Norman, John - Gor 19 - Kajira of Gor.txt

by Kajira of Gor [lit]

  us, smaller, weaker women, she looked small, and suddenly timid, kneeling before

  Borkon.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Luta, Master,” she said.

  “How long have you been a slave, Luta?” he asked, removing the whip from his

  belt.

  “A week, Master,” she said.

  “It is amazing that a woman such as you has survived this long,” he said. “I

  would have thought you would have been slain by now.”

  “Master?” she faltered.

  “On all fours,” he said.

  She obeyed.

  He then lashed her, and she, in a moment, sobbing and gasping, disbelief in her

  eyes, was on her belly in the yard, a whipped slave.

  “Are you not supposed to be on all fours?” he asked.

  She struggled, sobbing, to this position.

  “I am authorized, if I wish,” he said, “to kill you, or have you killed.”

  She shuddered.

  “I do not find you particularly pleasing,” he said. “I am considering whether or

  not to have you fed to sleen this evening.”

  “Master?” she asked.

  “You are a slave,” he said. “You will serve and yield, or die. I will let you

  make the decision.”

  “Master?” she asked, frightened.

  “The decision is yours,” he said. “Choose as you will. It makes no difference to

  me, one way or the other.”

  “Please, Master!” she cried.

  “Do you choose to serve and yield, or die?” he asked. “I give you ten Ilin in

  which to make your decision. One! Two! Three!”

  “I will serve and yield!” she cried.

  “Speak more clearly,” he said.

  “I choose to serve and yield!” she wept.

  “And without reservation?” he asked.

  “And without reservation!” she said.

  “Do you desire to serve and yield, and with no reservations whatsoever he asked.

  “Yes” she said “I desire to serve and yield and without reservations

  Whatsoever!”

  “And do you beg to serve and yield and with no reservations whatsoever” he

  asked.

  “Yes’ yes,” she echoed. “I beg to serve and yield and with no reservations

  whatsoever!”

  “You may now kiss my feet,” he said.

  Luta, desperately, humbly, fearfully, kissed his feet

  “More,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Do you now have any pride?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “Do you now have any courage?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “Kiss the whip,” he said, “and as a slave.”

  Luta did so, fearfully.

  “Return now to your place,” he said

  Yes Master,” she said and, rising up, hurried to her place

  “We are all going to be pleasing, and meet our work quota aren’t we?” inquired

  Borkon.

  “Yes’ Master!” we said, including Luta.

  He then lifted his whip to the lips of the first girl in the he. “I kiss the

  whip of Borkon,” she said

  “Who do you love?” he asked.

  “Borkon,” she said.

  In a moment or two I felt the whip pressed, too, against my lips. I kissed it “I

  have kissed the whip of Borkon,” I said

  “Who do you lover” he asked.

  “Borkon,” I said

  In another moment or two, after Emily, he stood before Luta. She, too, kissed

  the whip.

  “Who do you love?” he asked.

  “Borkon,” she said “I love Borkon!”

  In another moment or two we were following Borkon across the yard and toward one

  of the buildings. I knew I would have to please him well. He was my whip master.

  25 I Leave the Mill

  I saw him taking out the slave sack in the utility room

  This was not the first time I had been unchained and hurried to the utility room

  “Get in,” he said.

  Before he had taken the sack from its shelf he had ordered me to the floor of

  the utility room, to my back on the dusty boards.

  “Lie there and juice;” he had told me. ‘Waste no time about it.”

  I had lain there and, briefly, shut my eyes and thought of his might and power,

  and my helpless slavery, and then I was ready, almost in a moment, to receive

  him he had had me swiftly.

  I crawled into the sack, and it was pulled up, over my head, and laced shut I

  then felt it dragged across the floor.

  He then lifted it up, partly, I now sitting in it, and left it against a wall.

