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

Norman, John - Gor 19 - Kajira of Gor.txt Page 50

by Kajira of Gor [lit]

  down in the chair, his hands on the arms, and regarded me.

  “Should you not be on your knees, Slut?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I struggled to my knees and knelt, facing him.

  He regarded me. He seemed weary.

  “And thus it is,” he said, “that slaves conquer warriors.”

  “It is I who am conquered, Master,” I told him, “not you.”

  “You make me weak,” he said, wearily.

  “Unbind me,” I suggested, smiling, “and I will make you strong.”

  “She-sleen,” he smiled.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He looked to one side of the room, moodily, lost in thought. “How strange has

  been the course of events,” he said. “I took you for a Tatrix, and my enemy.

  Then, as it pleased you, in the fullness of feminine cruelty, when I could not

  have you, when you thought me a mere guard, you amused yourself with me,

  taunting me with your beauty, torturing me with desire. Now, months later, you

  have come into my power, as my naked slave.”

  He turned his head slowly towards me. Then he regarded me, slowly, fully, every

  bit of me.

  “Are you well roped?” be asked.

  “I am roped perfectly, and am absolutely helpless,” I said. “It was done to me

  by Drusus Rencius, of Ar, my master.”

  “It is a suitable answer,” he said.

  I was silent.

  “Perhaps I will keep you,” he said.

  “Do, please;” I said. I loved him.

  “If I keep you,” he said, “you will be kept as a slave. Do you understand what

  that means, my dear?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I would be kept in the absolute perfections of Gorean

  slave discipline. I would have to be perfect for him, in all ways. I shuddered.

  “Do you believe it?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “That is well,” he said, “for it is true.” “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  “You seem to be afraid,” he said. “I am,” I said.

  “But you were not before,” he said. “No,” I said.

  “But you are now?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Now I sense, as I did not before, that you are strong enough to control me, and

  to punish me, terribly, if I do wrong, or am not fully pleasing.”

  “Believe it,” he said, quietly.

  “I do!” I said.

  “I wonder if you will make a good slave,” he-said. “I will try my best, Master,”

  I said.

  Then he continued to look at me, appraising me. I straightened my body.

  How marvelous it must be for a man, I thought, to have such absolute power over

  a woman, to have her so subjected to him, even to having her in the perfection

  of his bonds. And how marvelous it was for me, too, to know myself so much his,

  to know myself, willlessly, eagerly, at his pleasure. And what woman does not

  want a man a thousand times more than she, one to whom she must submit, one whom

  she must fear, one whom she must love?

  I looked at him.

  “It is different from Corcyrus, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He looked away, again, again seemingly lost in thought.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Is it truly so tragic, to care for a slave, just a little?” I asked.

  “You have done enough,” he said. “Do not seek further to make a fool of me.”

  I was silent.

  He put his head down, in his hands.

  How painful, complex and subtle can be the relationships between human beings. I

  tried to understand how he must view me. He saw me, it seemed, as one who, if

  she were free, and immune from punishment, and held power, would torment and

  scorn him, exploiting him, despising him, amusing herself with him. As far as I

  knew I had done little to provoke these feelings, at least until he had refused

  my advances. I had given him reason, to be sure, in Corcyrus, to believe me

  contemptible and petty. I had made certain Earth values, to his irritation,

  clear to him, such as an amoral expediency and a mockery of honor. My smallness,

  my contemptibility, I had unwittingly flaunted before him, regarding such

  things, at that time as signs of my depth and cleverness. Too, he seemed to find

  me, in some way, and I did not fully understand it, maddeningly desirable. This

  had to do, it seemed, with some unusual and subtle relationship between us.

  These things, doubtless in part because of his pride and self-image’, his

  reluctance to accept tenderness, his fear of feeling and sentiment, his lofty

  conceptions of the attitudes and behaviors proper to his caste, had driven him

  half mad with frustration. Yet, too, he had, with Menicius, risked his life in

  the camp of Miles to free me, and he had sought desperately to protect and

  defend me in the inquiry with Claudius and the high council. It was clear, I

  think, he cared for me deeply.’ In all this, of course, he regarded me as little

  more than a curvaceous, scheming slave, one who did ‘not care for him, but one

  who, to protect herself, would do anything, even pretend falsely to love. He did

  not know I truly loved him.

