away. I was weary.

“Master,” called Lola.

“Yes,” I said.

“How is she to be treated?”

“You are first girl,” I said. “You hold switch rights over her. See that she is worked well.”

“Full discipline?” asked Lola.

“Of course,” I said.

“Excellent, Master,” said Lola.

I hung the slave whip on its hook, and then went to the stairs, and, wearily, began to climb them. “Master,” called Lola. When I reached the height of the stairs and stood upon the landing before my bedroom door, I turned to look down upon Lola. “Yes,” I said. “Are you certain that, when I have cleaned her, you do not want me to send her to your room?” she asked. “No,” I said. “I do not even want to see her until the party.”

“Yes, Master,” said Lola. “Master.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You mentioned entertainment.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Is this pretty little slave,” asked Lola, indicating the unconscious former Miss Henderson, “to be included in the entertainment?”