  He then left The confinement was not intended to be one of full security, of

  course. If it had been, then I would have been bound and gagged within it, that

  I might be able, by fingernails or teeth, to attack seams or cut through the

  leather. Indeed, if I caused the least bit of damage the slave sack, I had

  little doubt but what I would be well whipped, sent in the slave sack is,

  incidentally, a form of Punishment for a girl. l did not think, that I was being

  punished At least I did not know anything that I had done which might have

  displeased

  As always; as far as I knew, I had tried to be such to him that he would find me

  pleasing. Perhaps he was angry with me because of the welt on my face, but that

  was not my fault. Last night I had been struck by Luta. If he wanted to punish

  someone he should have punished her. She was very jealous of Emily and myself,

  who seemed clearly to be Borkon’s favorites. Last night, after supper, my slave

  needs much upon me, I had begged to juice for Borkon. He had permitted this in

  his quarters. When I had been returned to the dormitory and the door had been

  locked behind me, she had been up and waiting. My face was still sore. It was

  not my fault that she did not find herself being put to Borkon’s pleasure. He

  certainly was free to choose her, and not Emily or myself, or one of our other

  chain sisters. It was no secret in the mill that she regarded herself as

  Borkon’s slave in some special sense. Ever since he had whipped and conquered

  her in the yard she had been very possessive about him. She was the best worker

  on the chain. Yet he scarcely seemed to notice her. Sometimes she would even try

  to be a bit dilatory or recalcitrant, to attract his attention, but commonly

  this only earned her a beating, and that usually from a subordinate whip master.

  Interestingly, in her slavery, Luta had ceased to be ugly. Her ugliness had

  been, it was now clear, largely a matter of expression, as it often is,

  expressions which had made manifest her frustration and hatred, and her misery.

  Though she was now no longer ugly she remained, I suppose, rather homely and

  plain. On the other hand, this homeliness or plainness, at times, seemed touched

  with a vulnerability and softness which, especially when she was near Borkon,

  made it seem almost beautiful. The exercises and diet of the slave, of cours
e,

  had improved her figure considerably. I did not see, frankly, why Borkon did not

  give her a trial at his feet. I did not think she was all that bad, really.

  Too, he was not Gor’s most handsome fellow. Too, I would think it should count

  for something with a man if the woman desires to serve him deeply and fully in

  all ways, and is in love with him.

  It was hot and stuffy in the slave sack, but it was, at least, a respite from

  the work with the loom. It is tiring, Ahn in and Ahn out, standing, chained, by

  the loom, operating it.

  There is the raising and lowering of the warp threads to form the lines between

  which the weft is placed. There is the flinging back and forth of the shuttle,

  inserting the weft. There is the moving of the batten, attached to the reed,

  thrusting the weft back and locking it in place, Too, one must feed the cloth

  properly and remove it correctly. One must attend to the rollers, the weights

  and stretchers.

  I suddenly became aware that hands were unlacing the slave sack.

  “You are Tiffany, aren’t you?” said a voice. “Come out of there.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. It was one of the mill officials. He Was over ten work

  chains.

  “Why aren’t you at your loom?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Master,” I said.

  “what were you doing in there?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Master,” I said. “Perhaps I was being punished.”

  “what for?” he asked.

  “I do not know, Master,” I said.

  “Come along,” he said. “Aemilianus, the nephew of Mintar, is in the mill.”

  “What is he doing here?” I asked.

  “It is supposedly merely a surprise inspection,” he said, “but one supposes

  there is something more to it.”

  I then, almost running, hurried after him, returning to my loom.

  “Borkon should be trounced,” he said.

  I quickly obeyed.

  Borkon, not looking pleased at all, was standing nearby.

  “Step forth, here, child,” said the young man, “and turn slowly before me.”

  I complied, inspected as a naked slave. I saw Emily at the loom next to mine.

  The shackle had been removed from her left ankle. She was standing near her

  loom, naked. She held her tunic in her right hand.

  “Borkon, you sly fellow,” chided the young man, “you have been holding out on

  us.”

  He who had fetched me from the slave sack, Borkon’s immediate superior, cast him

  a glowering look.

  “You are Tiffany, are you not?” asked the young man.

  said the well-dressed young man, in short, silken mantle, with a golden

  “Here is the maid from Loom chain her. Now, child, stand here, the silken tunic,

  clasp at the left

  “No, do not and remove your tunic”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You may kneel,” he said. Swiftly I did so. “You are pretty, my dear,” he said.

  “You may open your knees.

  Swiftly I did so.

  He then turned to Emily. “You may kneel, Emily,” ~ said. Swiftly she knelt.

  “You, too; are pretty,” he smiled

  Swiftly she opened her knees, baring to Him tender intimacies, enslaved, and the

  sweet interior softness of her thighs.

  “Your name, ‘Emily,’ is very beautiful,” he said. “As you probably know, it is a

  barbarian corruption of nyge, my name. It seems that fate has thrown us

  together.” The gens name the clan name.

  “Perhaps, Master,” she said, frightened. “Thank you, Master.”

  “And you are a barbarian, are you not, Tiffany?” he asked

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And a very pretty one,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Can you believe it, Borkon,” asked the young man, “if were not for hearsay

  information, casual remarks overheard at the office, I would not even have known

  that two such beauties graced our looms.”

