"I lie vulnerably beside you," she said, "yours to do with as you please. I am a slave."

I took her in my arms, and began her slow, patient rape.

"Release me," she said.

"No," I said.

She squirmed, futilely, impaled.

"Let me go," she said.

"No," I said.

"I demand to be released," she said.

I laughed, softly, holding her. She tried to free herself, and could not.

She stopped struggling. "Ai, Ai!" she said, clutching me.

I holding her right arm with my left hand, thrust my right hand over her mouth, tightly, that she not disturb the others in the hut. My right hand felt wet and hot, from the heat and moisture of her breath. I felt her teeth under her lips. She tried to twist her head, and then yielded.

It was pleasant having her in that way.

"Why did you resist?" I asked.

"To see if my resistance would be acceptable to you," she said.

"It was not," I said.

"Of course not," she said. "I am a slave." There was a pause. "Are you going to whip me," she asked, "for being troublesome?"

"I did not find you troublesome," I said.

"Oh," she said. We lay together, quietly, for a time. "You took me against my will," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I wondered if you would do that," she said.

"I take you when and as I please," I said.

"Of course." she said. "I am a slave" In time she put her lips to me, tenderly. "Oh," she said. She drew back. "You are strong, Master," she laughed.

"You are a sweet-lipped and beautiful slave," I said. It was true. With a girl like Arlene what man would not be driven half mad with lust? How marvelous she was. How easy it was to desire her.

"I did not know a man could be so strong," she said, wonderingly.

"Do you think you. have nothing to do with it, you pretty idiot?" I asked.

"Oh?" she asked.

"You have a great deal to do with it," I said.

"You cannot even see me in the dark," she said.

"I know what you look like." I said, "and I can feel you, your closeness, your body, your touch. It has an interesting modality in the darkness, in the furs." I reached to her, and, by the strap on her throat, pulled her down beside me. "Also," I said, "you are a naked slave. No woman can be more interesting than a naked slave."

"Oh," she said. I held her by the strap.

"That you arc a slave makes you additionally stimulating to the male," I said, "aside from your mere beauty and intelligence."

"Yes," Master," she said.

"So do not be surprised, in your servitude," I said, "that you find men strong. Simply to look upon you, a beautiful slave, will commonly be enough to stimulate their lust. You are no longer a free woman, filled with her rigidities and negativities, for whom it is permissible to be irritating and boring. No. You are a lovely slave. Looking upon you men will want you. They will want to buy you. They will want to own you."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Men even kill to possess women such as you," I told her. "You are that desirable."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"So do not prate in awe of male power," I said. "It is you, and your beauty, and your slavery, and your intelligence, which provides so powerful an incentive to their strengths and aggressions. Whether this pleases you or not, you are such that men, looking upon you, will want you, and will want you so much that they will be willing to pay for you, or even fight for you. Do you begin to understand the meaning now of being a beautiful slave?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened.

"You are property," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"A treasure," I said.

"Your treasure," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"How strange it is to be helplessly owned," she marveled, "to be subject to sale or exchange."

"Do you find it thrilling?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Who owns you?" I asked.

"You do, Master," she said.

"Whose are you?" I asked.

"I am yours," she said, "literally."

"Yes," I said.

"Take your girl, Master," she said. "She begs you.

"Very well," I said.

"This is what it is to be a slave," she whispered. "Slavery is more than your touch, but without your touch it would be nothing."

I kissed her, softly.

"It is your touch," she said, intensely, "which makes a girl a slave!"

"The touch of any master," I said, "can turn a girl into a slave."

"Do you leave me no pride?" she wept.

"None," I said, "for you are a slave."

Her breathing became more intense.

"Do not disturb the others in the hut," I cautioned her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. Then she again yielded, intensely, helplessly.

Afterwards she lay against me, soft and warm, and small and lovely. "Do you know what I would do now," she asked, "if you were to throw your chains before me?"

"No," I said, kissing her.

"I would kneel," she said, "and I would lift them in my hands, and-"

"Yes?" I asked.

"And then I would kiss and lick them," she whispered.

"Of course," I said, "you are a slave."

"Yes, I am a slave, Master," she said.

"Sleep now," I said.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I am not afraid now," she said, "to go out on the ice."

"Why not?" I asked.

"You will be with me," she said.

"It will be dangerous," I said.

"I am not afraid. You will be with me," she said. Then she said, "Thank you for letting a frightened girl enter your furs tonight."

"That is all right," I said. I rolled over.

"You are kind," she said.

"Beware," I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said, suddenly frightened. "I meant no harm. It was a small slip. I did not mean to insult you. Please do not whip me for it."

"Very well," I said. I was tired. Too, it did not seem to me that her remark, inadvertent and perilous as it may have been, impaired the discipline in which I held her. Kindness is not always a weakness you must understand. Indeed, it, and its withdrawal, may be used to better control the girl. To be sure, the master who is harder to please gets more from his girl than the master who is easy to please, but, nonetheless, I think kindness is not out of place upon occasion toward a bond girl. Indeed, in a certain context a kind word can almost cause such a wench, collared and at your mercy, to faint with love. I do not think I am a particularly kind or unkind master. I think I am in the normal range where such matters are concerned. Kindness is acceptable, in my opinion, provided the girl knows that she is kept within the strictest of disciplines. I want no more from a girl than everything. If I own her, then, like any other Gorean master, I will simply see that I get it. Beyond that, I may be kind to her or not, as I see fit. Sometimes, of course, kindness is cruelty, and a certain harshness may be kind. One must know the girl. The truly kind master, I think, is he who treats the girl in such a way that she is forced to fulfill her needs in their radical depth and diversity; he gives her no choice but to be a woman, in the full meaning of this word, which is the only thing that can truly, ultimately, make her happy, If a woman were a man perhaps the way to make her happy would be to treat her like a man. If she is not a man perhaps treating her like a man is not the way to make her happy. It may seem hard to understand but the man who truly cares for his slave is often rather strict with her; he cares for her enough to be strong; sometimes she may resent or hate him but, too, she is inordinately proud of him, for what he makes her do, and be, and she loves him for his strength and his will; in her heart she knows she is the slave of such a man; how can she not love the man who proves himself to be her master? But the natures of men and women are doubtlessly complex and mysterious. Perhaps women, after all, are not women, but only small, incomplete men, as many women and men, espousing the current political and economic orthodoxies on the matter, the required, expected views on the matter, would insist. I do not know. And yet how peculiar and surprising would such a perversion appear against the expanse of history.