"I am only human," I said angrily. "Let us go now to the lodge of Canka."

She rose to her hands and knees. Her breasts depended beautifuly. "Have I disturbed Master?" she asked.

"No," I said, angrily. "Of course not."

"That is good," she said. She then crawled to me, and knelt before me.

"That is the position of a tower slave," I said.

"Oh," she said. The position of the tower slave, in most cities, is very similar to that of the pleasure slave. The major difference is that the tower slave, whose duties are commonly, primarily, domestic, kneels with her knees in a closed position, where as the pleasure slave, in a symbolic recognition of the fuller nature of her bondage, and its most significant aspects, kneels with them in an open position. The tower slave, of course, like any other slave, is fully at the disposal of the master, in any and every way. The distinction between the tower slave and the pleasure slave, through honored in some markets, some specializing in girls sold primarily for housekeeping purposes and others in girls sold pirmariliy for the pleasures of men, it is not really a hard-and-fast distinction; it is not absolute; indeed, it can even be transitory. A girl who is ordered to open her knees, of who finds them kicked apart, for example, realizes that she has now become a pleasure slave. Similarly a girl in one context may fuction as one kind of slave and in another context as another sort. Serving a supper to a young man and his mother, for example, the girl may appear merely efficient and deferential. She kneels nearby, her knees closed. After the mother departs, however, she may kneel differently before the young man, with her knees open, his.

Winyela opened her knees, spreading them widely, kneeling back on her heels.

"You may retain the position of the tower slave," I said, sweating.

"Please, Master," she said. "I am a Pleasure Slave. It will be better for my discipline to be forced to remain kneeling in this, the more reveialing and degrading position. Too, this position, so open and exposed, can be of service in reminding me, lest I be tempted to become arrogant or proud, of my lowliness, my purposes and condition."

"You would choose," I asked, "to kneel in the position of the pleasure slave, that position of female degredation and debasement, imposed on certain females by men, of utter female vulnerability, helplessness and beauty?"

"Yes, Master," she said. "Considering the nauture of my bondage it is suitable for me. It is, considering the sort of slave I am, fitting and proper for me."

"You like it," I said.

"I am confortable in it," she said, evasively.

"You like it," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I find it deeply exciting and thrilling. I love kneeling in it."

"You are so proud to kneel in it," I said, startled.

"Yes," she said.

"Brazen hussy," I said.

"Yes, Maser," she said.

I looked at her. She straightened her body even more. "It seems to suit you well," I said.

"It suits me perfectly," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I am a pleasure slave," she said.

I rose to my feet. I prepared to snap my fingers.

"I love being owned by men," she said. "I do not find it degrading or debasing. I find it exalting and fulfilling. Do not despise me for what I am."

"And what are you?" I asked.

"A woman," she said.

"And a slave," I said.

"Yes," she said, "a woman and a slave."

I extened my hand. I would snap my fingers. When I snapped my fingers she would rise to her feet and follow me, heeling me, like the sleek domestic beast she was, to her master's lodge. One of the first things a girl is taught to dois to heel.

"Have I not convinced you, Master," she asked, "that a slave has certain powers?"

"Perhaps some piteously limited powers," I said, "such as might characterize any owned beast."

"Of course," she laughed.

"You are truly a pleasure slave, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You seem much different now from Miss Millicet Aubrey-Welles, the upper-class girl, the debutante, from Pennsylvania," I said.

"That little chit," she laughed. "She, too, was a pleasure slave, and in her heart she knew it. The best thing that ever happened to her was to be brought to Gor and put in chains."

"Perhaps," I said.

"There is no doubt about it," she said.

"Do you remember her?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "But I am no longer she. I am now Winyela, only a slave."

"That is true," I said. Only a slave, I thought to myself, refully, only a slave! She was exciting and beautiful, and owned. It was all I could do not to seize her and put her mercilessly to my purposes. How natural it seemed that the men of Gor should keep such women in cages and chains, and force them, under whips, to please them.

"To be sure," I said, "I see that you have powers which mere Millicent did not."

"Yes," she said. "I now have the powers of a slave." That was true. It could not be gainsiad.

"We must go to the lodge of Canka," I said.

"But you have not punished me," she said.

"No," I said.

"Canka wanted me punished, you know," she said.

"I do not know if he really wanted you punished or not," I said.

"Of course he did," she said. "He is a red master."

"I suppose you are right," I said. I recalled that Cuwignaka and Grunt had also, both, been of this opinion.

"But you did not do so," she said.

"No," I said.

"I am unpunished." she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Punish me," she said.

"No," I said.

"My master wanted me to be punished," she said. "I am ready to be punished. I want to be punished."

"It is all right," I said.

"Punish me," she said.

"No," I said.

"You have no intention, then, of punishing me?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Canka wanted you to have me," she said. "Do you not find me attractive? Do I not have at least the negligible charms of a slave?"

"You are attractive, and beautiful," I said. "And, if you do not mind my saying so, you have been somewhat blatant about your charms."

"In a collar, a girl may flaunt herself," she said.

I nodded. It was true. The collar as an interesting effect on female sexuality. It liberates the girl to be herself.

"Will you not give me but one kiss?" she asked.

"No," I said. "It is well known to what the kiss of a slave girl must lead."

"What?" she asked, innocently.

"Her ownership, domination and rape," I said.

"Oh," she said.

I snapped my fingers.

The girl, immediately, stood.

"You see, pretty Winyela," I said, "you are ultimately powerless. I snap my fingers and you must stand, prepare then to follow me, unquestioning, your will nothing, to your master's lodge. Your clever tricks now avail you naught."

She put her head down.

I laughed with triumph, seeing her standing there, her head down. "You see," I said, "you are ultimately powerless."

She lifted her head, and smiled. "I am not completely powerless," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.

"I will show you," she said, "how a slave can seduce a man."

Suddenly she reached out and putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger and fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender to a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explod in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar?" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.