She is the first woman you have kissed in six months. She, on Earth, had been an aloof, intellectual, man-hating virgin, in her late twenties, but now, in her months of captivity, stripped, collared, treated as an animal, forced, as in feeding and excreting, to become intimately aware of her body and its most basic needs, she has, in her lonliness and degradation, found herself to her horror almost constantly fantasizing herself as being possessed and penetrated by a male. She had even dreamed of being mated by her alien masters. But she was never sent to the stud cage. She is extremely attracted physically to the rough trapper (why else did she challenge him and pose before him?) but, of course, will not admit this to herself. She sees him as “beneath her,” as ignorant, simple and boorish, as dirty, loathesome, contemptible, but, too, frightened, she sees him as a powerful male in whose very presence she feels, fighting the feeling, hating herself for it, weak and submissive. By your kiss she is visibly shaken, as a female. She straightens. Her eyes flash. “I hate you!” she cries. “I hate you!” You smile. You have had this experience with other women. You know this beauty will yield to you in the end, tears in her eyes, crying out to you her slavery.

“You will never tame me,” she says.

You hook your leash, a light metal one, through which the animal cannot chew, on her collar, and lead her on this tether, your purchased pet, to your ship.

She knows, as she follows you, on the chain leash, that it is only a matter of time until she is tamed by her powerful master.

To herself she fantasizes yielding to you, as a helpless slave girl. She feels very receptive, very feminine, very weak. When he reaches the ship he puts his hand on her. She is already wet, loose, liquid and hot. He holds his hand before her face. “I know,” she says. She turns her head away, refusing to look at him. He locks her leash to a steel step of the ship, and climbs the stairs. He is leaving her.

“Wait!” she cries.

He looks down at her.

She kneels.

“Please, Master,” she says.

“What is it, Linda?” he asks.

She realizes that is now her name.

“Do not make me say it!” she begs.

He turns away.

“Please, Master!” she cries.

He looks down at her.

“I want to be fucked,” she says.

He detaches the leash and sends her up the stairs before him. Inside the ship she turns, her eyes piteous, pleading, and faces him. She kneels before him, on the steel plates of the ship’s floor. She looks up at him. There are tears in her eyes. “Linda begs on her knees to be fucked,” she whispers, “—Master.”

He touches the door switch and the two steel doors, forming the lock, slide shut, closing him inside with her.