John Norman - Kajira of Gor

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“You understand, do you not,” he asked, “that this is a symbolic re-enactment and that it in no way compromises your slavery?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“For example,” he said, “for your treatment of me in Corcyrus, and for various insolences, and lapses, you must still answer to me, and to my whip.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You are now dressed, are you not,” he asked, “fully in the garments of the Tatrix, even to the nature, the subtlety and delicacy of the undergarments?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And beneath those,” he said, “in the eccentric undergarments of Earth, in garments similar to those which you, a barbarian, doubtless once wore there?”

“Yes,” I said. These undergarments had once belonged to Sheila. They had been, brought to Argentum by Menicius, for the inquiry. I supposed that now, technically, they might be the property of the state of Argentum. I, at any rate, did not own them. I could own nothing.

Rather it was I who was owned. Fortunately, Sheila and I were almost identically figured.

“Turn, Tatrix,” said Drusus Rencius.

I turned, obediently, before him. He sat in the curule chair, across, the room. I had been given the slave name, “Tatrix.” I had been given no choice in the matter, and I must respond to it, perfectly.

“Good,” he said. “Now walk back and forth, slowly.”

I did so.

Many of the garments I wore had been those which I myself had worn, when I had been playing the role of the Tatrix. This pleased Drusus Rencius. He remembered me in them.

“Good,” he said. “You may now stop.”

I stood then again before him, facing him.

“Turn again,” he said.

I did so.

“Good,” he said.

I wore no bond. He had even removed from me his collar. It hung now on the arm of the curule chair. There was no doubt, however, that I was a slave, or whose slave I was. I was branded, and I was paid for.

“You will now strip yourself naked, slowly,” he said. “I intend to enjoy this.”

I reached to the pins, at the side of the veil. One by one, I removed them. I then put the veil with its pins, to one side. I then, with both hands, putting back my head, brushed back the hood of the robes. I shook my head and arranged my hair. I then faced Drusus Rencius, face-stripped.

“Continue,” he said.

One by one I removed the garments of the Tatrix. Then I stood before him clad only in undergarments of Earth, in a brassiere and panties.

Drusus Rencius nodded.

I removed the brassiere, and straightened my body.

“Excellent,” he said.

I faced him.

“Now remove the last veil,” he said.

I bent down and, in a moment, stepped from the panties. I then, again, straightened myself before him. I hoped he liked what he saw. He owned it.

“Superb,” he said. “Superb!”

I smiled.

His face grew hard. “Kneel,” he said.

Swiftly I knelt, in the position of the pleasure slave.

I swallowed, hard. I saw that he had no intention of permitting my beauty, if beauty it was, which had at one time apparently been so tormenting to him, when it had been inaccessible, diminish in any way the perfections of his mastery of me.

He went to a chest at the side of the room, and drew forth a small, gray garment, which he threw to me. I caught it against my body. I shook it out, happily. “You kept it, Master!”

I laughed, delighted. It was the brief slave tunic, sleeveless and gray, which I had worn in the house of Kliomenes, so long ago, in Corcyrus.

“Yes,” he said, “for when you were my true slave.”

“I love it!” I said. To some, I suppose, it would have seemed a scandalous rag, unseemly and degrading, but I found it very beautiful, not only because of the lovely and sensitive way in which it enhanced and displayed the beauty of the female figure but because of memories with which it was associated, memories which, for me, at least, were very precious.

“Put it on,” he said.

Still kneeling, I drew it happily over my head. Then, slipped into it, I smoothed it down about my body.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. “Stand.”

I stood, and pulled it down more about my thighs. “It is rather short, though, isn’t it?” I said.

“It will be shorter,” he said, drawing out a knife.

“Master!” I protested, but he, with the knife, cutting and tearing, must have shortened it by at least two horts.

I looked down, dismayed.

“Later,” he said, “sewing, smooth out the hem.”

“But if I take up the hem,” I said, “it will be even shorter!”

“Must a command be repeated?” he asked.

“No, my master!” I said.

He then stepped back, to regard me.

I pulled down at the sides of the garment. If it had been much shorter, I feared my brand might have shown!

“Stand straight,” he said.

I did so, my hands at my side.

“A great improvement,” he said. “Even though it is perhaps a bit long it is now, at least, within the normal ranges for slave lengths. Yes, I think it is now, even though a bit long, acceptable for a slave, even perhaps suitable for one. Before, of course, it was suitable, intentionally, only for a free woman pretending to be a slave.”

“Turn,” he said.

I did so.

“Yes,” he said, “I think it is now suitable, or will be, when you have attended to the hem, shortening it still further.”

I knew that I must learn to go forth in such garments, the garments of slaves.

I stole a furtive glance at a mirror. The garment, I saw, to my pleasure, set me off beautifully, though, to be sure, as what I was, a slave.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes!” I said.

“You may now remove it,” he said, “and kneel again, as you were before, before me.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, He returned to the curule chair.

I was then again before him as I had been, naked and kneeling.

“You are aware, doubtless,” he said, “that my feelings toward you are, or were, extremely complex.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. “And if I may speak of such matters, in my opinion, you have understood me very well in some things, and very little in others. Also, it seems you have sometimes wanted me to be, or expected me to be, things which I was not.”

“Do you understand what we are doing here?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. It was now clear to me. He had seen me as a Tatrix, he had seen me stripped, he had seen me again in the garment, subsequently shortened to slave length, which I had worn in the house of Kliomenes and in the room in the inn of Lysias.

“When we have completed this symbolic re-enactment,” he said, “you, regardless of what you may or may not have been, will be, in my mind and in yours, my slave, in a modality which I find acceptable.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. I was, of course, already his slave, legally, totally, and in my heart. I suspected that he might now have come to sense this, but that he was not sure of it. Accordingly, he would take no chances with me. I would be put through processes of enslavement, and rites of submission, the, outcome of which, no matter what might be my nature, motivations or dispositions, would be to make clear to me my condition, that I was, whatever I was, scheming woman or loving female, his slave, and totally.

“Three things will now be done to you, matter-of-factly, and in order,” he said.

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Down on all fours,” he said, “and crawl here, head down, to the foot of the chair.”

I did so and there, unceremoniously, he crouching down, behind me and to my left, I was collared. He was not gentle with me.

“Kneel back on your heels,” he said, “and extend your arms, wrists crossed.”