My hands crept up from my sides, that I might, however inadequately, cover myself.

“No,” he said gently.

His tone, in its kindliness, its patience, suggested that he did not think me stupid, in spite of my earlier outburst. This, for some reason, gladdened me.

Then I knelt as I had before, tears coursing down my cheeks, open, exposed, to his scrutiny.

It was thus that he would have me before him, and thus it was that I would be before him.

Before men such as these I understood that I would be choiceless in such matters.

“You are supposedly quite vital,” he said. “Is it true?”

“I do not know,” I said. I did not even understand the question. Or, perhaps, rather, I somehow, in some part of me, understood it only too well.

Would he now think me stupid? I hoped not. I did not think I was stupid.

He then continued his scrutiny.

Somehow I wanted, desperately, doubtless dreadfully, for him to be pleased, genuinely pleased, with what he saw.

Was I “vital”?

What could that possibly mean?

How would I know if I were vital or not?

Had he touched me, I though I would have cried out, in helplessness.

I could not help it if I was vital! It was not my fault! I could not help it!

And at that time, of course, I did not understand how such things could be brought about, even in those initially inert or anesthetic, how such things could be, and would be, suspected, discovered, revealed, and released, and then nurtured, and enhanced, and developed and trained, until they, beginning as perhaps no more than almost unfocused restlessnesses, could, and would, become fervent, soft, insistent claims, and then, in time, implacably, inexorably, desperate, irresistible, pitiless needs, needs overriding and overwhelming, needs over which one had no control, needs in whose chains one is utterly helpless.

I knelt there, then, as they would have me kneel. No longer did I dare to look at him. I kept my head down. Then, in a moment, he had apparently finished his examination, or, I feared, assessment. I did not know what might have been the results of his examination. He said something to another fellow. I did not know whether or not I was the subject of their discourse.Their tones, on the other hand, seemed approving. Both seemed pleased. To be sure, I did not know for certain whether or not I was the subject of their discourse. But it seemed to me likely that I was.

I suspected then, if I was not mistaken, to my unspeakable relief, that I might have been found at least initially acceptable.

I hoped that he who was nearest to me did not think I was stupid.

I did not want him to think that.

I was supposedly intelligent. I was, or had been, a good student. To be sure, the learning for which I might be held accountable here, if such learning there was to be, would doubtless be somewhat different from that to which I had been accustomed. The collar on my neck suggested that, and the chains on my limbs.

I heard voices, ahead of me, and, too, some behind me.

“You may lift your head,” he said. His fellow had went further back, behind me.

I lifted my head.

The metal shackle on my neck had been put on from behind, there is variation in such things. Most often, particularly with items such as we, new to such things, and naive, it is done in that fashion, I suppose, to minimize the tendency to bolt. At other times however, it is done from the beginning, particularly with individuals who realize clearly and fully what is going on, so that they may, in full specificity and anticipation, with full intellectual and emotional understanding, see it approach, one by one, and then find themselves, in turn, no different from others, secured within its obdurate clasp. The first, you see, might be frightened at its sight and, in their naivete, be tempted to bolt; the second, on the other hand, might be terrified at its sight, but realizes that there is no escape.

I heard the voices before and behind me.

It was not for no reason that I had been permitted to lift my head.

Here and there before me, and, I suppose, behind me, one or another of the men were thrusting whips to the lips of the items in the line. He who was nearest to me had such a device hooked on his belt. I looked on, disbelievingly. Then the fellow nearest me removed that effective, supple tool from his belt. I began to tremble. “Do not be afraid,” he said soothingly.

I watched the device, as he loosened the coils a little, arranging them, in almost hypnotic fascination.

“It will take but a moment,” he said. “Do not be frightened.”

The coils were then but an inch from my lips. I looked up at him.

“It was foolish of me to beg for mercy,” I whispered. “I am sorry.”

“You will learn to beg, in rational contexts, even more piteously,” he said. “Indeed, it will be important for you, to learn how to beg well. I do not mean merely that you will be taught to beg pretitily, on your knees, and such things. I mean rather that upon certain occasions the only thing which might stand between you and the loss of your nose and ears, or life, may be the sincerity and excellence with which you can perform certain placatory behaviors.”

“I do not want you to think I am stupid,” I said.

He looked down at me. I could not read his expression.

“I am not stupid,” I said.

“We shall see,” he said.

I heard words. I saw a whip thrust to the lips of the item before me in the line.

A whip, too, was within an inch of my own lips.

I drew back my head a little, and looked up at him.

He did nothing.

I did not know what to do. What was I supposed to do? I knew what I should do, what would be appropriate, what I wanted to do.

“I do not know what to do,” I said.

“What a shy, timid thing you are,” he said.

“The others are speaking to us,” I said. “You are not speaking to me. You are not telling me what to do.”

“What do you think you should do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“No, no!” I said.

“You will kiss, and lick, the whip,” he said, “lovingly, lingeringly.”

I looked up at him, in terror.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“First,” he said, “the whip will come to you, and then, second, you will come to the whip.”

“I understand,” I said.

Surely I must resist this! I could feel the chain at my belly. I squirmed a little on my knees.

He held the whip gently to my lips. He could, I realized, have done this in a very different manner. He might have done it with brutality. He might, in effect, have struck me, perhaps bruising my lips, perhaps bloodying my mouth, forcing the soft inner surfaces of the lips back against the teeth. I might have tasted leather and my own blood. But he was very gentle. With incredible feelings, which I could scarcely comprehend, I kissed the whip, and then, slowly, licked it.

He then removed the whip from my lips and held it a few inches before me.

I was now, I gathered, to come to the whip!

It is one thin, of course, to have such an implement forced upon you, giving you, in effect, no choice in the matter. It is quite another to expect you, of your own will, to approach it, and subject it to such intimate, tender ministrations. What did he think I was? I would do no such thing!

I fought with myself. Part of me decried the very thought of coming to the whip. And part of me, some deep, fearful part, longed to do so.

The deeper part of me was stronger.

I leaned forward a little, and reached out with my lips for the whip. In ecstasy, I kissed it. I kissed it lovingly and lingeringly. I think that I had never been so happy, or so fulfilled, as in those moments. Then, with my tongue, again and again, softly, tenderly, lovingly, I licked it. I could taste the leather. I feared only the moment when it would be taken from me.