“Yes,” I said, “you will be fed as what you are, a slave.”

“Yes,” I said, “you will be fed as what you are, a slave.”
I then put one of the tidbits into her mouth, and, in a moment, angrily, she had finished it. It is not unusual for a slave’s first food from a new master to be received in a hand feeding. It may also be done, from time to time, of course, with all, or a portion, of a given snack, or meal. This sort of thing expresses symbolically, and teaches her also, on a very deep level, that she is dependent upon him for her food, that it is from his hand, so to speak, that she receives it.
“Although this doubtless does not compare with the provender of the Central Cylinder,” I said,
“which is reputed the best this side of the palace at Telnus, it is such that you should not come to expect it as a slave.”
She finished another tidbit.
“We do not have any slave gruel on hand,” I said.
She shuddered.
“That is enough,” I said. “We must be concerned with your figure. You are a little overweight, I think. In a paga tavern or brothel, you would have to be trimmed down a little.”
“Do not speak so of me,” she said.
“Surely you would wish to look well, curled on the furs, at a man’s feet, in a lamplit alcove.”
“I,” she said, “in an alcove?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Never!” she said.
“I wonder how you would perform,” I said.
“I would not ‘perform,’” she said.
“Oh, yes, you would,” I assured her.

Magicians of Gor, p. 833

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