Curious Girls

originally posted April 26, 2006

Curiosity is unbecoming in a kajira. Of course, ambivalence and dull-witted acceptance, too, is unbecoming in a kajira. One wishes the women he owns to be bright, interesting to engage in conversation with, and generally a pleasure to be around. Some think it is ironic, then, that curiosity is not well-looked upon by men. I don't think that is necessarily true. There is a time and a place for everything. Sometimes, one would rather they knelt there quietly, ready at a snap of fingers to fetch something, cook a seven-course supper or do a little laundry if and when your whim strikes you to order them about. Simple and loving, beautiful to look upon and precisely obedient to your every capricious want or need. For the record, I think no man truly frowns upon curiosity in a kajira. I certainly don't. It bespeaks of intelligence. There are times, however, it is simply convenient to keep a girl ignorant. She needn't know every detail of your itinerary or every motive behind every action. One may tell a girl these things as he likes, but one may also keep a girl in the dark. How does she stand with you? Is she a hot piece of flesh on your chain that you dally with now and again? Why tell such a girl anything other than when and where to spread her thighs and precisely how wide? She is there to serve, to be controlled and to be exploited; used to meet one's ends. Perhap she is one you keep close, a love slave? You are hungry to know everything about her and she wishes the same with regard to you. She, however, is only a slave. From time to time you wish to relate to her in the same manner as your hot piece of flesh. Swiftly, brutally, then casting her aside to get on with your day. That is not to say that she will not again, perhaps that very evening or the next day, be spoken with on an intellectual level or an emotional level. It is only that she is no more above your basest, exploitative use than any other.
"Are you considering a Contract of Companionship?" the girl, Joy, a woman I love, asked of me.
She saw the boxes in my compartment at the House of Clark. I shared this room with her. In the boxes were the heavy robes of concealment, fit for a Lady, a Mistress. They were made by a tailor in Thentis, one I spoke of in an earlier entry, fashioned tastefully in the colors of my caste. Too, another box contained the matching hood along with five veils of increasing thickness and opacity.
"Are you considering a Contract of Companionship?" she had just asked of me.
During the feast thrown for the Merchants of Gor in the Grand Hall of the House of Thentis, Joy was permitted to kneel beside me, modestly garmented and coifed, as I was introduced to the Lady Constance, whose family is of the Vintners.
"Are you considering a Contract of Companionship?" was the question she posed.
I was not thinking about that just then. I was thinking about the length of the day, about how weary I was. I thought it would be nice to drape her nude body across mine and sleep for a while. A terribly objectifying thing to do to a woman, I know, but I will not apologize. Joy, 'Sandal', is a slave.
"Yes," I said.
I do not doubt she wished for more specific information, but had gauged my mood and considered the import of the question. She opted to phrase it in such a manner that I would provide what detail, if any, that I chose.
"Yes," was my answer, responding with precisely what information she asked for and no more.
I then pulled her about my chest, draping her nude body across mine and slept for a while. Later in the evening, I raped her.
"Go back to sleep," I advised her as I finished having what I wanted of her.
It was not the time for conversation, small talk or otherwise. At such a time, an inquisitive nature, verbosity, would have been unbecoming in a kajira. A few days ago, another woman I own, frustrated at my lack of forthcoming information with regard to her status, cried out.
"What do you want from me, Master? Have I not done everything you asked? What? What are you doing to me?"
That girl, I beat. Six strokes. Three across each cheek of her ass with a broad belt, reddening her backside completely. The next night, at supper, I allowed her to accompany me with her garment hiked up over her hips to display what can happen to a curious girl at the whim of a man; particularly if they are insolent. More than one fellow took notice of her, nodding his approval to me. It was a fine discipline. Not overtly cruel, but well-meted out. A girl could not help but learn from the experience. Every slave that happened by our table, too, took notice. Curiosity is unbecoming in a kajira. You might even be beaten for it.