Owned and Owner

Owned and Owner is a well-written, intense novel about a dominant/submissive relationship. It is a depiction of slavery engaged in by choice, that is also extreme and inescapable.

Male and female populations in this far corner of space separated so long ago that they've almost forgotten each others' existence. But women convicted of 'crimes of irresponsibility' have one rarely-chosen option: to be sent to the men's planet as slaves. This is the story of Etrin, a passionate submissive who takes that option, and of Garid, the man who buys her.

Once her choice is made, there’s no way back for Etrin. On the men's planet, women are such rare creatures that they are treated as exotic pets. Leashed, caged, auctioned, and handed over to her new owner, Etrin finds out what it is to be a helpless slave in the hands of a man who knows exactly what she is, and precisely what he wants.

Etrin is never allowed to speak or understand the language; she learns obedience by trial and error. Gradually, even her autonomy of mind relaxes before her master's relentless conditioning, and she operates without language, becoming the animal that he shapes her to be. She's raced as a pony, kept caged and in constant bondage, punished frequently -- but the hardest adjustment of all is the chastity belt, and the discovery that teasing and denial are her master's right and pleasure.

As Garid, with care and patience, moves his slave toward abject surrender, he joins the community of other slave owners, all of whom have their own ideas on how to enjoy the women in their possession.

From the AuthorI wanted to write a book that described the most extreme power exchange I could imagine that was nevertheless consensual. I wanted to write about real, multidimensional characters, capable of tenderness and a touch of humour as well as pain.

I think Owned and Owner is unusual, not just because of the level of erotic imagination that went into it, but also because of the rich detail with which the characters' sensations and emotions are described.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.I sat on my bed, waiting.

‘I am going to men to be owned, to be owned, to be owned….’ The words drummed softly but insistently through my head. My need for drama amused me. Still, I had to find some way to convince myself. There had been years of fantasies, some of them so intense they felt much more real than this. ‘This’ was a small locked room, hanging in space, waiting. Not much different from the cell I’d lived in for months, or for that matter from my room at home.

So although my rational side (such as it was), told me I was really on my way, there was some level on which I simply didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe that the world outside of me was finally going to match what had been going on so violently inside my head all those years. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to, which didn’t help. All I had was some official information, meant to put me off, and the pictures they had shown me briefly, six weeks before.

I could have cried when they took them away. If only I could have had them all to myself for a day or two! Instead I had to look at them with that dour, gray woman standing over me, muttering her disgust. I sat there trying to conceal my excitement, feeling almost paralyzed by the throbbing between my legs, pressing myself helplessly against the hard bench while trying to seem casual about my movements, my hands trembling as I turned over the pages. I suppose they were hoping I’d be appalled. As soon as I’d glanced at them without a word, the woman snatched them away, not looking at me as she marched out, locking the door behind her with a clang. She wasn’t stupid. I’d proved myself once again to be beyond the pale. My shame made me long for the punishments I’d seen in the pictures.

I sat on my bed trying to remember details in those pictures. What did the man look like who held the leash? The woman’s expression – I had not had time to read it. The surroundings, were they familiar or strange? What was I in for? What had I done?

The judge had been gray, but not dour, a perceptive woman. I knew she had seen me as sullen throughout my trial. That was my defense, at least in the psychological sense. (In the legal sense I didn’t have any.) I had had such an attitude toward any authority figure that all of them – mothers, aunts, teachers – had given up in despair. I raised sullenness to an art form. I raised a lot of blood pressure, too. There had to be no chinks to my inner life. It was so habitual that the effort to drop it was wrenching, when that ultimate moment came in the courtroom.

‘You have been determined to be incorrigibly irresponsible toward yourself and your community,’ the judge pronounced. ‘I cannot recall a worse case. You have made nothing but bad use of the privileges this society accords its members. At every opportunity you have demonstrated that you cannot be trusted with citizenship status. You know your three options: rehabilitation, exile or slavery on Henth. What is your decision?’

I hung suspended in a tight, strangling web of silence. After a life of concealment, three words were going to show everyone my dreadful colours. I had rehearsed my answer for months to prevent myself from chickening out at the last moment. I tried to say the words by rote, without letting myself think or give them meaning. But my answer had to be forced through my constricted throat, and was addressed in a hoarse whisper to the table in front of me.

‘Slavery on Henth.’

There was a sharp murmur behind me in the courtroom. No one had chosen the Third Option from my community in living memory. After a few moments the initial disbelief gave way to a roar of indignation. I clenched my sweating hands together, eyes fixed in front of me, my back to the crowd, trying not to cower. This was even worse than I had imagined. I was afraid they were going to lynch me.

‘Etrin Aboia, let me be sure the court is not mistaken. State your choice again clearly and fully.’

I swallowed, and looked down at my hands. They were clenched together, but the thumbs made a small upward gesture, as if to tell me to get on with it. I took a deep breath, raised my head and made my hunched shoulders drop. A kind of desperate calm came over me. For once I was going to say the truth about myself and not be ashamed. I forced myself to look the judge right in the eye. The room went quiet.

I thought, ‘This is it. Do it right, Etrin.’ I heard my voice ring low but clear across the court. ‘I, Etrin Aboia, choose the Third Option, slavery on Henth, as punishment for my crimes of irresponsibility.’ The voice sounded like it knew what it was talking about, and I was grateful. I could see by her expression that the judge, at least, knew the truth.