The First Question

originally posted June 8, 2005

“Who is first, Master?” is a question I receive from time to time in various phrasings from more than one girl on the ever-lengthening chain of the Boarding House.
Two slaves of my personal chain; girls who peeled suls & laundered clothing or served as decorative, functional pieces of furniture, are now a part of that chain. Sana has been given the function of living advertisement. She parades about the city during the day with the phase ‘Have me. Boarding House. Anbar.’ stitched across the back of her silk; right above the hem, swishing across her ass. Vulo, a slave who bears a striking resemblance to Emily, a dancer I once owned who was worth gold, occupies the hallway on the second floor. Both of them are now Boarding House chattel for the foreseeable future.
‘Who is first, Master?”
Is it Sana? Eager to please, manipulative Sana would make an acceptable first girl on another fellow’s chain, perhaps. I made her a promise once, long ago, when she asked me what I thought her potential was.
“You will always be last on the chain,” I told her frankly.
My decision has been met with curiosity by more than one fellow over a bowl of paga when the conversation turns, as it inevitably and always does, to women. They wonder if the girl does not become dejected at times or will make the decision to no longer to try, resigned to her fate. Then the light goes on in their heads; illumination. It is not the lack of the prospect of upward mobility she need concern herself with. It is the fact that she is, truly, not at rock bottom occupying the last link of the chain that motivates her. She must fight for every scrap of attention, every look, every acknowledgment because there is a place significantly worse than last on the chain; off the chain.
No, Sana is not first.
Is it Vulo? Even with the marks of the lash fresh on her body, tears a constant threat in the verdancy of her hazel eyes, Vulo inspires a measure of jealousy in some of the women even as they pity her. She, as mentioned, looks so much like my Emily; a girl I lost; a girl I was quite fond of, that the women cannot help but notice. Emily was second on my personal chain. A lovely animal, she was. If she was second on the chain of House Samsara, would that not make her first at the Boarding House?
Vulo is not first.
Portia, the former free woman and newest addition to the necklace could hardly be considered a viable candidate for first girl. She was brought along slowly, delicately as a debtor. I denied her the privileges due a free woman and began training her to be pleasing before I ever closed the steel about the smooth, dark column of her throat. I took her clothing, the ridiculous pelts of a panther girl and consigned them to use as costume only; something to thrill her customers. In truth, any girl who entertains a customer looking for that sort of thrill may use the pelts. They do not belong to Portia any longer. She was assigned a wrap of raw, velvety, cream colored silk for her hips as a free woman and continues to wear it today. I taught her, too, how to kneel and how to breathe. Most devastatingly to her psyche, I taught her to perform a scandalously low form of obeisance. After a time, she crawled to me and inquired if there was a pose she should assume or a specific phrase she should repeat.
“Be genuine,’ I told her.
And she was, thanking me and acknowledging me as Master with the same breath. The very next day, I introduced her to the whip and wrapped her throat in plain, unadorned, obdurate steel. The clothing and name she wore as a debtor was returned to her as the clothing and name of a low, abject slave girl.
“She is Portia,” I informed Jen. “She costs three copper per ahn.
Portia, like Sana and Vulo, is not first.
Perhaps Kawena, the barbarian lucky to have a place to sleep and food to eat in my house is first? No, not hardly. She is first in volume of men serviced, perhaps, but not first.
Could Evona, my ‘four copper’, impossibly pretty, self-affirmed whore of a barbarian be first? Do I not allow her an inordinate amount of time at my side relative to the others; allowing her the indulgence of question after question pertaining to her acclimation that any competent Agent of Acquisition should have handled? Have I not put a premium on her use, forcing her customers to pay more by the ahn for her?
I do these things, but Evona is not first.
Surely it is Nirah, the only woman on my chain who has not been whipped by my hand. She is Gorean; a former high slave and coddled pet. She is used to indulgence and privilege and I have yet to deny her almost anything. She has, to her credit, yet to take advantage of what I provide her. When others, including her mistress, must make do with gruel, she is allowed the freedom to eat what she likes as she cooks my meals.
She is my ‘dear’, but Nirah is not first.
Perhaps it is Joy then? Joy serves as first girl at my primary domicile; the House Samsara in the District of the Theater of Pentilicus Tallux. Beyond the trivial, not worth mentioning squabbles between slaves, she’s maintained a peaceful environment and made my home hospitable for myself, my family and my friends. When it is not worth my personal exertion, she sees to the discipline of women below her on the chain with precision and a skilled hand - for a girl. I guard her possessively, keeping her under use restriction. I confide in her and, at times, hide in her when I need a break from the world. She is first girl of Samsara.
Joy is not first at The Boarding House.
“You said you would never take a free companion,” she said to me, permitted, for the moment, to speak openly. “That is true,” I acknowledged. “The mistress, however, is hardly free.
The Lady Jenny, in my admittedly subjective opinion, is one of the truest examples of a ‘free’ companion I can think of. While she is not being used to birth sons & heirs as my heretofore thought boundless ego does not require a miniature version of me for validation, she fulfills the terms of our contract with deference and only minor machination. She is not permitted the luxury of carrying my defeated manhood in a small, silken purse as many of her social peers would attempt in these days of deviance. With my instruction and her tireless effort, she tends to the day today operation of my business; keeping the books in an at least reconcilable state of disrepair. When she is out of line, she accepts her reprimand and beating with minimal functional downtime before resuming compliance and obedience. The Boarding House runs smoothly and continues to profit, in part, to her handling of the stock. While I do not approve of many of her girl-management tactics, she is quick to note my preferences and adjust.
“The mistress is your first girl?”
While she would never be able to run my chain reduced to the level of her charges, I suppose it is true. My companion, The Lady Jenny, is first girl.
Things are not as they seem.