He clapped his hands, ending the music.

I rose to all fours, before him, on the glossy tiles.

"You are not now closely silked," he said.

So I knelt now before him, my back straight, my head down, the palms of my hands down on my thighs, my knees properly, widely, spread.

I heard him speak to the musicians. I heard the clinking of what was doubtless a small sack of coins.

One by one the three musicians left. One said, "A pretty slave." Another said, "Yes." He before whom I had performed said, "She has much to learn." "Doubtless she will be well taught," said the leader of the musicians. "I wish you well," said the officer to them. "We wish you well," said the leader of the musicians. They had then left.

I remained kneeling before the divan, head down.

I heard something strike the tiles before me. It was a tiny leg of roast fowl.

I looked up at him, knowing that I dare not yet break position.

I was ravenously hungry. I was starving.

But I could not yet reach for the food.

I had not yet received permission.

"You may feed," he said.

I bent forward, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bit of meat, and, holding it in my right hand, steadying it with my left, with my head down, began to feed upon it.

"Janice is hungry," he observed.

In a few moments I looked up at him, hopefully. I felt a wing, another sc.r.a.p from his plate, strike my body. It fell between my thighs. I seized it up. And so I was fed, on sc.r.a.ps from his meal, some tossed to me, as I have indicated, and others, later, I having been permitted to approach him on my knees, and kneel before him, fed to me by hand. In such a feeding, the slave, of course, is not permitted to use her hands. She takes the food in her mouth, delicately.

Masters usually make the bites tiny. In this way it takes time to complete such a feeding. One utility of such modes of feeding is that it impresses clearly upon the slave who it is to whom she owes her food.

I ate eagerly and gratefully.

I looked again at him, hopefully.

But he had decided I had had enough.

"We must be concerned with your figure, mustn't we, sleek little animal?" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He then poured some water from a small pitcher into a shallow bowl, and put the bowl upon the tiles. As he had not placed it on the table, nor handed it to me, I understood how I must drink. I knelt before the bowl, and, my hands on the floor, put down my head and drank. He then had me kneel straight, and, with the same napkin which he himself had used, wiped my lips. He then gave me the napkin that I might clean myself, my fingers and my body.

"The earrings are pretty," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

He looked at the armlet, and the bracelets on my wrist.

I think he was pleased.

Then he looked to my ankle. "Bangles look well on your ankle, Earth woman," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"Do many women of your world wear bangles?" he asked.

"I do not know, Master," I said. I supposed that some might, in certain places, in certain cultures.

"Secretly, perhaps," he said.

"Perhaps, Master," I said. "I do not know."

"They are quite sensual," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Stand," he said.

I obeyed. I stood then before the divan.

He fetched the whip from the divan and, slowly, as he had before, walked about me. Few women on Earth, I suspect, have ever been looked at as these men look at a woman. It can be frightening to be looked upon in this fashion, but it can also be profoundly stirring, profoundly gratifying. I stood straight, with my head up. A slave is expected to be beautiful. She is expected to be worth owning. How rea.s.suring, incidentally, that one is here recognized as being of sufficient interest and importance to be looked at, really looked at. One is here regarded as being worthy of attention, literally, and is actually accorded it. On my old world everyone, it seems, is regarded as being infinitely important but no one pays much attention to anyone else.

How tragic, I thought, that so few of the women of Earth are ever truly looked at. It is not that they are invisible. It is only that no one pays them any attention.

I supposed that I might be a little more flushed now, from the food. Mv belly, doubtless, was a bit more rounded.

I felt the whip, coiled, move along my left flank, and then my waist.

He was a bit to my left.

He stood there. He lifted the whip to my lips. Quickly I kissed it. He then withdrew again to my left, and then to a bit behind me. I looked straight ahead, over the divan, to the wall behind.

"Oh!" I suddenly said. My entire body jerked. "Steady," said he. He held the implement in place I moaned. Then, slowly, he lowered it, sliding it downward, against the interior of my left thigh.

I flexed my knees, and half sank down, trying to keep contact with it.

Then it was gone. I stood straight again, but unsteadily. "Slave," he said. His remark was an observation, not a mode of address. They make us like this, I thought, angrily And then they mock us for being so!

But then I thought they did not make us this way. This was the way we were.

It was only that they would not permit us to be other than we were. They did not permit us, so to speak, to lie. But then why would they mock us for what we were? We could not help what we were, that we were slaves!

He was then again before me. He lifted the coiled whip before him. He smelled the moist, hot, glossy leather, and looked at me, over the coil, and smiled.

I looked away, distraught.

"It seems," said he, "that the Earth woman is a ready slave."

I looked away. It was true.

"I thought that Earth women were supposed to pride themselves on their frigidity," he said.

"Not here, Master!" I said.

"They are not permitted frigidity here, are they?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said.

"It is not tolerated."

"No, Master," I said. Why did he torment me? I knew that frigidity was not permitted to female slaves, of whatever origin, that we could be beaten for it, that we could be slain for it.

Too, why did he speak as he did? Surely he knew that I, a slave, whether an Earth woman or not, could not begin to resist men such as he, even if it were permitted. Too, surely he knew that I was a "hot slave."

That information, like my eye and hair color, was on my papers. He would know that I was helpless under the caresses of men such as he, that I could not help myself, that I was the sort of woman, pleading, helpless, vulnerable and spasmodic, who must, to a master, yield the totality of herself, sans reservation, sans qualification. Many times had I surrendered wholly to them. They could completely conquer me.

"I wonder if you should be whipped," he said, musingly, lifting the whip.

"Please, no, Master," I said.

He held the whip before me, and I put forth my head and lips, and kissed it twice, quickly, fervently.

"Earth woman," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Slave," he said.

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

He regarded me.

I kept my eyes forward, not daring to meet his.

He then, to my relief, tossed the whip to one side. He lifted me up, sweeping me quickly from my feet.

He then held me in his arms, looking down at me. I felt momentarily giddy. I was naked and collared. I felt very small in his arms. He was very strong.

My weight was as nothing to him. I could see hair upon his chest, in the parting of the lounging robes.

How different we are, I thought, my smallness and softness, and his lean, mighty frame, the breadth of the shoulders, the thickness of his arms. One has no contact with the floor. In one sense this is disconcerting, in another it is absolutely thrilling. One knows one can be carried, and placed where he wishes. His left arm was behind my back, his right beneath the backs of my knees. I dared to put my arms about his neck and kiss him, timidly.

"I melt in your arms, Master," I whispered. I hoped not to offend him.

He carried me to the rear portion of the divan, and placed me down upon it, on my back.

He then sat at the edge of the divan, the palm of his left hand on the divan, resting on it, across my body.

His right hand was on his right knee.

"You did not dance badly," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"It is slave dance," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"The Earth woman danced it well," he said.

"She is a slave, Master," I said.

"Is slave dance danced on your world?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Did you understand the meaning of slave dance on your old world?" he asked.

"I think so, Master," I said. Here, on this world, of course, there was no doubt as to what its meaning was.

"Do many women dance slave dance on your world?" he asked.

"Not many," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"They are afraid to be so beautiful before men," I said.

"They are afraid to be women?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Were you afraid?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"That is unutterably stupid," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He regarded me. "You are a woman, I a.s.sure you," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Do you object?" he asked.