At first he merely despises her, as any wench from the slave farms, and treats her with cruelty, keeping her “as what she is,” an animal slave, making her do servile work, using her for his rude pleasures, tieing her at night to prevent her escape. Perhaps, once, during the day, she attempts to escape from him. He trails her, recaptures her, brings her back bound to his cave. There with a switch, she bound, he beats her, severely. He then throws her to her stomach and, kneeling across her body, from behind, roughly fastens a metal slave collar on her throat, his own. He then turns her on her back, and takes her. She, brutalized, intimidated, responds to him; she well realizes now that he is truly her master. He rises, stepping away from her beaten, collared, fucked body. She, the ex-sorority girl, now only a nude, collared slave girl, piteous, punished, looks up at him. She now understands, truly, that she belongs to this man. She realizes that he will take no nonsense from her; he is not weak; he is not like the soft, manipulable men of Earth; if he is displeased with her, he will simply beat her and, if it pleases him, use her. Her will has no choice, to her horror, but to break beneath his; they are mammals; she is a female; he is a male, her master. “I am your slave,” she tells him, “please be kind to your slave, Master.” She a woman, soft, vulnerable, beautiful, forced to submit, subdued, exhausted, breathless, from the numerous lengthy orgasms he has imperiously induced in her, lies at his feet, looking up at him, helpless, pity and vulnerability in her eyes. The ancient blood in her beautiful body leaves no doubt in her mind that she has encountered the rare, true male. Following an irresistible impulse, which she scarcely understands, before which she is helpless, she kneels before him and, hair falling about his sandals, kisses his feet. As her lips press upon his feet she understands suddenly that she is acknowledging that he is her blood master. She weeps and again and again kisses his feet. It is the only act of submission she knows. She, a woman, to her misery, her horror, and joy, has, for the first time in her life, encountered a truly dominant male. No longer does she wish to flee him. She fears now only that she might not sufficiently please him. She loves him, completely, helplessly. Gradually, in time, he softens toward her, but still he keeps her always, completely and perfectly, in her place. From time to time he uses the switch on her. Her femaleness must, from time to time, test his strength, challenge him, but, to her joy, it is never found wanting, and it is she who is always, to her joy, defeated, dominated. Gone from her now are the tensions of male/female conflict, the neuroses induced in women by weak men, neuroses which come of spiteful striving for psychological dominance over men, or for a meaningless, verbal equality, unnatural between such diverse animals, one made for bearing young and obedience, the other for hunting and mastering. As she lies in his arms she does not know whether to pity or envy unmastered women; she envies them their freedom but pities them that they have not known a man such as hers; in his arms she knows that the freedom which is theirs her master will not even think of permitting her; she envies them, in her way, but then she snuggles against her master, hoping that he will permit her to do so. He is lenient; he does. Their freedom is not hers; she herself, she knows, is a mastered woman. “I love you,” she whispers, “—Master.” Who has been forced to be the true woman? In his arms she knows that it is she. Womanhood is a hard lesson; she has learned it well; it can be taught only by a strong man.