What Price, Freedom?

The pale pink stockings matched the garters of ribbons and ruffled lace. The slip was opaque, silky and blush-colored. It was less modest than normal, leaving a hint of thigh between the hem and the top of the garter. The gloves, too, were blush-colored and silky, with a tasteful, contrasting stitch. I covered the heavy collar in a length of pin-hole lace, tied off at the back of the neck with ribbons. Matching pink slippers, three shades darker than the gloves with a finely-tooled, leather sole cradled her feet. The bodice of the robe was tighter than it should have been, hugging her bosom, but the skirt flared by the multitude of pleats. It was a pale pink, brocaded tone-on-tone with dina blooms. There were five veils, but only the light veil, the one scandalously sheer and close to the face, was attached.
She could not breathe. As I moved to attach the Veil of Citizeness, she swooned and asked that I stop. Not long ago, she begged for her freedom. 'For one night,' she asked of me. She wished for the chance to prove that I would find more favor with her as a free woman than I do as a slave. It is, I think, impossible.
As a slave, she is a compulsion and a constant struggle of will. Not of her will against mine, of my own will against me. There are times that I am dizzy in her presence, so much so that I wonder if it is a trick of breeding. When I was the People's Magistrate, I conducted an audit of her papers. I know there is no trick, but there are times I can't help but wonder. When I look at her, I am already three steps into her future. She stares back at me boldly, blue eyes at times inquisitive, at times a challenge, but what she doesn't know, couldn't know, is that I can already see her on her belly, with my hands on her hips. By the time the distraction clears, I am already pushing her face to the pillow, my disposition decidedly rapacious.
I do not know how far I was willing to allow this illusion of freedom to go. I may have pinned all five veils, for example, but I would not have removed the collar from her throat. If her tone had taken on an air of superiority or even equality with me, I would have torn the whole ensemble from her, not paying mind to the workmanship of hook & eye closures, nor the fragility of pins. Clothing her essentially as a free woman was an experiment of sorts, but not to prove a point to her. I have no insecurity about my dominance over this woman. I have no need to force her into rote behavior, nor to beat any amount of submission into her that she does not sincerely offer on her own. I did wonder how far I could go. How far I could take it. I can't imagine I would have let it go on for long. She is a slave. While others chose to ignore that fact (and presumably some still do), I did not. The collar around her throat is mine. I put it there. Robes of concealment are at best a curiosity. I much prefer keeping her nude, or at least nearly so. After all, the only thing a woman's robes conceal, collar or no, is a slave girl.