The Usurper Read Free Page B

perhaps the tiny, tasteful “slave rose.” If she was not to be marked, for she was free, then let the others, true slaves, lowly and owned, be unmarked, as well.
    â€œPerhaps we are too beautiful to mark,” said the blonde.
    â€œDo not be absurd,” said the brunette. “All slaves are to be marked, and the more beautiful the most of all, for they are the more costly merchandise. One does not wish to lose them.”
    â€œI see,” said the blonde.
    â€œSo why are we, slaves, not marked?”
    â€œI am sure I do not know,” said the blonde.
    â€œI long for the brand,” said the brunette.
    â€œYou long for it?” asked the blonde.
    â€œYes,” said the brunette. “I want to be a slave. I have wanted to be a slave since I was a young girl. That is why I want to be marked, to have my nature, destiny, and meaning proclaimed publicly on my body. I am not ashamed to be a slave, for it is what I am, and want to be. I revel in it, I exult in it! It is my joy! I want to love a man so deeply that I will accept nothing short of utter bondage at his hands. I want to submit to him, and love and serve him, wholly and helplessly. And I want him to want me so fiercely that he will be content with nothing less than my categorical possession; I want him to want me so much that he will be satisfied with nothing less than putting me to his feet, in his collar, as his indisputable property.”
    The blonde began to tremble.
    Why should the words of the brunette, a mere slave, concern her, she, a free woman?
    â€œWhat is wrong, Cornhair?” asked the brunette.
    â€œNothing,” said the blonde.
    â€œYou are disturbed?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI suspect,” said the brunette, “that you are in some way special. But how is it that you, if you are, might be special?”
    â€œPerhaps I am particularly attractive to Masters,” said the blonde.
    â€œYou do not yet know your collar,” said the brunette. “You are still much like a free woman. Your body is stiff, and wooden. You lack the modalities of the slave, her sensuousness, her fluidity, her subtle movements, her grace, her vulnerability, her sense of being owned, and desired, and desired as the slave she is, her pleasure in such things, and her joy.”
    â€œThe barbarian asked for me!” said the blonde.
    â€œPerhaps he recalls you from the Narcona ,” said the brunette.
    â€œDoubtless,” said the blonde.
    â€œBut why should he choose you?” asked the brunette.
    â€œWhy not?” asked the blonde.
    â€œYou are beautiful,” said the brunette, “but you are not yet a suitable slave.”
    â€œPerhaps I will never be a suitable slave,” said the blonde.
    â€œPerhaps not,” said the brunette, “but I assure you that you are eminently suitable for the condition. I have seldom seen a woman, even at a glance, more obviously suitable for slavery.”
    The blonde stiffened, in fury, hating the brunette, but felt uneasy, rejecting the sheet of flame which had suddenly flared in her belly.
    How fearful it would be, to be truly a slave!
    â€œWhy you?” said the brunette. “There are others, several others, better slaves.”
    â€œBut nonetheless it was I for whom he asked,” said the blonde.
    â€œHe is a barbarian,” said the brunette.
    â€œNo matter,” said the blonde. “He is a captain. He is charged to recruit comitates . He is no simple bumpkin from the forests, lost when separated from his sty of pigs or patch of roots. He is an officer. He was held in honor on the Narcona . Surely he has visited cities, frequented markets, perused slave shelves and cages, been in the brothels and taverns, and is no stranger to marked chain-sluts.”
    â€œSo why would he want you?” asked the brunette.
    â€œBecause of my extraordinary beauty,” said the blonde.
    â€œPerhaps he is curious about you,” said the