that she seemed frightened, now. She was not as bold, it seemed, as she had pretended. Then, again, she spoke boldly. “Do you like what you see?” she asked.
He did not respond. Never had he seen anything so tantalizing, so beautiful, and, in its way, so ungracious, so unpleasant, so irritating.
“Unchain me!” she said.
He regarded her.
“Unchain me!” she demanded.
He looked her over. His eye rested on the chain and disk, that fastened on her left ankle. He had been curious about that. He had not dared, really, hitherto, to look at it.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He took her left ankle in his hand and lifted it, and looked at the device fastened there. He ran his finger about, under the chain. He examined the small, stout, cylindrical lock. Then he turned the metal disk, from one side to the other, it with its own link to the chain, looking at it. It was about an inch and a half in diameter, larger than that worn by the maids at the hostel. On one side Brenner read the inscription giving the name and address of her contract holder. On the other side was another inscription, perhaps with the same content, but one unintelligible to Brenner. It was, of course, in one of the several zardian languages. She tried to pull her ankle away from Brenner, but was unable to do so. In a moment, realizing her inability to free her ankle, that her strength was insignificant as compared to his, she turned her head to the side, desisting in the contest which could have been continued only to her further embarrassment. He then considered the smallness of her foot, the slenderness of the ankle, encircled by the chain and disk, the lovely curve of the calf, above the chain. He then again regarded the chain and disk. “You are under contract,” he said. He then opened his hand, letting her pull her ankle away. She put down her leg, flexed, so that the sole of her foot was on the bed.
She looked up at him, angrily.
“Unchain me,” she said.
“You are under contract,” he said.
She struggled up on her left elbow, half lying on the bed, the chain now looping back to the bar.
“You wished to see me in chains,” she said. “Now you have done so. Now release me.”
“You are under contract,” he said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
He undid the top button at his collar. “Do not protest, or make noise,” he said.
“And if I do?”
“Then you will be gagged,” he said, dropping his shirt to the side.
“What is your intention?” she asked.
“Surely you are woman enough to guess,” he said. He touched her lightly, at the side of the leg, and she pulled her leg back, higher. And then she struggled back, half sitting up, thrusting her back against the back of the bed, pulling her legs up.
“You will beg my touch,” he said.
“Is that a command?” she asked.
“No,” said Brenner, stepping from the clothing at his feet, “it is a prediction.”
“Never!” she said.
“Am I to gather,” asked Brenner, “that it is your intention to be found less than fully pleasing?”
She turned white. “No!” she said. “No! Please do not report me to the zard in the morning as not having been fully pleasing!”
“I have no intention of doing so,” said Brenner.
“Thank you!” she breathed.
“Do you know why?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Because you are not going to be less than fully pleasing,” he said.
She looked at him, startled, stunned.
He then went to the wall and took down a short, stout whip which hung there.
“Do not strike me!” she begged.
Brenner gathered that she must, at one time or another, have felt the touch of such a device, surely at least once, for example, on the block, on Damascus. “I trust that it will not be necessary,” he said.
“You, you, could not strike me!” she said.
“Do you wish to put that to the test?” he asked.
“But you are a true man,” she said, suddenly, “tender, soft, kindly, weak, gentle, mild, indecisive, vacillating, compliant, anxious to please women, obedient to their wishes!”
“I am tired,” said Brenner, “of being denied, of being hungry, of being humiliated and tormented, of being cheated of my rights.”
“You have no rights!” she cried.
“If not,” said Brenner, “I now create them.”
“It will not be necessary to whip me!” she said. “Let me rather kiss the whip, to show my deference, my respect, my submission!”
“‘Submission’,” said Brenner. “I like that word on your lips. It well becomes them.”
He