Kajira of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "Perform," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, and performed.

  I performed as excitingly and seductively as possible.

  "More lewdly," he would sometimes say, "more salaciously, more lasciviously!"

  "Yes, Master!" I would cry, and try to please him even more.

  He kept me on the leash for at least twenty Ehn and, in the latter portion of this time, commanded me. It seemed as if he made me move, and posed me, in almost every way in which a strong-drive male might desire to see a human female, and I, of course, must conform perfectly to his wishes on my leash. He even took me about the room and to his couch. He made me do such things as grind my belly against the wall of the room and throw myself, on my belly and back, over the great storage chest, wooden and iron-banded, at one side of the room. I remember the feel of the wood and iron. Too, he permitted me, even ordered me, upon his couch, there to continue my performances. I must first, of course, kneel at the lower left side of the couch and kiss the covers before being permitted to creep upon it. Then he drew me from the couch to the floor at its foot, near the slave ring. With one hand he flung covers to the floor there, on the tiles. He then pointed to a place on the tiles, out from the covers, but in front of them. "A free person has walked here," he said. "Yes, Master," I said. I then, kneeling, put down my head and kissed the indicated place.

  "Again," he said. "Again!"

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  I then looked up at him.

  "Crawl here," he said, indicating a place at his feet.

  I did so.

  "You may now kiss my feet," he said.

  I did so.

  "You may now beg to be used as a slave," he said.

  "I beg to be used as a slave, Master," I said.

  "Lie there," he said, indicating a place on the covers, near the slave ring, "on your back."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He then knelt near me, and took the leash and tied it about the slave ring. He left some four or five feet of leash between the collar ring and the slave ring. That would allow him the slack he might need to move me about, if he wished, kneeling me, say, with my head down, or throwing me to my side or belly.

  He then knelt across my body and held my hands, by the wrists, helplessly down, above and to the sides of my head.

  "I greet you, Lady Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus," he said.

  "Greetings, Master," I said.

  "Struggle, squirm, attempt to escape," he said.

  I struggled briefly, predictably futilely. "I cannot escape," I said.

  "Are you in the power of a man?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Completely?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You are completely in the power of what man?" he asked.

  "I am completely in the power of Miles of Argentum," I said.

  "Long have I dreamed of having you in my power," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Are you the woman who begged to perform on a leash, and then so performed?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You did well," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "As I recall," he said, "you also begged, kneeling, and after kissing my feet, to be used as a slave."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It will be done with you as you requested," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  He then released my hands and, changing his position, knelt on my right.

  He then began to touch me, artfully and deftly. After a moment or two I realized I would not, eventually, be able to resist him, even if he were to give me permission to try. His hands were sure. He knew what he was doing. It was only a matter of time. I lay there, helplessly, and felt my slave reflexes beginning to be triggered. I bit at the covers. I saw that he intended that I would yield to him as a sobbing, pleading, subdued slave. In this I saw that I was to be given no choice.

  "You are very lovely, Lady Sheila," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "And you have the reflexes of a female slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "Thank you, Master." I did not think it would be long now. I suddenly jerked back my body from his touch. He had made it so sensitive. He did not cuff me, nor chide me, but, too, he did not give me quarter. He continued, not hurrying, patiently, relentlessly, with the process of reducing me to a man-dominated, orgasmic, conquered female slave. He now held me, his left hand at the small of my back, in place.

  I gritted my teeth. What men can do to us, I thought, angrily. Then I wanted only to feel, beggingly, piteously.

  Then again, desperately, I strove to resist. The high, black, leather collar cut at the bottom of my chin.

  I could feel the tiles beneath the covers. I had not been granted the dignity of the couch's surface. I would be had at its foot, by the slave ring.

  I squirmed. I looked at the slave ring. The leash on my neck ran to it, and was tied to it.

  I was leashed!

  I felt his hands.

  I must resist! I must resist!

  "Oh, please, Master," I wept, "let me yield to you as a conquered slave!"

  I must resist!

  "I beg to yield to you!" I wept.

  "In time," he said. "In time."

  The beast! The beast! I would show him! I would resist him! I would refuse to feel! I would not let him do this to me!

  "Please have pity on me, Master!" I cried. "I acknowledge that I have been conquered. I am vanquished! I am now yours, and as you want me, as a slave, fully! I beg now only to be permitted to yield to you abjectly and shamelessly. Let me tender to you now the helpless surrender of an orgasmic slave!"

  Who was it who cried out so shamelessly, so helplessly and brazenly for a master's mercy? And I realized that she who cried out was I.

  "Please, Master," I whimpered, sobbing, surrendered, wholly then one with myself, and wholly at his mercy. "Please, Master. Please!"

  "Does Lady Sheila, the lofty and proud Tatrix of Corcyrus, desire to yield to me as a slave?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I moaned. "I beg it! I beg it!"

  He then entered me suddenly and fiercely.

  I clutched him.

  "Please!" I whispered.

  "Not yet," he said.