  Borkon was silent

  “These are the two beauties of the mill,” said the your man to a tall, stout

  fellow standing nearby.

  “They are certainly pretty,” said the stout fellow. “But they have, in my

  opinion, many lovely women at the looms.”

  stout fellow was the mill master. I had seen him only twice before in the

  previous five months.

  “These are the best of the current crop,” said the your man.

  “Perhaps,” said the mill master.

  “Have them sent to my house,” said the young man, and turned away.

  Emily and I looked at one another, frightened.

  Borkon looked angry. Luta was beaming.

  “I beg to please you, Master,” said Luta, putting herself the feet of Borkon.

  The chain was on her left ankle, go behind her; by it she was fastened to the

  loom. She had her head down, kissing at his feet. Never before, as far as I knew

  had she been so bold. It was no secret in the mill, of course that she was the

  slave of Borkon. Indeed, she had been since that first day in the yard, some

  five months ago.

  “what need have I of a tarsk sow?” he snarled.

  She lifted her head to him, lovingly, pleadingly. I saw that the diet and

  exercise had shaped her excitingly. Her face, in its plainness and homeliness,

  seemed somehow, now, in its softness, its tenderness, its vulnerability, very

  beautiful. “Take me then to your lair and rut with me there, Master,” she said.

  “I beg to be the tarsk sow to your boar.”

  He looked down at her, startled. “Perhaps,” he said.

  I felt a slave bracelet closed about my left wrist. The companion bracelet, on

  its three links of chain, was then closed about the right wrist of Emily.

  We looked at one another, frightened.

  “Come along, Girls,” said the fellow who had fetched me forth from the slave

  sack, he who was Borkon’s immediate superior.

  “Yes, Master,” said Emily.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  We then, naked, braceleted together, carrying our slave tunics, followed him

  down the long aisle between the looms.

  26 I Must Get Up Early For School

  I tried to hold the head of the man in my bands, and kiss at him, and lick at

  the side of his neck, but he, engaged in conversation, brushed me to the side. I

  knelt back, restraining a whimper. I wanted to touch him. I was a slave He would

  not permit me to do so.

  Teela, first girl, from across the room, signaled to me, and I, bowing, slipped

  back, rose to my feet and hurried to her side.

  “Wine,” said she, “to the master.”

  I hurried to the serving table and fetched a vessel of wine.

  I then went behind the feasting table, behind which the men sat, talking. Some

  musicians were playing, at one side of the room. I knelt behind the young

  Aemilianus. “Wine, Master?” I whispered. “Yes,” said he, extending his goblet.

&nbs
p; “Thank you, Tiffany,” he said. “Yes, Master,” I said, and withdrew.

  The courtesy of Aemilianus, a habit with him, probably a function of the

  gentleness of his upbringing, in no way affected the totality of the bondage in

  which his girls were kept. whereas one need not thank a slave, one may, of

  course, if one wishes, thank them. From the point of view of the girl, since she

  knows she is in a collar, being treated with courtesy can sometimes be more

  frightening than being treated with rudeness or cruelty, or, as is more often

  the case, with gentle, intimate, absolutely unqualified authority. Being a slave

  she knows that a master’s invitation to remove a garment is equivalent to a

  categorical command to strip. She hastens to obey.

  I went then, at a sign from Teela, after replacing the wine vessel on the

  serving table, to the side of the room, where I knelt down beside Emily.

  An Aim or so earlier we had been in the kitchen. “Stand straighter, Girls,” had

  said Teela, inspecting us. “You are not bending over looms now.”

  “You are pretty in your slave silk, Emily,” had said Teela.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” she had said.

  “You, too, Tiffany,” said Teela.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” I had said. We both wore scarlet pleasure silk. It was

  diaphanous, and left little doubt as to the lineaments of our figures. We wore

  the collar of Aemilianus.

  We now belonged to him. Twelve copper tarsks for each of us had been transferred

  to the accounts of Mill 7. On our left ankles we each wore a tied string of

  slave bells. These jangled sensuously when we moved. On our upper left arms we

  each wore a coiled, barbaric, snakelike arrnlet.

  “Although you have been purchased as house girls,” said Teela, and surely we

  need more of them around here, you will also be expected upon occasion, as

  tonight, to serve at dinner. Indeed, I suspect that the Master has more in mind

  from you than simple domestic services.”

  Emily and I looked at one another.

  “The musicians are already playing,” said Teela, “ and the other girls are on

  the floor. I shall soon send you both out, too, on the floor.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Emily.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “Remember that you are not lofty free women,” she said.

  “Remember that you are only female slaves. You exist for the service and