Ritual phrases are often required of a slave. One of the most common is, “Buy me, Master.” Sometimes along the side of a road, where a number of slaves, neck-chained, may be knelt for inspection and possible sale, the slave is expected to lift her head and, as she is examined, utter the phrase, “Buy me, Master.” This phrase is not that unusual on slave shelves, and such, as well.
“I remember,” she said, “the first time I saw Master.”
“And I you,” I said.
“I was free!” she said.
“No,” I said, “you were merely a slave, not yet collared.”
“No!” she said.
“Do you think I cannot recognize a slave when I see one?” I asked.
“I was free!” she said.
“As free as a woman such as you could be,” I said, “one not yet taken in hand by a man, and put to his feet, stripped and collared.”
“How you looked at me!” she said.
“The chain,” I said, “is made for women such as you.”
“Fully clothed,” she said, “I felt naked before you.”
“And so I perceived you,” I said, “as you might appear, exhibited on the block for the consideration of buyers.”
“I fled,” she said.
“You were well and carefully scouted,” he said, “as I explained to you in the camp of Genserich, in a number of venues, in a number of garmentures, and such.”
“And even, sedated, in my own bed, it seems,” she said, “stripped, variously positioned, photographed, measured in considerable detail, and such.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Were you involved in this?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But do not concern yourself. You awakened later, pleasantly enough, and knew nothing of what had taken place.”
“But it had taken place!” she said.
“Certainly,” I said.
“It seems we are carefully selected,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “but also with an eye to the future. What will she be like when she has learned her collar? What will she be like once she is the victim of the raging slave fires we will build in her belly? What will she be like once she has been trained to please men? What will she be like when she has suitably dieted and exercised?”
“I see,” she said.
“Your body, for example,” I said, “is more of a slave’s body now than it was on Earth.”
“I am pleased if Master is pleased,” she said, moving more against me, the she-tarsk, with the maddening softness of her.
“Your Gorean is coming along nicely,” I said.
“We must strive to learn the language of our masters,” she said.
“Why did you run away?” I asked.
“Please do not make me speak,” she said.
“Very well,” I said.
“I fear the men of Gor,” she said.
“But they stir your belly, and you suddenly become acutely aware, as you were not before, of your sex.”
“Yes,” she said. “It suddenly becomes meaningful. It suddenly seems the single most important thing about me, that I am not a male, but a female.”
“I understand,” I said.
“That is because there are men here,” she said.
“There are men on your former world,” I said.
“How is it,” she said, “that Gorean men are so different from those of my former world?”
“I do not think they are so different,” I said. “They are of the same species.”
“It is hard to believe,” she said.
“There are different roads, different paths,” I said. “Much depends on which one takes.”
“My former world,” she said, “is filled with unhappiness, misery, and hatred.”
“Much depends on the road one takes,” I said.
“Few find their own way,” she said. “Most take the road they are told to take.”
“And few will try another,” I said.
“Herds,” she said, “ask no more than to be driven.”
“It seems so,” I said.
“Even if to the slaughter bench,” she said.
“There is profit in this, of course,” I said, “for those who drive the herds.”
“I do not think the men of Gor herd,” she said.
“No,” I said, “it is not in their culture.”
“The men of Earth herd,” she said.
“Not all of them,” I said.
“Where are the masters?” she asked, bitterly.
“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.
“Where are the slaves?”
“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.
“I knew none,” she said.
“You may have,” I said. “You may have known women who, unbeknownst to yourself, and concealed from the world, were their master’s slave, even to nudity, the whip, and collar.”