“It is interesting to me that free women play the game of Favors,” I said.
“It gives them a way of flirting,” he said. “Too it gives them an opportunity to put themselves, in a way, at the mercy of the male, to engage in petitioning behavior, suing for his indulgence. In this it is not difficult to see a form of symbolic submission, a making of themselves dependent on his will. Too, of course, it gives them a way of testing their desirability and publicly proclaiming, or advertising, it.”
“Luscious, vain creatures,” I observed. I myself had earlier speculated along these lines. To be sure, the game of Favors, like most games, customs and practices, was undoubtedly complex and multiply motivated. Too, sometimes things take on additional meanings and values as they are enriched in a historical tradition or more deeply or variously interpreted in different contexts.
“I agree,” I said. That certain games, such as that of Favors, provided a mechanism for establishing desirability rankings among females, something in which they seemed much interested, seemed clear.
“What do you think of free women?” asked the officer.
“I didn’t know there were any, really,” I said. Goreans have a theory that there are only two sorts of women, slaves and slaves.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“I suppose they are all right,” I said. They were all right, I supposed.
“Slaves are incomparably superior,” he said.
“That is true,” I said. There was no comparison.
“Please, Master, take me to a rack,” begged the girl at my feet.
Freedom, with its inhibitions, inertnesses and hostilities, tends to produce a blockage to the emergence of the depth female. In bondage this blockage is removed, freeing the woman to find her natural fulfillment, her fulfillment in the order of nature, that of a slave at the feet of her master.
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I saw that her sexual drives were far too strong to be appropriate for those of a free woman. In her there was an eager, succumbing slave.
“Now I want to be overwhelmed, dominated. Now I want to take my place in the order of nature. Now I want to be what I am, and have always been, truly, a woman!”
In every woman, of course, Goreans think, there is a slave.
Perhaps, in the end, there is no difference.
She looked at me, pleadingly.
“You are a free woman,” I told her.
She moaned.
“It would seem thus,” I said, “at least according to some, that you are entitled to respect and dignity.”
“I have never encountered a convincing proof to that effect,” she said. “Have you?”
“No,” I said.
“Oh, would that I were a slave,” she smiled. “Then I would not have to concern myself with such matters. Then I would only have to mind my manners and make certain that I pleased my masters, totally.”
“To be sure,” I said, “many of the matters with which the free woman must concern herself are simply irrelevant to the slave.”
“Such as dignity and respect,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Under those names I have gone hungry for years,” she said.
“And yet, now,” I said, “you have come, and of your own free will, to a rack.”
“There comes a time,” she said, “when the slogans no longer suffice, a time when the myth is seen to be meaningless.”
“And such a time came for you?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
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“Free women are more beautiful than slaves,” she said.
“That is false,” I said. “Furthermore, every woman, in her heart, knows it is false. Any beauty a free woman has, for example, is enhanced a thousand-fold when she becomes a slave.”
“I hate slaves!” she said.
“That is because you are not one of them,” I said. “You envy them.”
“Beware,” she said. “I am a free woman!”
“I know,” I said.
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I did not think it was necessary to remind her that I was not really according her the polite courtesies and gentle dignities appropriate to the pleasures of the free woman, but was, in effect, of my own will, by my own decision, subjecting her to attentions more commonly reserved for the imbonded female, the woman who has no choice but to submit to a lengthy and authoritative ravishing, one which well teaches her the meaning of her collar, and what it is to be in the hands of a man, and as he wants her.
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We could see the Sardar Mountains in the distance. I had been her servant for some three days. After the first night she had not commanded me to her intimate service. I think that first night had terribly unsettled her. She had apparently not understood that she could have such feelings. At times she had seemed almost taken out of herself. At times, clearly, she had responded uncontrollably, reflexively, at my mercy, almost as might have a slave. This sort of behavior was inappropriate in her, inexcusably so, she doubtless deemed, as she was a free woman. Roundly had I been scolded for my part in matters. Yet with mixed feelings, it was, I think, that she chastised me. I pretended, of course, to ignorance and innocence, and a perhaps overzealous desire to please. In any event she clearly now feared her feelings.
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“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I saw that she still feared me, and herself, and, I think, men generally. She had not yet been able to cope with the sensations which I had induced in her. This is not surprising in a free woman. To be sure, such sensations can be terribly frightening to a free woman. They whisper to her of slavery. She is terrified to say “yes” to them, with all she knows this means, but aches and longs to do so, and will not be whole until she does.
Players of Gor Book 20 Page 105
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