“To my feet,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She crept tremblingly
to my feet.
“Curl up,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I then threw the second blanket, the top blanket, over her, covering her
completely. When a blanket, or cloak, or covering of any sort, is thrown
over a slave like this she may not speak or rise. She must remain as she
is, silent, until the master, or some free man, lifts the covering away.
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“Give me a choice,” she begged.
“You will be given no choice,” I told her. “Your femininity will be forced
to grow, nurtured, if necessary, by the whip.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Master!” she protested, but I lifted the dark
blanket and threw it over her head, so that she was completely covered.
She could not then speak, or rise up, for the blanket was over her.
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