"14 - Fighting Slave of Gor v2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

"I hardly dare speak of them to a man," she said, "they are so horrifying."

I said nothing. I did not wish to put her under any undue stress.

"I have often dreamed," she said, "that I was a female slave, that I was kept in rags or naked, that a steel collar was put on my neck, that I was branded, that I was subject to discipline, that I must serve a man."

"I see," I said. My hands gripped the table. My vision, for a moment, swam. I looked at the small beauty. I had not known I could feel such sudden lust, such startling, astonishing, maddening desire for a woman. I dared not move in the slightest.

"I went to a psychiatrist," she said. "But he was a man. He told me such thoughts were perfectly normal and natural."

"I see," I said.

"So I went to a female psychologist," she said.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It was strange," she said. "When I spoke to the psychologist about this she became quite angry. She called me a lewd and salacious little bitch."

"That was scarcely professional of her," I smiled.

"In a moment," said the girl, "she apologized, and was again herself."

"Did you continue to see her?" I asked.

"A few times," said the girl, "but it was never really the same after that. Eventually I stopped."

"You apparently touched a raw nerve in her," I said. "Or perhaps what you said threatened her in some way, perhaps as not being obviously compatible with some theoretical position." I looked at her. "There are many other psychiatrists and psychologists," I said, "both male and female."

The girl nodded.

"There is a variety of positions in those fields, in particular in psychology," I said. "If you shop around you will doubtless find someone who will tell you what you wish to hear, whatever it is."

"It is the truth I wish to hear," she said, "whatever it is."

"Perhaps," I said, "the truth is the last thing you wish to hear."

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Suppose that the truth were that you were, in your heart, a female slave."

"No!" she said. Then she lowered her voice, embarrassed. "No," she said. Then she said, "You are hateful, simply hateful!"

"That you might be in your heart a female slave is not even a possibility that you can admit," I said.

"Of course not," she said.

"It is politically inadmissible," I said.

"Yes," she said, "but beyond that it cannot be true. It must not be true! I cannot even dare to think that it might be true!"