  I resolved upon a bold plan. I would attempt to get him to cure himself of the

  false Sheila, that the way might then be open for a poor, nameless slave who so

  much loved him.

  “Free me,” I said, angrily, pulling at the ropes. A He looked at me.

  “Free yourself,” he said.

  “I cannot!” I said.

  “Why do you wish to be freed?” he asked. A “I do not love you!” l said.

  “Now, at last, you speak the truth,” he said.

  “Not only do I not love you,” I cried, “but I hate you! I despise you! I hold

  you in contempt as a ~iteous weakling! I always have!”

  He smiled.

  “I am tired of trying to fool you,” I said. “Now, free me!”

  “Why should I free you?” he asked.

  “Because I am a free woman!” I said.

  “That is ~not true,” he said. “I saw you’ jerk in the’ hands of ú the ‘soldier.”

  “I could not help myself,” I said.

  “Only a natural slave could not have helped herself,” he said.

  “I do not want to belong to, you,” I said.

  “I have an alternative in mind,” he said. “I think I shall ú give you to the

  department of the mines. There, naked and yoked, you shall carry water.”

  “No!” I cried.

  “Do you beg to be kept in my collar?” he asked. “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  “Then we shall let it stand at that, shan’t we?” he asked. “Yes, Master,” I

  said. I had not counted on the possibility of being sent to the mines.

  I knelt back in the ropes. I looked at Dri~su’s Rencius. He was quite capable, I

  realized, suddenly, of sending me to the mines. I did no
t want that to happen.

  Too, ‘looking at him then, I saw him suddenly not only as a man I loved but,

  also, independently, as a strong and powerful master. I found, then, that I had

  squirmed in the ropes, inadvertently, reflexively, my thighs moving. I hoped

  that he had not noticed.

  “What is wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing!” I said. I felt the heat of the slave in me. I hoped he could not

  detect the signs in my body~ I hoped he could not smell me.

  He was silent.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I gather,” I said, “that, you intend to keep me.”

  “At least for a time,” he said.

  “I presume,” I said, “that at least one of the purposes for Which you purchased

  me was to make use of me.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “I am ready,” I said. “Begin my slavery.”

  He regarded me, not speaking.

  “You see me in a collar,” I said, angrily. “You know what a collar does to a

  woman!”

  He smiled.

  “I have been owned,” I said. “I have had masters. They have made me this way!”

  “So men do have their vengeance,” he said. “The scheming beauty is needful.”

  “Yes!” I said. “Speak clearly,” he said. “I am needful,” I said.

  “You are more than needful,” he said.

  “You may or may not believe I love you,” I said, “but about my arousal, my need,

  there is no disputing.”

  “That is true,” he said. “You are obviously, now, a needful slave.”

  “Please,” I begged.

  He left the chair and, crouching beside me, not hurrying, freed me of the ropes.

  “Touch neither me nor yourself,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I moaned. My body was flaming with

  He regarded me for a few moments. I moaned.

  Then, for a brief moment, he took me in his arms. His hand was upon me,

  intimately. “I love you! I love you! I love youl” I cried, jerking in his hands,

  pressing against him, trying ~o cover him with kisses.

  “Stop,” he said. “To your belly.”

  Then I was on my belly, on the tiles, my hands at the sides of my head, prone,

  before his curule chair. He resumed his seat.

  I lifted my head and upper body, wildly, agonized, to regard him.

  “You are a hot slave,” he said.

  I regarded him wildly, pathetically, unbelievingly, speechlessly.

  “Do you beg a man’s touch?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “yes!”

  “Then beg,” he said.

  “I beg your touch,” I wept. “I beg your touch! Please touch me, Master! I beg

  it!”

  “Truly?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I beg your touch, truly, Master! I beg it, truly! Please, touch

  me, Master! Please! Please!”

  “No,” he said.

  I collapsed then to the tiles, sobbing, helpless, quivering with need.

  “And thus,” said he, “may a hated slave be denied.”

  I then became aware that he had left his chair, that he was standing near me. to

  do go, do little to assuage the almost intolerable ‘passions he had aroused in

  me. I looked at him, piteously. He laughed, and left. Then I was kneeling there,

  bewildered, alone, chained. I was a slave I must await his return. He did not,

  of course, tell me where he was going or when he would be back.

