I Beat A Girl Who Is Fully Pleasing

originally posted March 31, 2006

During last evening's performance, many times did She ask after the well-being of the girl Sucha from Port Kar. She had failed to please her master. It was a simple thing for him to command and, admittedly, a very difficult thing for her to achieve, but she failed. She did not win. She did not place, even, in the top four of one hundred. When it was apparent that Sucha would not be Emily's better, some handful of ehn into my gold-piece girl's perfomance, Sucha found her neck beneath the boot of her master. There, she would watch her better. There, she would contemplate her fate. There, she would watch a girl that did not fail to please her master. Later, when it was apparent she would not place, even, in the top four, her master dragged her out of the tent by the welded ring of her collar. Sucha could not find purchase for her feet, she must be dragged and try not to choke in her steel as the fellow strode away.

"What will happen to her?" She inquired.
"Will she be beaten?"
"Yes," I heard the girl, Elise, admit to her. "She will likely be beaten."
"She will be at beaten and raped, at least, and not necessarily in that order," Emily told She with some confidence.

I know that had Emily failed to please me, been less than what I expected I, too, would have beaten her. Sucha served a fellow from Port Kar in the Filthy Urt Tavern. I have been to Port Kar. I believe the place used to be called the Dirty Urt. Perhaps they have not had the time to sweep up in a while. I do not know. At any rate, she served a man of Port Kar. She may have had far worse occur than a drubbing and the whip of the furs. I shall not speak of it.

She continued to ask after Sucha, but I understood her all to well. "Is it not enough that she tried her best?" she asked. "Is it her fault that another girl was simply her better?" On and on, but I knew well what she was really asking. I do not think that She was, in the depths of her conscience, asking after Sucha of The Filthy Urt or Fateemah of The Oasis of Nine Wells or Selke of the House of Prius in Ianda. She is a woman, yes. On some level she is concerned with those who share a common bond, a sisterhood - the brand and the collar, but I do not think she was concerned with any of them. She worried after Emily, to be sure. Peeling back one layer of her denial, there was exposed the concern for the gold-piece girl.

"Had Emily failed to please me, I would still be beating her right at this moment, She slave," I admitted.
"Why?!" she cried. "but...but.."

But, indeed. But it was not Emily, truly, She was concerned with. The denial was deeper than that. She would hide behind simple concern for a girl on her master's chain. She could pretend to be moved by how narrowly Emily may have escaped the whip. I knew there was more. I told Elise to open her silk, to present her breasts. She has a lovely bosom. She did not fail to present it, and well. She did not hesitate for an instant. Elise obeyed. I redirected my attention to She.

"What are the duties of a slave girl?" I asked her.
"To be obedient, beautiful and serve the free," she answered quickly.
"Absolute Obedience and Exquisite Beauty," I said, amending her statement, making it clearer. "To be fully pleasing."
"I am going to beat Elise," I informed her.
"NO!" she yelled. "I hate you! I hate you!" I thought it a bit unnecessary. I was sitting right there in front of her. Still, she raised her voice and then said something humorous.
"I will not allow it!"

Ah, now She hid behind something other than the concern of a woman sharing her status. She did not empathize for a woman living, as She did, in the brand and collar beneath men. It was not the common bond of slavery that compelled her to raise her voice. Nor was it the concern for Emily, the concern of a girl that was of her chain. She did not shake and clench her fists for the bond of one fourth on the chain for one second on the chain. I wondered if she would strike me with one of her slender fingered girl fists. I thought it incredibly stupid were she considering it, but not at all impossible. Her denial had reached a new depth. Other layers had been peeled back, exposed, but still she hid. She hid behind the 'concern for a friend'. Elise, who she knew as Jelly, was a sister to the brand and collar and, too, a sister of the same chain, but she was more. 'Jelly' was her friend.

"It is time you learned this lesson, She slave, Jenny of Gor," I told her.
"Tora was beaten because of me! Evona was beaten because of me! I will not let you beat Jelly because of me!" she yelled.

I wondered how she intended to stop me. She was on her feet, spitting her words at me beside the flap of the tent. I think She may have been ready to run and damn the consequences, dire as they might be. Tasta had lifted her chin when he saw the slave move unbid for the exit, but I had not given the command. She did not intend to run, no matter what her claim was.

"I own this woman. What I do to her has nothing to do with you, She," I informed her. "Elise is exquisitely beautiful, look at her. Absolutely obedient. Elise has not flinched or hesitated once in the time I have owned her. Elise does precisely what she is told. Elise is fully and completely pleasing to me."
"Why?" she thought it was cruelty on my part. She couldn't have been further off the mark.
"I am compelled to do so. Elise is compelled to have it done to her. She wants it. She loves what she is, a mere slave. She wants to know that I will keep her there," I told her. "Elise is afraid, to be certain, but that is not only fear you smell. Sniff the air. She is aroused. The air is redolent with the scent of woman."
"Position, Elise," I uttered.

The woman moved swiftly to comply, removing her silk. She bowed her back, lifted her backside higher than her shoulders and brought her arms in beneath her. Jenny, the girl She, did not move. She watched, unable to will herself away. Her carefully constructed layers of denial, defensive rationalizations and pretense laden posturing were being ripped from her without so much as a hand lifted against her. What happened next exposed her further still.

"Beg to be beaten or beg not to be beaten," I told the bowed slave as I removed the belt from my waist. It would be the strap, then, and she would be required to beg piteously for the abuse. But wait. I noted the girl She, opening her eyes, scratching nervously at her arms. Did I not offer the girl Elise a way out? Surely she would take it. Surely she would not beg to be beaten. No. That would not happen. No. What woman would do such a thing?

"Please. I beg to be beaten, Master. Please...please beat Elise, Master," she said.

I did so. And well.

She cried and screamed and shuddered as it happened, but struggled to remain in position. She resolved to do well. To weather this and come out on the other side, scathed but secure in the knowledge that she was owned. She would know that I would allow her to be precisely what she was, a slave girl. The girl, She, watched it all. She did not try to stop me. It was silly of her to even suggest that She might try. She did not bolt. There was nowhere for She to go.

"Do you think I desired to own this woman for years just so I could be weak with her?" I asked the girl, She. Both of them, whipped girl and witness, were wet with tears.
"No. No, Master," She answered quietly, glancing down at the dirt.