Guardsman of Gor coc-16

by John Norman

  “I shall endeavor to make progress,” she said. A Gorean slave girl, incidentally, does not simply take a position on a couch as might a free person. Commonly she will kneel at its lower left side, or bottom, and then kiss its furs, or covers, after which she will crawl into it on her belly. Unless otherwise instructed she will remain near its foot, rather in the manner of a pet sleen. She may also, of course, be whipped or beaten to the couch, or forced to it, her arm twisted high, and painfully, behind her back, or carried to it, or thrown upon it, perhaps chained or bound.

  “Master,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you recall, long ago, in the restaurant, when I spoke to you, daringly, I think, for a then-unenslaved slave, of the dreams, strange then to my mind, which I had been having?”

  “I recall,” I said.

  “I had often then dreamed, as I recounted to you, and as you will perhaps remember, that I was a female slave, that I was kept in rags or naked, that a steel collar had been put on my neck, that I had been branded, and that I was subject to discipline—and that I must serve a man.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  “There was one thing about those dreams, dear Master,” she said, “which I did not dare to tell you.”

  “What was that?” I asked. I recalled that I had suspected, from certain subtle cues, and silences, that she hard not fully expressed herself to me on that occasion.

  She looked down.

  “What was it?” I asked.

  She looked up. “That the man I must serve was always the same,” she said.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “And that he was you, my Master,” she said.

  I took her gently in my arms.

  “You see, my Master,” she said, “you are, for me, a dream come true.”

  “And you, for me, Sweet Slave,” I said, “are, too, a dream come true.”

  “Master?” she asked.

  “Many times,” I said, “did I fantasize you thusly, in my arms, an owned slave, mine to do with as I pleased.”

  “I am here now, my Master,” she said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “And it is where I want to be,” she said.

  I looked at her, in the light of the ravishment lamp.

  “Gone now,” she whispered, “are the pains and shames of Earth.”

  I kissed her, gently.

  “How strange I once would have thought it, on Earth, so long ago,” she said, “had I been told that I would find my fulfillment only on a distant world—and chained by the neck to the slave ring of a master.”

  “You are a woman,” I told her.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I then caressed her gently into ecstasy.

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