Part 48 (1/2)

”No,” I said. ”I am a pleasure slave. It is expected, accordingly, that I will kneel before men with my legs spread, unless, perhaps, free women are present.”

”Like this?” she asked, eagerly.

I looked about, quickly, determining that none were about. It was warm, and late in the afternoon.

”No,” I said. ”More widely.”

”Oh!” she said, softly, trembling.

”Yes,” I said. ”Like that.”

”Thusly,” she asked, ”and before men!”

”Yes,” I said, ”or even more widely, depending on the master.”

”Ai!” she whispered.

”Yes,” I said.

One of her knees was now off the stair.

”How it must make you feel!” she breathed, delightedly.

”Yes,” I said.

”How vulnerable you are!” she said.

”Yes,” I said.

”It is very exciting,” she said.

”It helps us to keep in mind that we are slaves, and the sort of slaves we are,” I said.

”It is exciting,” she said.

”Exciting?” I asked.

”Surely the intent of this exceeds mere mnemonics and instruction,” she said, ”such things as a mere desire to demonstrate to the slave her vulnerability.”

”Perhaps,” I said.

”Surely at least a portion of its intent is to arouse the slave, to make her feel receptive, and helpless, kneeling thusly before a male.”

”I do not doubt,” I said, ”that something of that sort has entered into the thinking of the beasts, those who force us to a.s.sume such a position before them.”

”Ah!” she said.

”It has its effect, too, upon the male,” I a.s.sured her.

”I am so pleased to hear it!” she said.

She looked down at her knees. Her hands were braceleted behind her. Her leash went to my hand.

”Janice,” she said.

”Yes?” I said.

”Do you like to kneel thusly before men?”

”Please!” I said.

”Please, tell me,” she said.

”Must I speak?” I asked.

”I cannot order you to do so, not now,” she said. ”I am now naught but as a slave in your charge. That is the understanding, and the condition. But please, Janice! Please speak!”

”Yes,” I said. ”I do enjoy so kneeling before men. I find it s.e.xually arousing. Too, I find it is right for me.

I find that it is fitting and proper for me.”

”It must make you feel very female,” she said.

”Yes, it does,” I said. ”But it is all right for a woman to feel very female. There is nothing wrong with that.”

”I am a female,” she said. ”I want to feel very female.”

”But you are a free woman,” I reminded her.

She looked at me, agonized.

”There are two s.e.xes,” I said. ”One is dominant, and one is not. Each should be true to itself.

On this world, this basic truth has been recognized, and, in a portion of the social sphere, inst.i.tutionalized.”

”I want to be true to my s.e.x,” she whispered, ”really true to it, fully true to it.”

”Beware,” I said. ”You are a free woman.”

She was silent.

”Freedom is precious,” I said.

”I have had freedom,” she said. ”I know what it is like. Now I want love.”

”I am a slave,” I said. ”And I have not found love.”

A poignant memory gripped me, but I turned away from it.

”What is wrong?” she asked.