"Yes, Master," I said. "Yes, Master!"

"Too," said he, "one profits more from their ownership than from that of a duller girl. They are brighter, more skillful, more imaginative, more inventive. An intelligent girl can do many more things and do them better than a duller girl. She follows commands easily; she learns swiftly. Her performances, in their variety, intricacy and depth, can approach brilliance. She learns well, and continues to learn, in her intelligence and sexuality, how to please a man. Too, in her depths of emotion, feeling and sensation, these associated with her intelligence, she is easier to manipulate and exploit."

"Please, Master," I begged, "take me!"

"Remain immobile," he said. "Do not move so much as a muscle."

I gritted my teeth. "Yes, Master," I whispered. Every bit of me wanted to cry out and explode. I held myself absolutely rigid. I wanted to explode. I was not permitted to move.

"Too," said he, "an intelligent girl, a highly intelligent one, such as yourself, is capable of truly understanding her slavery. A dull girl has no true insight into the bondage relation. She knows she is a slave. She recognizes the institution, and is cognizant of its legalities. She is familiar with chains, and has worn them; she sees the whip, and has felt it. But does she truly understand her slavery?"

"Forgive me, Master," I said, barely able to speak, "but any woman who is a slave truly understands her slavery."

"Is this true?" he asked.

"In the belly of her," I said, "any woman who is slave knows her slavery. It has naught to do with intelligence, but only with being a slave and a woman. It is an indescribable, helpless feeling in the belly of us, being owned. One need not be intelligent to have this emotion, nor to respond, nor to feel."

"Perhaps," he said.

I wanted to scream. "Please, Master," I said.

"Do not move," said he.

"Yes, Master," I said, obeying.

I held myself rigid. Could the peasant boys have been more cruel?

"You do not think," he asked, "that the dull woman confuses slavery with the chains and the whip?"

"No, Master," I said. I moaned in helplessness. "I am not now chained," I said. "I am not now being whipped. But I could not be more a slave than now if I were chained to a whipping post and the lash being laid upon me. I am owned. I am completely in your power. I dare not even move. I must obey. This could be understood by any woman in my place."

"But perhaps," said he, musing, "your understanding of your slavery, in virtue of your intelligence, your sensitivity, is much more intense, much deeper and richer than would be that of a duller woman?"

"Perhaps, Master," I said. "I do not know!"

"Do you wish to be permitted to move?" he asked.

"Yes," I wept. "Yes! Yes!"

"But you are not yet permitted to move," he said.

"Yes, Master," I sobbed.

"It is pleasant to own a beautiful Earth woman such as you," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"To whom do you belong?" he asked.

"To you! To you, Master!" I said.

"But you are of Earth," he said. "How can you belong to a man?"

"I belong to you, to you, Master!" I said.

"In the past weeks," he said, "you have begun to disturb me."

"Master?" I asked.

"Do not move," he said.

"No, Master," I sobbed.

"I do not understand it," he said. "It is very strange. Today I grew angry with you, and you had merely behaved as a slave."

He referred to my yielding to the soldier in the morning.

"I am a slave, Master," I said. "I could not help myself."

"I know," he said. "Why then should I be angry?"

"I do not know, Master," I said.

He then touched me, and I cried out.

"Do not move," he said.

"Have mercy on your girl, Master!" I begged.

With his touch he had again brought my sensations to the point at which I wanted to shatter and writhe and scream, and yet I must remain at his side, immobile, absolutely motionless.

"You are not important," he said.

"No, Master," I said.

"You are a worthless slave girl," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You can be bought or sold in any market," he said, "for a handful of copper tarsks."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Why then," he asked, "do I concern myself with you?"

"I do not know, Master," I said.

"You may move, Slave Girl," he said.

With a wanton cry I pressed myself against him.

"You see," he said, "the women of Earth are natural slaves."

"Yes, Master," I wept.

"You are obviously only a common girl," he said.

"Yes, Master!" I cried softly.

I began to lick at him beneath the chin and kiss him. I clutched at him. I wept and laughed and writhed, holding him.

"Only a common girl," he said. "Only a common slave." I put my tear-stained cheek against the hardness of his chest, holding him. I could feel the hair on his chest between his body and the softness of my cheek. "Yes, Master," I whispered.

"You do not even have a name," he said.

"No, Master," I said.

"Of what importance is a nameless animal?" he asked.

"None, Master," I said.

"How can you be of interest?" he asked.

"I do not know, Master," I said.

"And yet you are a pretty little animal," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"I shall conquer you," he said.

"You have conquered me long ago," I said.

"I shall conquer you anew," he said.

"Every time you look upon me, or touch me," I said, "I am conquered anew." I felt his chest beneath my cheek. I held him in the darkness. "I am your conquest, fully and completely, Master," I said. "I am your slave."

"Perhaps my slave should have a name," he said.

"As Master wills," I said.

He took me by the shoulders and lifted and turned me. He put me beneath him. I felt the furs and the ground beneath my back. I felt his arms about me. I moaned as my body received and clasped him.

"Do not move," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. I wanted to yield.

"I shall name you," he said.

I lay in the darkness, helpless, imprisoned in the strength of his arms, waiting to learn whom I would be.

"The name," he said, "for you are a common girl, and worthless, should be an unimportant name, one plain and simple, one fitting for a valueless girl, an ignorant, branded she-slave such as you."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You are even a barbarian," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Some men," he said, "enjoy putting a barbarian girl through her paces."

"Put me through my paces, I beg of you, Master!" I wept.

"Do not move," he cautioned.

"Yes, Master," I wept. I so wanted to yield to him. I was on the brink of yielding, but he would not let me move. It was as though I wanted to burst.

"I myself," he smiled, "enjoy putting any girl, civilized or barbarian, through her paces."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Did you know," he asked, "that in the throes of slave orgasm there is no difference between a civilized and barbarian girl?"

"No, Master," I said.

"It is interesting," he said. "In slave orgasm they are spasmodically identical."

"We are all women, only women," I said, "in the arms of our masters."

"Doubtless that is it," he mused.

"Permit me to yield!" I begged.

"Do not move," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said, through gritted teeth. I was so much his! Why would he not have me?

"You speak Gorean with an accent," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master," I begged.

"Do not change," he said. "The accent becomes you. It marks you as different and makes you more interesting."

"Perhaps that is what Master finds interesting about his girl," I said.

"Perhaps," he said. "But I have owned barbarian girls before."

"Other girls from the planet Earth?" I whispered.