  After a few minutes I again begged for his permission to yield. "Not yet," he said. I moaned. He, by varying his rhythms and movements, brought me again and again to the point of yielding, and then stopped short, letting me go back a greater or lesser distance, and then bringing me forward, at one speed or another, again. In this he not only showed his power over me but took much pleasure from me.

  "It is pleasant to enjoy the Tatrix of Corcyrus," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I sobbed, bitterly.

  Yet I could not deny that he was forcing me, too, to experience much pleasure, its nature and amount depending completely on his will.

  A quarter of an Ahn must have passed.

  Then again, for I do not know what time, he brought me to a point of almost unbearable tension.

  "You may now yield, Lady Sheila," he said, "as you have begged, as a slave."

  "Thank you, Master!" I cried, and threw my head back in elation and gratitude, and freed myself of feeling, and, as he mastered me, cried out my slave's submission to him.

  Afterwards he stood up and looked down, regarding me. "It is pleasant to have had the Tatrix of Corcyrus," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I lay, had, at his feet.

  He then crouched down, next to me, and rolled me to my stomach. He then jerked my hands behind my back and casually braceleted me. "You will spend the night braceleted," he informed me. "Yes, Master," I said. He then shackled my left ankle and chained me, by means of it, to the slave ring at the foot of his couch. He then freed the leash from the slave ring. He jerked it against the collar ring twice, sharply, and I felt the collar jerk against the back of my neck. This is sometimes
done, as though reminding the woman that she has been leashed, and, at that moment, is still leashed. The leash, as you might sense, well reminds a woman of her womanhood, and its meaning. Wearing the leash is a symbol of male domination and of her complementary nature as a female. It is not surprising that being on a man's leash is a profoundly erotic experience for a female. Sometimes so little is required to effect a cure for frigidity in a new capture, one not yet put under the iron, one not yet collared. Leashes, of course, are not unfamiliar to slaves. They are often walked on them. It is a way for a man to demonstrate his wealth, taste, success or fortune. A beautiful woman on a leash, to whom he seems to pay little attention, in a public promenade, or in the circuit of a plaza, for example, muchly enhances his public image, concerning which Goreans are often quite vain. Sometimes one slave girl will inquire of another the identity of her master, and one common way of doing this is to ask, say, "Who leashes you," "On whose leash are you," "Whose leash do you wear," such things. He then unlocked the leash collar and freed me of it and the leash. These articles, with the key, he then replaced in one of the chests at the side of the room. He then took most of the covers and threw them back on the couch. He did leave me a sheet on the tiles. I lay on half of it. The other half, folded, he threw over me. He then retired. Toward morning, in the early hours, he summoned me to his bed and again made use of me. I knelt beside the bed, kissed the covers and crawled into it. He knelt me and turned me about, and pushed my head down. He was quick with me. He was half asleep. I suppose I should have been grateful that I was permitted the honor of the couch. I do not think he, half asleep, wished to leave it. He did not bother unbraceleting me. Then, with his foot, when he was finished, he thrust me from the couch. At the foot of the couch, on the tiles, with my teeth I readjusted the sheet about me, as I could. I then lay there, wide-eyed, for a time, not sleeping.

  How far I was from my small apartment, from the perfume counter in the department store on Long Island. That mercenary little chit was now, on this natural world, a braceleted slave at the foot of a man's couch. No longer, now, was she, in the prerogatives of freedom, permitted to give men nothing, or frustration; now she must serve them with perfection and provide them, to the best of her ability, at their merest whim, with fantastic pleasures. At least now, I thought, I am good for something.

  How casually Miles of Argentum had just used me! But I did not object, for I was a slave. This form of casual use, this off-handed employment of us, while perhaps inappropriate for a free woman, was acceptable for a slave. We did not have to be the subject of elaborate and tiresome preparations and pretenses, of complex rituals of attention and respect. We could, at times, be mere conveniences to the master, and, in this, too, we find something honest, natural, straightforward and lovely. There are times when the master simply wants us, and now. At such times, too, as we are slaves, it pleases us to serve.

  To be sure, the use to which Miles of Argentum had just subjected me, and I was well aware of this, had not been merely casual, a simple convenience use. It had, too, been a spurning use. Though he had not spoken to me, save to summon me imperiously to him, I had little doubt that he was still thinking of me in terms of Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus. What a rich joke on the proud Tatrix! What a splendid lesson for the captured sovereign, to be subjected to a mere convenience use in the early morning, and then to be spurned to her place at a slave ring. But even so I did not object. Something in the woman of me responded to the masterful authority in this treatment. It made clear to me, once again, the delicious, terrible domination to which I was subject on Gor. I wanted men to be my superiors and masters, as they were on Gor. I wanted to be owned by them, as I was on Gor. I wanted to love them, and obey them, as I had to, without choice, on Gor.

  I thought of Miles of Argentum.

  How skillful he was at teaching a woman her slavery. How well he had put me through my paces on the leash, and then later in his arms. And, but moments ago, he had simply ordered me to him and had then, wordlessly, before taking me, positioned me precisely as he wanted me, my head even down.

