"Do not be absurd," I said. How seriously some free women took themselves! Such ridiculous vanity! A week in a (pg. 407) collar would straighten her out on such matters. She would then know what women were for, and all about.

"However that may be," she smiled, "it is to you that I owe my rescue from the shackles of a slave alcove."

I began to think I had probably made a mistake. I should of left here there.

"I owe you much," she said. "I am grateful. I would show my gratitude."

"No thanks are necessary," I said. I wondered if she knew what she was doing.

She lifted her lips. I felt her in my arms rising up on her toes. "There," she said, kissing me.

"Beware of what you do," I said, "dressed as you are." Her body was luscious, rounded and slave soft. I forced myself not to seize it to me, and crush it in my arms.

"There," she said, kissing me again, "can a slave kiss like that?" This second kiss, with its remark, was a mistake on her part, an irrevocable one.

"You know nothing of kissing," I said. "If a slave could not do better than that, she would be whipped."

"Sleen!" she cried, and tried to strike me. I caught her wrist with my right hand and twisted her suddenly and forcibly about, startling her. I took her left upper arm in my left hand, holding her, making her helpless, and with my right hand forced her right arm up suddenly and angrily behind her back. She cried out in sharp pain. I held her in this position for a moment, letting her know how helpless she was, keeping her in pain. She was high on her toes to relieve the pressure on her arm. She did not so much as move. Then I released her. She spun about, looking at me, wildly. She rubbed her arm. She had been in a man's power. She looked small then. "You hurt me!" she said.

"Was it not your intention to hurt me?" I inquired.

She looked down. She seemed small, and beautiful. She continued to rub her arm.

"What you attempted to do would earn a slave a beating at least," I said, "if her hands were not cut off, or if she were not fed to sleen."

"I wouldn't have done it, if I were a slave," she pouted.

(pg. 408) "No," I said, "I do not think you would have, Free Woman."

"Must I throw myself to you?" she asked.

"After that second kiss," I said, "that would not be necessary."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I am going to give you what you want," I said.

"No!" she said. "Not that! I mean-I mean-!" But I had swept her into my arms and carried her a few yards down the passageway and then into one of the side passages, where, sticking out from a rear area, I had seen the corner, in the mist of other garbage, refuse and trash, of a discarded, ragged, thick, roughly woven reed slave mat. "No!" she said. "Not now! Not this way!"

"Be silent," I said. What was she complaining about? I had even carried her to this place in honor, in my arms, as a free woman. I had not thrown her over my shoulder, her ass to the front, her head scornfully to the rear, as properties are commonly carried, such as sacks of grain and female slaves.

With my foot, not yet putting her down, I dragged the mat free of the garbage and trash, and kicked it back to where I wanted it, back further in the rear area, between the high walls. I then threw her down upon it "Get your clothes off," I told her. "Be quick!"

Sobbing, she stripped herself.

"Please!" she begged. "No! Please!"

"Perform obeisance," I said.

"I am a free woman!" she said.

"Out of your own mouth you have said it," I said. "You are a woman."

"I do not know how to do so!" she said.

"There are many ways to perform obeisance," I said.

"I am a free woman," she said. "I know none of them."

"I shall instruct you briefly in three," I said. "First, kneel before me, back on your heels, yes, with your knees wide, wider, your hands on your thighs, your back straight, your breasts out, good, your belly in, good, and now lower your head in deference, in submission."

"Like a slave!" she said.

(pg. 409) "Do it," I said. She looked well, "now that," I said, "may not be exactly a performance of obeisance, for authorities do not all agree, but for our purposes we shall count it as one. It is, at any rate, a beautiful position, and it is, certainly, a common position of slave submission."

"Slave submission!" she cried.

"Yes," I said, "and you do it well. It looks natural on you."

"Now," I said, "and this is clearly a form of obeisance, bend forward and put your head to the mat, the palms of your hands on the mat. Good. Now lift your head a little and come forward, substantially keeping the position. Forward a little more."

"But then my face will be at your feet," she said. "My lips will be over them!"

"Yes," I said. "Good. Now put your head down and lick and kiss my feet."

