John Norman - Prize of Gor

She saw herself in the mirror, her image reflected from across the room, she sitting on the bed, with her knees drawn up, her left ankle toward the mirror, the gown up about her knees.

Hurriedly she drew down the gown, though not so much as to cover the ring on her ankle, which she continued to regard in the mirror, and herself.

In the instant before she had drawn the gown down she had seen her calves in the mirror, and, to her surprise, to her fear, and with perhaps an unwilling, sudden moment of apprehensive pleasure, she realized that there was still there in her body, even now, a turn of roundedness, and softness, about them. They were still, even now, even in her present age, obviously the calves of a female, and perhaps those of one once not altogether unpleasant to look upon, even in the deplorable physical sense, and she did not think them unattractive.

She sat there, then, for a moment, regarding herself, the gown now modestly drawn downward, but the steel still visible in the mirror.

Then she drew the gown upward a tiny bit, the better to see the device, she told herself.

Then, hurriedly, she drew it down again.

She regarded herself in the great mirror.

She saw herself.

She did not understand where she was, or what had been done to her. She did know that she was in a strange bed, in a strange room, and in a strange garment.

She regarded herself in the mirror.

She was ankleted.

“I thought you were awake,” he said, looking up from the desk. “I thought I heard you cry out, a bit ago, from within.”

She stood in the threshold of the bedroom, having emerged from it, now facing the room outside.

“Where am I?” she cried. “What am I doing here? What is the meaning of this? Where are my clothes? Why am I dressed like this?”

“Did you enjoy the performance of La Bohème ?” he asked.

She looked about the room, frightened, tears burning in her eyes. The room seemed rather officelike, and there were shelves of books about the walls, and certain curios here and there, and occasional meaningless bric-a-brac, or so one supposes, and some filing cabinets, some office machinery, diverse paraphernalia, some chairs.

There was no window in the room, but it was well lit, indirectly.

“I want my clothes!” she said.

“You may inquire later about your clothing, but not now,” he said.

The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman, to whom the older woman had taken such an instant dislike, whom she had scorned as so simple, so unworthy of the male, the one who had accompanied him to the performances, and had been his companion in the limousine, she who seemed so vital, so alive, so sensuous, who was so insolently, so excitingly figured, who was so primitive, so sensual that she seemed little more than a luscious, beautiful, well-curved animal designed by nature to stimulate and satisfy with perfection the lowest, the most basic and the most physical needs of powerful, inconsiderate men, was also in the room. Oddly, in spite of the fact that there were chairs in the room, she was kneeling, beside the desk. She wore a brief, silken, scarlet, diaphanous gown. It left little to conjecture of, concerning her beauty. The older woman enjoyed looking down upon her, seeing her there on her knees, so garbed. Hostility, like cold wire, was taut between the women.

The young man rose from behind the desk, and drew a chair toward the desk, placing it before the desk.

“Please seat yourself,” he invited the older woman.

“You will let her sit?” cried the woman kneeling beside the desk.

He turned a sharp glance upon the speaker, and, suddenly, her entire demeanor changed, and she trembled, shrinking down, making herself small, and holding her head down.

“Tutina, it seems, forgot herself,” said the young man. “I apologize. Do not fear. She will be disciplined.”

So ‘Tutina’, then, thought the older woman, is the name of that stupid tart! It seemed an odd name, an unfamiliar sort of name, but it did not seem inappropriate for one such as she, one who was so elementally, so simplistically, so reductively female. The older woman did not understand the meaning of the reference to “discipline,” but something in that word, seemingly in its very sound, terrified her. Did it suggest that the woman’s femininity, the very principle of her femininity, was somehow uncompromisingly subjected to his masculinity, to the very principle of his masculinity?

The young man then turned again, affably, toward the older woman, indicating the chair.

Clearly the blonde was frightened.

The older woman, too, was frightened, for she had seen his glance. She looked about, wildly.

“There is no telephone in the room,” he said.

“I shall scream,” whispered the older woman, knowing she would not do so.

“It would do you no good,” the young man said. “We are in an isolated dwelling, on a remote estate.”

There was another door in the room, other than that which led in from the bedroom. Suddenly, awkwardly, she fled toward it, and flung it open. Outside two men, large, unpleasant looking men, one of them the chauffeur, rose suddenly from chairs, blocking her way.

She shrank back.

“Do you want her stripped and bound, and thrown to your feet?” inquired the chauffeur.

“No,” said the young man, agreeably.

“She wears the anklet,” said the chauffeur.

“That will be all,” said the young man to the chauffeur, and then the chauffeur and his companion drew back, chastened, deferentially closing the door behind them. “Please,” said the young man to the older woman, gently, indicating the chair he had placed before the desk.

She stood before the chair.

“I searched in the all the drawers, and the chests, in the bedroom,” she cried, “and my clothes were not there! Then I came out.”

“Dressed as you are,” said the young man.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I had thought you might have wrapped yourself in a sheet, or comforter, or such,” he smiled.

“I shall go back and do so,” she said.

“You have chosen to present yourself as you are, and you will remain clad as you are,” he said.

The blond woman looked up from her knees, a tiny smile on her lips.

“I want my clothing,” said the older woman.

“I told you that you might inquire later about your clothing, not now,” said the young man, evenly.

“This is all I have on!” protested the older woman, indicating the starched, white, stiff gown, so simple, so antiseptic, in its appearance. It was substantially open in the back, save for two ties, one at the back of the neck and another at the small of the back.

“Not all, actually,” said the young man.

She looked down at her left ankle. “Remove this horrid thing from my ankle!” she demanded.

“It is certainly not horrid,” he said. “It is actually quite attractive. It sets your ankle off very nicely. Indeed your ankle looks as though it might have been made to be encircled by such a ring. Do not concern yourself with it. The steel, circling closely about the flesh, is indisputably lovely, as well as, independently, of course, quite meaningful.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“You are not alone,” he said. He turned to Tutina, who was now, as he stood, to his left. “Anklet!” he snapped.

Instantly she turned about, sinuously, and, half lying, half kneeling, extended her left leg, gracefully, toward the older woman, her knee slightly bent, her toes pointed, extending the line of her well-curved calf. There, on her ankle, there was a similar ring.

The older woman gasped, in misery. Did this mean that she, somehow, now shared some status, or condition, with that other woman, that trivial, simple, stupid, hated, beautiful Tutina? Surely not! Too, she now understood the meaning of the bandage which had been worn by Tutina to both performances. It was to conceal the device on her ankle, which had not been removed. It seemed that Tutina might be no more capable than she of removing the device, and, too, that she might be kept within it much as a matter of course. Too, the older woman was alarmed, and troubled, by the sudden, prompt, immediate, graceful response of Tutina to the utterance “Anklet!” It was as though she had been trained to present the device for easy view, and immediately, gracefully, beautifully, upon the utterance of that word, which, it seemed, constituted an understood, familiar command. Lastly the older woman sensed, from the sharpness with which the command had been issued, that the young man was not pleased with Tutina. That doubtless went back to Tutina’s protest when the young man had invited her to seat herself. The older woman suspected that the young man might recall this lapse, if lapse it was, to Tutina when they were alone. Certainly, after the incident, Tutina had appeared to be uneasy, and perhaps apprehensive.