  I considered my compliance with his wishes and desires. I had obeyed him perfectly. I would not have dared to do otherwise, of course. He was not a man of Earth, or a typical man of Earth. He was a Gorean male.

  I twisted a bit on the tiles, carefully, so as not to dislodge the sheet. I moved my wrists a little, they locked snugly, helplessly, behind my back in their slave bracelets.

  How men do with us as they please, I thought. How they master us!

  I pulled for a moment, angrily, futilely, irrationally, against the slave bracelets, but I could not, of course, free myself.

  What a glorious world this is for men, I thought, that here women such as I must serve and please them!

  But then I squirmed with pleasure and joy.

  And what a glorious world for women, I thought, that here we must so serve and please!

  I felt then the raptures of my bondage, from the tranquillities of selfless service to the ecstasy of a slave's sexual surrender to the dominant male, the master. How perfect I was for bondage; how perfect bondage was for me. I had been designed by nature for bondage. This was clear in my body, and in my nature and dispositions. I rejoiced that I had been brought to a world in which I was free to fulfill, and, in certain circumstances, would have no choice but to fulfill, this implicit destiny. Here, on Gor, there were none of the confusions, the denials, the lies and ambiguities of Earth; here there was clarity, structure and truth. Here civilization did not war with nature; here slaves were slaves, and masters masters. Here I would be what I was, and without compromise, a slave. I did not object. Rather was I thrilled with this, as I had now learned, my natural fulfillment.

  But I was frightened of Miles of Argentum.

  He seemed to think of me not as the helpless and lowly slave I was, a mere girl rented for his pleasure for an evening, but as though I were a high lady and free captive, Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, who was then, perhaps in his vengeance on her for her escape from his camp, to be humiliated and humbled, and forced even, in her now unbreakable captivity, to perform and serve as a slave.

  Certainly he had taken much pleasure with me.

  But he must know that the true Sheila had fallen to Hassan, the Slave Hunter. Only recently he had brought her to Argentum in a golden sack. Even now, for his amusement, he kept her for several Ahn a day in that sack, suspended, tied shut, in the throne room, while business was conducted. The sack was to be opened, and she was to be presented to Claudius, Ubar of Argentum, and the high council, and high citizens of Argentum, at the climax of a great feast, to be celebrated two days from now.

  So what interest had Miles of Argentum in me?

  Surely he did not think that I might be the real Sheila.

  In his treatment of me, and in calling me Sheila, and so on, surely he had been only playing a game with me.

  He could not remember me that clearly, I hoped, from his appearance before me in the great hall, when I had sat upon the throne, or from the time when he had had me locked, naked, a captive, in a golden cage.

  No. He was only playing with me.

  I was merely Tiffany, a feast slave, brought to Argentum with others to serve at the victory feast.

  It was not my fault if I bore some remote resemblance to Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus.

  I reminded myself that Miles of Argentum did not own me.

  I reminded myself that he had only rented me for an evening, for a night, as men may rent women such as I. In a few Ahn, in the morning, I would be returned to my keepers. He would then forget about me. In a matter of days, probably some three or four days, I would be on my way back to Ar, with the others. I had nothing to fear.

  He did not own me. That was what was most important. He could not even harm me, at least seriously, or permanently, without paying some form of restitution to the Enterprises of Aemilianus. I was, after all, their girl property, not his.

  So he claimed he never
forgot a face!

  What was that to me?

  Too, he could not be sure.

  Too, he did not own me.

  I was not his!

  So I was safe. I was safe, safe, safe.

  I then, toward morning, fell asleep.

  * * * *

  I awakened rather late. It must have been around the eighth Ahn. The room was flooded with light.

  There had been a knock at the door. It must have been my keeper coming for me, I thought. I struggled to my knees. It is in such a position that a slave girl commonly greets a free man. I did not wish to be kicked or cuffed for discourtesy. Braceleted as I was, I could not keep the sheet on me. It fell across my thighs. But it was someone else, I saw. Miles of Argentum, dressed and shaved, answered the door.

  "She will be with you shortly," he said. I did not understand that remark. He then closed the door. I gathered the man might be waiting outside. I did not recognize him.

  "I see that you are up, Lady Sheila," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It is just as well," he said. "It is now past the eighth Ahn."

  I did not understand, at that time, the reference to the eighth Ahn. Was that supposed to have some significance to me?

  I was then startled. I felt Miles of Argentum, from the back, pressing a tiny key into my collar.

  "Master!" I cried.

  He then, to my astonishment, opened the collar and removed it.

  "Master," I said, "what are you doing? How can you do this? Where did you get the key?"

  "In Ar," he said, "several days ago, the first day after I saw you in the city. I paid for you then, but the transfer of ownership, as specified in the contract, as I wished, did not become effective until this morning, at the eighth Ahn. A few Ehn ago, unbeknownst to you, you became mine."

  "Surely you jest, Master," I wept. "Feast Slaves would not wish to sell me in this fashion. I am needed. There is no replacement here for me. There is no girl to attend to my duties!"

  "I did not realize one serving slave was so significant," he said, amused.