Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 49

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  “Slaves understand such things,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “And I do not think she would have been likely to commit the same error again.”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  (pg. 330) “No,” he said, “I do not think so.”

  “You grant, however,” I said, “that my discipline is also likely to be

  effective?”

  “I would think so,” he said. “But I think mine might have been measured more

  perfectly to the slave, her needs and her act.”

  “You would have subjected her to use discipline?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “But we do not own her,” I said.

  “It does not matter,” he said.

  “True,” I said.

  Use discipline is within the prerogatives of a free person.

  “You think my discipline was too severe?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I know a place,” I said, “where such would commonly not be thought to be

  discipline at all but an escape from one.”

  “That is hard to believe,” he said.

  “A place in which it is culturally acceptable for the most basic needs of

  females to be denied, frustrated and ignored.”

  “Do not jest about matters of such gravity,” he said.

  “There are complex ideologies involved,” I said, “the purport of which is that

  nature and biology are mistaken, and the ideologies, whatever they happen to be,

  for there are several of them, even if contrived and inconsistent, are correct.”

  “Such a mad place cannot exist,” he said.

  “Perhaps not,” I said.

  “Surely you grant that your discipline, denying her slave use, was severe.”

  “She is a slave,” I said. “Anything can be done with her.”

  “By her Master,” he said. “Not just anyone.”

  “True,” I said. One did not have the right, for example, to kill or maim the

  slave of another, any more than any other domestic animal which might belong to

  someone else. In this sense the slave is accorded some protection from free

  persons who do not own her in virtue of certain general considerations of

  property law. The power of the master over the slave, on the other hand, is

  absolute. He can do whatever he wishes with her. She belongs to him, completely.

  “You do grant then,” he said, “that your treatment of her was severe?”

  “But intentionally so,” I said, grimly, looking after the girl, not small in the

  distance.

  “Unnecessarily severe?” he asked.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  (pg. 331) “It was measured perfectly to her, and her act, and my plans.”

  “Your plans?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “That is the difference between your measurements and mine.”

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “I wish her to understand what can be done to her,” I said.

  “You speak as though you intend to own her,” he said.

  “I do intend to own her,” I said.

  “Oh?” asked Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said. “She will figure in my plans.”

  “I see,” he said, softly.

  “She is a field slave,” I said. “I would suppose Appanius, who does not seem

  enamored of her, will let her go for a pittance, perhaps no more than a handful

  of copper tarsks.”

  “That is a curvaceous female to acquire for a few copper tarsks,” he said.

  “You noticed?” I said.

  He laughed.

  “There she is,” I said, pointing.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Her figure was now tiny, far away. She had stopped at the crest of a small hill,

  and was kneeling there, wearily, apparently to rest, her head down. The vessels

  of water were on the ground.

  “I am touched by your concern, or reservations, pertaining to the severity of my

  discipline for her, denying her slave use,” I said.

  He shrugged.

  “Perhaps it is motivated by your well-known kindness toward animals,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “But I wonder, too, if your concern might not have been self-regarding in some

  respect, motivated at least in part by a certain disappointment that you were,

  in accordance with my decision, denied an opportunity to search out, locate and

  exploit the vulnerable pleasures of the slave?”

  “Perhaps,” he laughed.

  “She is struggling to rise,” I said. The small figure was trying to get her legs

  under her, and rise in the yoke, lifting the vessels. One does this by crouching

  and lifting up, trying to do most of the work with the legs.

  “The weight is really too much for her,” he said. “She is not large enough and

  strong enough for such labors.”

  “But those are the labors to which she has nonetheless been (pg. 332) set by her

  master, Appanius, and the whip masters in the fields.”

  “Much must she had offended Appanius,” I said.

  “Apparently,” he said.

  “She is on her feet now,” I said. She stood, unsteadily, the vessels swinging on

  the yoke ends.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Did you think she was pretty?” I asked.

  “Very much so,” he said, “even in her present wretched condition, shorn,

  roughened and burned.”

  “Look!” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  The girl, at the crest of the hill, had thrown her head back, to the sky. We

  could not hear her, of course, but she must have cried out, or sobbed, with

  misery and frustration. Her shoulders shook. Her small arms moved, at the yoke,

  pulling. But she could not, of course, free them, fastened as they were in

  place, by her wrists, widely separated, at opposite ends of the yoke, thonged

  back against the wood.

