Naked Slave

originally posted August 8, 2006

"You are on the chain and of the chain," I told her.
"Five girl, behind the blonde one and before Six."
"Yes, Master," she responded.
"Perhaps when you are pleasing enough," I said. "You will be permitted to beg for clothing, naked slave."
"Yes, Master," she answered.
I then mused aloud over the fittingness of 'naked slave' as a name. One has to call the little bitches something. I allowed Elise, who until quite recently served as her hand maiden, and Portia, first girl on the coffle she was now a part of, to express their opinions on the moniker. They both approved. Not that their opinions had any quantifiable weight in the decision making process, but I thought it not inapt that women she once held the quirt over have at least the illusion of some small modicum of power over her. Now, until such time as it pleases me to call her something else or, perhaps, she manages to be pleasing enough that I allow her to beg for a scrap of clothing, she is called Naked Slave. She wears a collar. I should not have allowed her the kindness of the Robes of Concealment where she might, effectively, take breaks from her slavery, or be afforded respite from scrutiny. She is a barbarian, a product of a slave world, one which we farm lovely little fruits, plucking them from their bushes and trees when it pleases us. When they are plump enough. When they are juicy enough. When they are ripe. I should not have allowed her endeavors to scheme and plot her way into a life of her choosing on my world to succeed. Such as her can only be a slave. She is a woman, one born to the collar.
I considered selling her. To the north and east, of course, back the way we came, is Thentis. It is home to one of the largest, if not the largest, clearinghouses of slave girls in the world. I have been in her depths. I have seen the seemingly endless cells, the cages stacked from floor to ceiling, the facilities on hand to acquire, acclimate, train, process and finally vend women. From there, she could be sold anywhere. Indeed, we are staying in Port Olni, itself a port town from which I could probably sell her into the region of my choosing by investing a mere afternoon on the docks. She begged to be kept. I consented to keep her. I beat her. I may beat her again. One does so until one is satisfied. One need not administer discipline, of course, to the constraints of any set schedule. That is stupid. One simply beats his women until he is satisfied. I do not know that I am, as yet, satisfied. She does, however, seem to understand that her life in the collar will not be an easy one.
"May I do the laundry, Master?" she asked me, eager to have some task that she might contribute to the labors of her chain.
"Concern yourself with being pleasing and simple," I told her.
"I will inform you of your duties when it pleases me to do so, Naked Slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.