by John Norman
“Not all free women are frigid,” she said.
“Of course not,” I said, “but there is actually a scale, so to speak, in such matters. But just as some free women are insufficiently inert, or cold, to qualify, strictly, as frigid, perhaps to their chagrin, so none of them, I think, are sufficiently ignited to qualify in the ranges of “slave-girl hot.” so to speak. A free woman’s sexuality may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of inertness, or coolness; a slave girl’s sexuality, on the other hand, may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of responsive passion, or heat. Some slave girls are hotter than others, of course, just as some free women are less cold than others, whether this pleases them or not. Whereas the free woman normally maintains a plateau of frigidity, however, the slave girl will usually increase in degrees of heat, this a function of her master, his strength, her training, and such. The slave girl grows in passion; the free woman languishes in her frigidity, congratulating herself on the starvation of her needs.”
“Do free women know what they are missing?” she asked.
“I think, on some level, they do,” I said. “Else the resentment and hatred they bear the slave girl would be inexplicable.”
“I see,” she said.
“Beware the free woman,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“On the block, of course,” I said, “the girl is under the control of the auctioneer, who functions as her master while she is being sold. He will often exhibit her skillfully. A good auctioneer is very valuable to a slaver’s house. He will guide her with his voice, and touches, or strokes, of his whip. He may put her through slave paces on the block, forcing her to assume postures and attitudes. If she is a dancer, she may be forced to dance. She may be, if he sees fit, publicly caressed on the block.”
“Before the buyers!” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “It does not matter. She is a slave.”
“Of course,” she whispered. “She is only a slave.”
“It is not unusual,” I said, “to even send a girl aroused onto the block, that the nature of her movements may make clear her needs to the audience.”
“And should such a girl be caressed?” she asked.
“She might enter orgasm on the very block,” I said. “Sometimes it is necessary to whip such a woman from the feet of the auctioneer. At the very least she will beg to serve a master within the very Ahn, either a buyer or one of the slaver’s men, to achieve closure on the arousal which has been inflicted upon her.”
“How cruel Goreans are!” she said.
“Is this more cruel than making clear the color of her hair and eyes?” I asked. “The Goreans are buying the whole girl.”
She looked down.
“Do not fear,” I said. “Normally there is no time for a lengthy sale. One must take a few bids and then thrust the wench from the block, to make room for the next girl. A sale often takes no more time than one or two Ehn. Sometimes four hundred girls or more must be sold from a single block in a given night.”
“One might be exhibited and sold before one scarcely knew what was occurring,” she said.
“I suppose so,” I said. “I am not a woman.”
“But I am,” she said.
“It is thus likely to be your problem and not mine,” I told her.
“How you tease one who is only a slave,” she said.
“One does what one pleases with them,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said. “We are only slaves.”
“Master,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Is there no cure for a free woman’s frigidity?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Total enslavement?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She said nothing.
“Every woman has a need to submit herself to a master,” I said. “When she finds herself at the feet of her master her body will no longer permit her to be frigid. There is no longer any reason. She is now where nature places her, at his feet and in his power. She kisses his feet and, weeping, feeling the heat and oils between her lovely legs, cannot wait to be thrown to the furs.”
She did not speak.
“But I do not speak here merely of the simplicities and negativities of a cure,” I said. “I speak rather of the beginning of a career, a helpless, flowering biography of service, love and passion.”
“You speak of a woman being made a slave girl,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I wonder if I will be pleasing to a master,” she said.
“Any slave girl,” I said, “with the proper management, and master, can become a wonder of sexuality and love.”
“I think I will love being a slave girl,” she said.
I shrugged. What did it matter, what her feelings were? She was a slave.
“No wonder the free women hate us so,” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “You are everything that they desire to be and are not.”
She bit her lip. She looked at me. “Are free women permitted to watch us being sold?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said. “Why not? They are free.”
She looked at me, miserably.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “I see. It would be quite humiliating, one woman, a slave, being sold, while another woman, a free woman, observes.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Let us hope that the free woman is not one of powerful family,” I said, “who has had the other captured, and put upon the block.”
“That would be dreadful,” she said.
“Women are capable of such things,” I said.
She put down her head.
“Perhaps it is well that they are not dominant,” I said. “Perhaps they should all be controlled, and kept in collars.”
“Or bondage strings,” she laughed.
“Yes, or bondage strings, like you, my pretty slave,” I said.
“Men want us as their abject slaves, don’t they?” she asked.
“Yes, like you, my dear,” I told her. “Any man who tells you differently is lying.”