  “Her needs are still much upon her,” said Marcus.

  “Apparently,” I said.

  Then she staggered down the other side of the small hill, and disappeared from

  sight. The sun was now well behind us.

  “Surely she would make an amusing, squirming armful of slave,” I said.

  “You noticed?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you not think it was cruel not to put her to slave use?” asked Marcus.

  “Not nearly as so cruel,” I said, “as it might be a few months from now, when

  she will have been longer a slave.”

  “True,” he said. Slave needs tend to develop and deepen in the course of a

  girl’s bondage. At Lavinia’s present stage of bondage she could not begin to

  suspect that her needs would be like later, how helplessly she would become

  their prisoner, how hopelessly she would become their prisoner, how hopelessly

  they would put her at a master’s mercy. In the face of such needs, the stoutest

  collars, the heaviest chains
, are but as gossamer. The depths of a slave’s

  sexuality, and love, I think, have never been sounded.

  “She was cruelly deprived, even so,” he said.

  “We will make it up to her,” I said.

  “Oh?” he asked.

  “Well, perhaps we will,” I said.

  (pg. 333) “Oh?” he asked.

  “Assuming, of course, that the intensity of her zeal, and the perfection of her

  service, warrants it.”

  “You are serious then,” he said, “About bringing her within the scope of your

  whip?”

  “Quite,” I said.

  “How does she figure in your plans?” he asked.

  “You will see,” I said.

  He wheeled his tharlarion about, and dust rose.

  “Where are you off to?” I asked.

  “I want Phoebe!” he said.

  “It seems then,” I said, “that it is not only the lovely Lacinia, former free

  woman of Ar, who has been frustrated.”

  “True,” he laughed.

  “But she is helplessly yoked, and must depend upon men, even to be released,” I

  said, “while you are free to ride to your slave.

  “And what of you?” he asked. “Are you so unmoved by the charms of your little

  field slave?”

  “”I?’ I said. “I think I shall to a paga tavern.”

  I, too, then turned my tharlarion.

  “And perhaps some former free woman of Ar in such a place will have five pierced

  metal tokens, purchasable for so little as a tarsk bit, threaded on her ankle

  cord tonight?”

  “I shall race you to Ar!” I said.

  Losing not a moment then, eager and laughing, we raced toward Ar.

  20 The Slave Will Obey

  “I love my collar!” she wept. “I love my collar!”

  “You understand what you are to do?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” she wept.

  I lifted my hand and her body leaped up, to resume contact with it.

  But I pushed her down, my thumb on her belly, to the blanket, spread on the

  floor of our quarters in the insula of Torbon, in the Metallan district. She

  squirmed, writhing there in frustration. I held her in place with my thumb. She

  looked up, wildly.

  “Please!” she wept.

  (pg. 334) She drew back her left ankle and there was the sound of the links of

  chain rattling and scraping on the floor, that chain run betwixt her ankle rings

  and the stout slave ring, anchored in the floor.

  “Oh, yes!” she wept, softly, in gratitude. “Oh, yes, my master! Oh, yes, my

  master!”

  “She is pretty,” commented Marcus, from the side of the room.

  “Yes,” granted Phoebe, kneeling nearly, some sewing across her knees.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” said the slave. Phoebe, of course, was first girl.

  “For a cheap slave,” said Phoebe.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the girl. “Oh! Oh!”

  The slave looked up at me in wonder and joy. Slaves are lovely.

  “How you own me!” she wept. “I did not know it could be like this! How you have

  made me feel! How you have trained me! How much you have taught me! How much

  better a slave I am now!”

  “Some women,” I said, “think that the joys of bondage are primarily those of

  submission and selfless service, the loving and the unstinted giving, the

  surrendering to the master, the being wholly his, but now you see that there are

  additional feelings as well.”

  “Yes, Master!” she cried. “Please do not stop!”

  “Her hair is too short,” said Phoebe.

  “Free women know nothing of this!” wept the slave. “They cannot begin to

  understand the raptures of bondage!”

  “I think they are not as ignorant as you think,” I said. “And surely you can

  recall your own speculations, and suspicions, and sensings, and dreams, when you

  were free.”

  “Only glimmers of terror, and longing,” she said.

  “Speak,” I said.

