“Do not forget you are a kept woman,” I told her.
“Kept woman!” she cried.
“Precisely,” I said.
“I do not care to think of myself as a kept woman,” she said.
“Unfortunate,” I said, “for it is exactly what you are.”
“Where were you last night, and today?” she demanded.
“I owe you no accountings,” I told her. “Is my supper ready?”
“I have already eaten,” she said.
“Is my supper ready?” I asked.
“You may prepare it yourself,” she said.
“The house is dirty,” I said.
“Such work is not mine to do,” she said. “If you wish such work done buy yourself a slave.”
I had rented a small house a few blocks from the wharves. It had an upstairs and a downstairs. It was small, but stout, as are most Gorean dwellings. On the small earnings I made at the wharves it was somewhat expensive for me, but it was not altogether impractical. There were two bedrooms upstairs, and there was a hall, living room and kitchen downstairs. Miss Henderson’s bedroom had a porch, which overlooked a small garden, surrounded by a high wall.
“Would you be pleased,” I asked her, “to return to inn?”
“The house is not unpleasant,” she said, “but it has certain distressing features.”
“And what are those?” I asked. I thought the house was rather nice, considering the modesty of the budget which must needs sustain its rental.
“My couch,” she said, “in the master bedroom, has a heavy iron ring set in its base.”
“That is a slave ring,” I said. “Surely you know its purpose.”
“Yes,” she said, acidly.
Such rings are commonly used for chaining slave girls, generally by the neck, to the foot of their master’s couch.
“And, too,” she said, “I do not like the slave kennels in the hall.”
I shrugged. “It is a Gorean house,” I said.
“Did you bring the suls from the market?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I did not.”
“How much money did you earn today?” she asked.
The amount of money earned varied from day to day, depending on the galleys in port and the need for men from the hiring yard.
“It is none of your business,” I told her.
Her shoulders stiffened under the robes of concealment and her eyes flashed angrily over the silk of the house veil. I could see her lips and mouth, vaguely, beneath the veil.
“You brought nothing from the market,” she said. “Accordingly there is very little for you here to eat.”
“Were you not to shop?” I asked. “I gave you money.”
“I did not feel like it,” she said.
“I will eat out,” I said.
“That is expensive,” she said. “There is some bread and dried meat left.”
“I will eat out,” I said.
“The girls are pretty at the paga taverns, aren’t they?” she asked, pointedly.
“They had better be,” I said, “or they would bring in little money for their masters.”
“I have heard such girls are ‘hot’,” she said.
“It is one of the features for which they are purchased,” I said.
“I see,” she said, in cold fury. “And what if they are not ‘in the mood’?” she asked.
“They know enough to be in the mood,” I assured her.
“And what if the customer is not pleased?” she asked.
“The girl, then, would be well whipped,” I said.
“Would you,” she asked, “if not pleased, have such a girl whipped?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And if I were such a girl,” she said, “and you were not pleased, would you have me whipped?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I see,” she said, in cold fury. She then rose to her feet. She drew her robes haughtily about her. “I am weary,” she said. “I shall now retire.”
“Do not throw the bolt on your door,” I said. She had been doing this, and it irritated me.
“It is my bedroom,” she said.
“Of these lodgings,” I said, “I am the rental master. It is your bedroom only upon my sufferance.”
“Of course,” she said, coldly. “I am your kept woman.”
“You may leave when you wish,” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “I need only walk out upon the Gorean streets and see what will happen to me.”
“You could sell yourself to an impotent master,” I said.
Her eyes flashed angrily over the white silk of the house veil.
“I invite you to leave,” I said.
“I do not want to leave,” she said.
“You prefer to be kept,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, coldly, “I prefer to be kept.”
She then turned about and left the kitchen, where we had been talking. She went through the living room and, going through the hall, passing the kennels, began to ascend the stairs.
“Do not bolt the door,” I called after her.
“Why not?” she asked, angrily.
“There will be no iron between a keeper and his kept woman,” I said, “unless it be by his will, such as a collar for her, or shackles or the bars of a cell.”
“I will do as I please,” she said.
“A keeper must always have access to his kept woman,” I said.
“I will do, as I please!” she said.
I listened to her door shut. I listened, carefully. Then I heard the iron bolt slid shut.
I sat, cross-legged, behind the small table in the kitchen. Then I rose up and went to the storage box and took out some bread and dried meat. I chewed on it for a time. Then, finishing it, I wiped my mouth. I then walked through the house to the stairs, and climbed them.
She screamed, suddenly, clutching clothing about her.
I stood in the threshold, the door awry, hanging off its hinges. The bolt with its brackets was splintered from the heavy wood.
She backed away, holding the clothing about her. “Don’t hurt me,” she said. “I would have opened the door!”
I strode to her, and stood before her.
“I would have opened the door,” she said.
“A slave might be slain for such a lie,” I said.
She did not meet my eyes. “You should knock,” she said, “before entering a lady’s bedroom.”
I tore away the clothing she held before her, casting it aside. She wore then only a light Gorean slip, white, which came high on her thighs.
“I am not fully dressed!” she said.
I took her and threw her on her belly on the couch. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
“Strip you,” I told her.
From the back I ripped apart the white slip until she lay upon it.
“Get out of my bedroom!” she sobbed.
“Be pleased that I do not this night make you earn your keep,” I said.
“Get out of my bedroom!” she cried.
“For the night,” I told her, “this is not your bedroom.” I seized her by the hair and pulled her, naked beside me, down the stairs. Before the first slave kennel, that farthest to the left, as you face them, I stopped. With my left hand I flung up the sturdy, barred gate. I put the startled Miss Henderson on her hands and knees before the small opening. Then, my left hand in her hair, and my right hand on her left thigh, I thrust her bodily into the kennel. “This is your bedroom for the night,” I told her. I then threw down the iron gate.
She turned about, clutching the bars. I turned the key, in the lock, fastening her within. “There will be no iron between a keeper and his kept woman,” I said, “unless it be by his will, such as a collar, or shackles for her, or the bars of a cell.” I then walked over to the wall. I held the key up, where she could see it. “A keeper must always have access to his kept woman,” I said. I then hung the key on a peg, where she might, from time to time, look upon it, as it might please her.
“Jason,” she said.
“I am going out,” I told her.
“Let me out,” she begged. “I am uncomfortable. The kennel is of cement, the bars of steel.”
“Have a pleasant night,” I said.
“I am uncomfortable,” she said. “I am cold!”
“I wager,” I said, “you will be far more uncomfortable and cold in the morning.”
“Jason!” she cried. “Jason!”
But I had gone out.
“You beast!” I heard her cry. “I hate you! I hate you!”
I locked the door from the outside, and left.