“Are most Gorean women slaves?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Indeed, statistically, in those parts of Gor with which I am familiar, very few. Commonly only one woman in, say, forty or fifty is a slave. This varies somewhat of course, from city to city. The major exception to these ratios is the city of Tharna, in which almost every woman is a slave.” I looked at her. “There are special historical reasons for that,” I said.
“But over a large population,” the said, “there would be literally thousands.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Are the most beautiful and desirable women those who, generally, are the slaves?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, “the most beautiful and desirable women on the planet seem generally to be the slaves.”
“Such women would be the prime target for the strike of slavers,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “A girl of low caste, of a poor family, who is truly beautiful, a girl who cannot afford shelter in a protected area, is almost certain, sooner or later, to find her neck ringed with a collar. As far as that goes, a girl of wealth and high caste, who is beautiful, is not out of danger. It is regarded as great sport to take them.”
“A sport of men,” she said.
“Yes, to make beautiful women slaves,” I said.
“A delicious sport,” she said.
“I think so,” I said.
“Beast,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I think it is true,” I said, “that it is generally the most beautiful and desirable women who are the slaves, but I will tell you something you may find of interest.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“Slavery itself,” I said, “often makes a woman more beautiful and desirable. It removes tensions. It removes inhibitions. It makes women happy. It is hard, I think, sometimes, for a woman who is happy not to b
e beautiful. Sometimes Goreans ask, is she a slave because she is beautiful, or beautiful because she is a slave?”
She kissed me, gently.
“Are many Gorean slave girls of Earth origin?” she asked.
“I assume all human Goreans are of Earth origin,” I said.
“I mean,” she said, “like me, a girl born and raised on Earth, and then brought to Gor as a slave.”
“Statistically,” I said, “surely few. How many I would not know.”
“Ten,” she asked, “twenty?”
“Perhaps some four or five thousand,” I said. “I would not know.” Such a number, I conjectured, would not even be missed in a population which teemed like that of Earth.
“We are brought here as slaves,” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
“And the slaving continues,” she said.
“I suppose so,” I said. “On Gor there is a market for beautiful Earth girls. They make excellent slaves.”
“I am glad to hear that,” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, obediently, this time without surprise or demur. And then she well pleased me. She was becoming skillful.
“Please tell me more of the south,” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. Yes, she was becoming quite skillful.
“Please tell me more of the south,” she said.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira,” I said.
“Oh, Master,” she said.
“That is a Gorean saying,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “Imnak taught it to me.”
“You now know two Gorean sayings,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “‘Only a fool buys a woman clothed’ and ‘Curisoity is not becoming in a Kajira.”’
“Yes,” I said.
“Please, Master,” she said.
“You have them down well,” I said.
“Oh, please, please, Master,” she begged.
It was natural that she should be desperately eager to learn the nature of a slave girl’s lot.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Master,” she said.
“What would you like to know?” I asked.
She was at my side, on her stomach and elbows. Her eyes were excited. “In the south,” she asked, “would a master put me in a collar?”
“It is quite likely,” I said.
“I might like a pretty collar,” she said.
“Do not think of the collar as a simple piece of jewelry,” I said, “though it can serve that purpose. Its primary objective is to identify he to whom you belong.”
“What if I take it off?” she asked.
“It locks on your throat. You cannot take it off,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. She looked at me. “Will I be given pretty things to wear,” she asked, “and cosmetics, perfumes?”
“It is quite likely,” I said. “Masters like their girls to make themselves beautiful.”
“I hope that I will please my master in the furs,” she said.
“You will do so or be lengthily and severely punished,” I said. “If you fail, you could even be slain,”
She shuddered. “I will try to be pleasing to him,” she said.
“Most masters,” I said, “own only one girl. Do not think you are likely to spend all your time squirming at the slave ring.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“There is much for a girl to do,” I pointed out. “She keeps his compartments. She dusts and cleans. When they do not use the public kitchens she must cook for him. If he does not wish to take advantage of the public laundries, she must do his washing and ironing. She shops for him, and bargains in the markets, and so on. There is much for her to do.”
“Does it take long to clean compartments?” she asked.
“Only a few moments,” I admitted. “Goreans live simply, and do not much approve of cumbersome furniture.”
“It does not sound to me like the slave girl is overburdened with domestic labors,” she said.
“I suppose, objectively, she is not,” I said. “Still, there are things for her to do.”
“Is she as occupied as the wife of Earth?” asked the girl.
