Viewpoints

originally posted July 18, 2006

Other than the minor auction hall serving as theater for the production of my play and, of course, the room I have been given use of for sleeping and such, I probably spend the majority of my time on a terrace situated on the west wing of the House of Clark. The house is situated at an elevation just higher than that of Thentis proper and, as such, the terrace affords an excellent view of the city. I suppose the view would be not incomparable to that of a resident of the Tabidian Towers in Ar, one whose apartment was on the middle or upper floors. I understand, incidentally, that most who reside in the Tabidian Towers do so on the middle or upper floors. The lower floors, I am told, are reserved for such things as shoppes and indoor gardens, places where the well-to-do of my city may mingle with those of their own ilk. Of course, this is mere speculation and second hand information. I am not the sort whom is often invited to such residences. I am speaking of relative elevations, however, and not the social strata of a large metropolis. Here on the western terrace of the House of Clark, as I have said, one has an excellent view of the city.
Last evening, on the western terrace, on its cobblestones, amidst its convenient copper bowls of warming embers, I danced a girl called Six. Some call her Sana. She has known many names on more than one chain in my keeping. They are too numerous to mention, so I will simply refer to her as Six. It is, at any rate, her name for the moment. She is fortunate to have it. Some women serve in their collars without a name. This is often used as a disciplinary measure, to impress upon a girl that she owns nothing, and can own nothing, not even her name. It is often thought to be a good initial discipline for a new slave, not unlike her initial beating or keeping her nude for a time after her purchase. Six, of course, has often known such disciplines and others. I am firm with Six. It is why I chose the Whip Dance for her to learn. Such a woman benefits from being kept close to the leather. Last evening, on the western terrace of the House of Clark, while her chain sisters watched, while my companion, too, nervously, watched, Six was kept close to the leather. She was given a beat by the nimble fingers of the girl, Elise, a pulse, so to speak, drummed across the taut skin of the tabor. Her main encouragement, however, was my belt. One stalks a girl in such a dance and, not unlike a disciplinary lashing, one brings the leather down in varied patterns, keeping the girl on edge. She is generally not struck, provided she is pleasing. She, however, does not know when or where the leather will fall, how close it will come to her body and when, or if, she will be struck. The very sound of it, as evidenced by the tension in the bodies of the women watching her, is enough to keep any woman on edge. There were a few instances when I thought her performance was slightly forced, more driven by genuine fear than a sensual, trusting abandon. Accordingly, I brought the belt close, nearly striking her on more than one occasion. I did not, however, feel the need to do more than warn her. She was sent to her mat exhausted, sweating but not striped. Tired as she was, I do not doubt she found it more than a little difficult to find sleep.
Others, as I have mentioned, were not unaffected by the performance. That is one of the benefits of slave dance. All slaves, those dancing and those watching, indeed, all women, are affected by it. If Six had been struck, for example, I do not doubt that each of those present would have recoiled as if struck herself. Did I not hear Elise moan as she drummed the beat, her hips unable to still themselves? Did I not see the placatory Portia, thrown forward between her knees, arms extended, shiver with anticipation? Could I not hear the Lady Jenny's breath beneath her veil, her quiet, nearly silent exclamations of 'Oh!', her almost inaudible whimper? And was not the girl, Joy, though she thought herself hidden in the shadows of an arch, completely enrapt with what I did to the girl, beautiful blue eyes wide, mouth sealed shut to prevent crying out, breathing prettily through her nose? It was with a look that she found herself discovered and, with that same look, recognized that wordless command she heeded quickly, hurrying herself back to my room to strip herself. The rape, perhaps an ahn later, was brief and also wordless, a bit brutal. I am not often a 'gentle lover'. I do not think, were she given the opportunity, would find within her a voice to complain or, indeed, a reason. There is much on my mind of late. Past girls dancing on tiles, past the production of plays, past thoughts of social strata and my place within it, the accumulation of wealth and so on. From time to time, it is pleasant to just turn those thoughts off and spread some Joy.