"I am a free woman!" she said.

"You are a woman," I said. "Now, softly, lingeringly and lovingly. Good."

"I am not a slave," she said.

"All women are slaves," I said. "Imagine what this would be like if you were truly a collared slave."

She gasped.

"Good," I said. "Continue."

Frightened, she did so.

"Now," I said, "for a third form of obeisance. You may 'belly' to me."

"I do not understand," she whispered.

"There are various forms of bellying," I said, "and bellying may be suitably and pleasingly combined with other forms of floor movements, approaching the master on all fours, turning to your sides and back, writhing before him, and so on. We shall take a very simple version, suitable for an ignorant free female who has not yet even begun to discover the depths of her sexuality."

She looked up at me.

"On your belly," I said. She backed off a bit, and went to (pg. 410) her belly. Her hair was before her face, as she, now on her belly before me, looked up at me.

"Now, inch forward," I said, "remaining low on your belly, and when you reach my feet, once again, as before, lifting your head a little, tenderly and humbly, and beautifully, as though you were a slave, lick and kiss them. Good. Good. Now take my foot and place it gently on your head. Very good. Now place it again on the mat, and kiss it again. Good. You may now belly back a little, humbly. I have not yet given you permission to rise, of course."

She looked up at me, through her blond hair. There was a sort of disbelief and awe in her eyes. I think she could not understand the emotions that had gone through her, as she had performed these overt actions, understanding and internalizing their meanings.

"You may now kneel," I said.

She did so, obediently.

I then crouched down before her, and took her by the upper arms.

Our eyes met. "I did not know it could be like that," she whispered.

I said nothing.

"I performed obeisance," she said, shaken, wonderingly.

"Yes," I said.

"I have never felt so female," she said.

"You have not yet even begun to get in touch with your femaleness," I said. "You will discover that it is a wonderful thing, that it is deep and marvelous, and, I think, fathomless. A voyage of discovery lies before you, through lands of love and untold sensuous wonders. A great adventure lies before you, filled with life and meaning. In this adventure you will find your fulfillment, as what you truly are, a female, not as something else, not as something different."

"I understand," she whispered.

I touched her.

"Ohh," she said, softly.

"Interesting," I said. "Though you are a free woman, you are rather vital, even at this stage."

"Please do not embarrass me." She said.

(pg. 411) "In time," I said, "it is my hope that you would grow proud of your body and its responses. I do not think you will find them embarrassing then, unless perhaps, say, strapped in a slave rack, you are forced to exhibit them publicly before scornful men or contemptuous free women. I think rather then that you would come to welcome them, and to exult in them, and rejoice in them."

"Please," she protested.

"Slaves," I said, "are generally quite open, and loving about their bodies. They tend to understand themselves, and their nature, and they love it."

"I am not a slave," she reminded me.

"That is true," I said.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

"Will you be kind to me?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said.

She looked at me, startled. Then I pressed her back, down, on her back, onto the mat.

"I am a virgin," she whispered.

I kissed her.

"You will be kind to me, won't you?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said.

"This mat is hard," she said. "It is rough," She squirmed a little, moving her back upon it, on its rough fibers.

"It was designed for the instruction of a slave," I said, "not for her comfort."

"I am not a slave," she smiled.

"The mat does not know that," I said.

"It is my hope that you know it," she smiled. "Oh!"

"I have forgotten it," I told her.

"Be kind!" she said. "I am not a slave."

"You will be treated as I please," I said, "and exactly so. Now be silent."

"I have strange feelings," she whispered. "I feel that I should call you Master."

"Do not do so," I said. "That is only for slaves."

"Yes," she whispered, "-Master."

"Very well," I said.

(pg. 412)"Oh, yes!' she cried, softly.

"Never let me go," she wept, clinging to me.

I thrust her back, gently, to the mat, disentangling her from me.

"Let me hold you," she begged.

"Not now," I said. "Keep your arms at your sides."

"In your arms-" she said, "in your arms-!"

"It is not I," I said. "It could have been any man. It is rather that you were ready."

"I am prepared to be a love slave!" she said.