“Of course not,” I said. “That would be foolish. The wife of Earth is, from the Gorean point of view, much overworked. When the husband returns home she is often, actually, engaged in labors. How can she greet him properly? At night, so numerous and excessive have been her labors, she is often exhausted. That would be preposterous from the Gorean point of view. The Gorean master does not buy a girl with the primary objective of obtaining a domestic servant but with the intention of acquiring a marvelous slave. He wants the girl to be a wonder to him. He is quite cheerful about the sacrifice of domestic servitude in order to obtain what is far more important to him. When he returns to his compartments he does not want to find a worn chore woman there but a lovely slave, fresh, vital, eager and fully alive, kneeling before him, waiting to be commanded.”
“What does the girl do in her free time?” asked Audrey.
“Much what she pleases,” I said. “She will have friends among other slaves. She walks, she visits. She exercises, she reads. Within limits she does what she wants to do.”
“Can she work outside the compartments?” asked Audrey.
“If it is permitted by the master,” I said, “and it does not in any way compromise her slavery.” I smiled. “Some women,” I said, “wear to their work the garments of a free woman but, when they return to their compartments, don as they must the silk of a slave, which is their true condition.”
“Is such a thing often permitted by a master?” asked Audrey.
“Commonly not,” I said. “Such a thing is often thought to compromise a girl’s slavery. It is usually not permitted to her. Usually she is kept as full and absolute slave, not so much as permitted to touch the garment of a free woman.”
“I would like my master to be like that,” said Audrey.
“Most masters are,” I said.
“If I am a slave, I would want to be a full slave,” she said.
“I think you have little to fear, pretty Audrey,” I said. “Any master who so much as looks at you would know that you should be kept only as a full slave.”
“Yes,” she said, kissing me, “that is right for me.”
“Sometimes, Masters, as a discipline, rent their girls out to employers to perform repetitious, trivial tasks.”
“How horrid,” she said.
“See that you please your master well,” I said.
“I will certainly try,” she said.
“There are, of course, many slaveries in the south,” I said. “I have described only the most common to you.”
“Tell me of others,” she begged. “For I might be sold into them.”
“There are paga slaves,” I said, “who must please their master’s customers in his tavern. There are the girls who staff the public kitchens and laundries. There are rent slaves, who may be rented to anyone for any purpose, short of their injury or mutilation, unless compensation be rendered to the master. There are state slaves who maintain public compartments, and work in offices and warehouses. There are girls in peasant villages, and girls on great farms, who cook and carry water to the slave gangs. There are beauties who are purchased for a man’s pleasure gardens. There are other girls who work in the mills, chained to their looms.”
She looked at me, frightened.
“Any of these slaveries, or any of many others,” I said, “could be yours. It depends entirely, pretty Audrey, on who buys you, and what he wants.”
“How helpless I feel,” she whispered.
“You are helpless, absolutely helpless,” I told her.
“Surely,” she whispered, “I can attempt to influence the nature of my slavery.”
“Of course,” I said. “But the decision is
never yours. In that sense you are absolutely helpless.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, trembling.
“The mills and the public kitchens, and such, are not pleasant.” I said.
“I do not want to go to such slaveries as the mills or public kitchens,” she said. “I will try to be a pleasing slave.”
“Excellent, Audrey, Slave Girl,” I said.
“Do masters much talk with their girls, or take them with them?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I said. “It is extremely pleasurable to talk with a girl one owns. Also, one takes her many places, she heeling him, to concerts, contests, song dramas and so on, both to show her off and because he finds her a joy to be with.”
“I think I could well serve such a master,” she said.
“You would,” I said, “or you, being a slave, would be promptly and efficiently disciplined, most likely whipped.”
“Whipped?” she asked. “Could such a man whip a girl?”
“Of course,” I said. “Do not think that the pleasure he finds in you will be permitted in the least to compromise his mastery of you.”
“I would thrill to be owned by such a man,” she said.
I smiled to myself. Girls sometimes fought one another viciously, merely to be the first to display themselves naked before a Gorean master.
I lay there on my back.
“Master,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“The others, soon, will be awake,” she said.
“Yes?” I said.
“Please, Master,” she said. “Once more, before they awaken, have your slave.”
“Have you?” I asked.
“Yes, have me,” she whispered.
“Does Audrey beg?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“How shall I have you?” I asked. “Gently, tenderly, politely, courteously, respectfully, accomodatingly, solicitously, as would a man of Earth?”
“No, no,” she begged. “Take me as what I am, a slave!”
I touched her, gently, timidly.
“Oh!” she cried, miserably. “No, that is like a man of Earth! How cruel you are! Do not insult the helpless womanhood of a poor slave. Do not play with my needs as a man of Earth, oh, Master; fulfill them as a man of Gor! I beg it of you, Master.”
I laughed.
“You teased a slave,” she said, reproachfully. “How helpless I am as a slave.”