  “Of course in my belly,” she said, “I felt the appeal of bondage. I was

  intrigued by thoughts of it, and lured by them. Often did I linger lovingly upon

  such thoughts. Often was I fascinated to consider how it might be with me if I

  should become a slave, be owned and have no options but to obey.”

  “Then you did understand much of these things,” I said, “even when you were a

  free woman.”

  “No,” she said, “I understood nothing, nothing!”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Aiii!” she wept, rearing up. “Nothing! Nothing! Oh, my (pg. 335) my master,

  thank you, thank you! Be kind! Be kind to your slave, she begs you!”

  I was silent.

  “How helpless I am!” she said.

  The chain moved a little again, on the floor. I glanced to her ankle. The ankle

  ring looked well there. She reached up, to put her arms more about me. She was

  stripped, save for her collar and the ankle ring.

  “I desire to be found acceptable, Master,” she whispered.

  “You are acceptable,” I assured her.

  “Her skin is blotchy,” said Phoebe.

  “Steady,” I whispered to the slave.

  “Master?” she asked.

  I put her arms gently away from me. I moved my right hand. “Oh!” she said. I

  felt the pressure of her left thigh against my hand. I moved my hand again.

  “Oh,” she said softly. The chain moved on the floor. I moistened my tongue. I

  lowered my lips to her lower belly.

  “Oh, Master,” she whispered.

  “Steady,” I said.

  She moaned, given no choice but to submit to the pleasure I chose to inflict

  upon her.

  “Steady,” I cautioned her.

  “You know I shall not be able to resist you,” she said.

  “You will be whipped, if you even try,” I said.

  “Yes, Master!” she said, in joy. I felt her small fingers, clutching in my hair.

  “Oh, Master!” she suddenly wept. And then she began to twist and moan, and try

  to remain still, and thrust against me, and to hold my head where it was not

  letting it go and her fingers were tight in my hair and this hurt but I did not

  beat her but relished her so moaning and then bucking and trying to remain still

  and thrusting against me and how needful and helpless she was and so much in my

  power and so responsive and how such helpless movements and cries could be

  elicited by such tiny, persistent, patient, delicate attentions and she cried

  out begging me and I took her hands from my hair and looked down into her wild

  pleading eyes.

  “What is it you wish?” I asked.

  “I juice, my master! I gape, my master!” she said.

  “Do you wish to serve?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes!”

  “Do you beg to serve?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she sa
id. “I beg to serve.” She lifter her belly, piteously.

  I looked down upon her.

  (pg. 336) “Please, Master,” she said.

  I was silent.

  “I am only slave,” she said. “You have done this to me! I am only a girl in a

  collar. I am helpless. I belong to you! I am yours to do with as you wish! I

  will do anything for you! I beg you to have pity on me!”

  “I have tested your responses, slave,” I said.

  “Oh, Master!” she wept, in misery.

  “I have found them satisfactory,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “Once triggered,” I said, “they were involuntary, reflexive, beyond your

  control.”

  “Yes, Master,” she wept.

  “Such responses will much improve your value,” I said.

  “I am pleased, Master,” she wept.

  “And they appear still beyond your control,” I said. I regarded her.

  “They are, Master!” she said, tears in her eyes. Her body moved. She squirmed.

  Even to look upon her seemed to make her move. She was aroused, clearly, simply

  finding herself under the eyes of the master.”

  “But surely,” she said, “you have not addressed these attentions to me merely to

  assess the nature and specificity of my slave responses?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Let me serve! Let me serve!” she begged.

  I regarded her.

  “I beg to serve, Master!” she said.

  I entered her.

  “My Master!” she said.

  I then informed her, in a modality of the mastery, of my ownership of her.

  “I yield me yours, your slave!” she cried.

  Then I held her quietly, her body trembling in my arms. “Ecstasy, ecstasy,” she

  breathed.

  “You see,” I said, “there are feelings involved.”

  “It was unbelievable,” she said.

  “You are learning to feel,” I said.

  She looked at me, startled.

  “It is true,” I said. “You are still a new slave.”

  “Then I think I must just die,” she said.

  “Slaves have survived such things, and more,” I said.

  She laughed softly, and pressed against me.

  “There have been slaves for thousands of years,” I said.

  “And there is another now,” she said.

 

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