  “You understand, do you not,” he asked, “that this is a symbolic re-enactment

  and that it in no way compromises your slavery?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “For example,” he said, “for your treatment of me in CorCyrus, and for various

  insolences, and lapses, you must still answer to me, and to my whip.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You are now dressed, are you not,” he asked, “fully in the garments of the

  Tatrix, even to the nature, the subtlety and delicacy of the undergarments?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And beneath those,” he said, “in the eccentric undergarments of Earth, in

  garments similar to those which you, a barbarian, doubtless once wore there?” ú

  “Yes,” I said. These undergarments had once’ belonged to Sheila. They had been,

  brought to Argentum by Menicius, for the inquiry. I supposed that now,

  technically, they might be tho property of the state of Argentum, I, at any

  rate, did not own them. I could own nothing.

  Rather it was I who was owned. Fortunately, Sheila and I were almost identically

  figured.

  “Turn, Tatrix,” said Drusus Rencius.

  I turned, obediently, before him. He sat in the eurule chair, across, the room.

  I had been given the slave name, “Tatrix.” I had been given no choice in the

  matter, and I must respond to it, perfectly.

  “Good,” he said. “Now walk back and forth, slowly.”

  I did so.

  Many of the garments I wore had been those which I myself had worn, when I had

  been playing the role of the Tatrix. This pleased Drusus Rencius. He remembered

  me in them.

  “Good,” he said. “You may now stop.”

  I stood then again before him, facing him.

  “Turn again,” he said.

  I did so.

  “Good,” he said.’

  I wore no bond. He had even removed from me his collar. It hung now on the arm

  of the curule chair. There was no doubt, however, that I was a slave, or whose

  slave. I was. I was branded, and I was paid for.

  “You will now strip yourself naked, slowly,” he said. “I in-tend to enjoy this.”

  I reached to the pins, at the side of the veil. One by one, I removed them. I

  then put the veil with its pins, to one side. I then, with both hands, putting

  back my head, brushed back the hood of the ‘robes. I shook my head and arranged

  my hair. I then faced Drusus Rencius, face-stripped.

  “Continue,” he said.’

  One by one I removed’ the garments of the Tatrix. Then I stood before him clad

  only in undergarments of Earth, in a brassiere and panties.

  Drusus Rencius nodded.

  I removed the brassiere, and straightened my body.

  “Excellent,” he said.

  I faced him.

  “Now remove the last veil,” he said.

  I bent down and, in a moment, stepped from the panties. I then, again,

  straightened myself before him. I hoped he liked what he saw. He owned it.

  “Superb,” he said. “Superbi”

  I smiled.

  His face grew hard. “Kneel,” he said.

  Swiftly I knelt, in the position of the pleasure slave.

  I swallowed, hard. I saw that he had no intention of permitting my beauty, if

  beauty it was, which had at one time apparently been so tormenting to him, when

  it had been inaccessible, diminish in any way the perfections of his mastery of

 
; me.

  He went to a chest at the side of the room, and drew forth a small, gray

  garment, which he threw to me. I caught it against my body. I shook it out,

  happily. “You kept it, Master!”

  I laughed, delighted. It was the brief slave tunic, sleeveless and gray, which I

  had worn in the house of Kliomenes, so long ago, in Corcyrus.

  “Yes,” he said, “for when you were my true slave.”

  “I love it!” I said. To some, I suppose, it would have seemed a scandalous rag,

  unseemly and degrading, but I found it very beautiful, not only because of the

  lovely and sensitive way in which it enhanced and displayed the beauty of the

  female figure but because of memories with which it was associated, memories

  which, for me, at least, were very precious.

  “Put it on,” be said.

  Still kneeling, I drew it happily over my head. Then, slipped into it, I

  smoothed it down about my body.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said. “Stand.”

  I stood, and pulled it down more about my thighs. “It is rather short, though,

  isn’t it?” I said.

  “It will be shorter,” he said, drawing out a knife.

  “Master!” I protested, but he, with the knife, cutting and tearing, must have

  shortened it by at least two horts.

  I looked down, dismayed.

  “Later,” he said, “sewing, smooth out the hem.”

  “But if I take up the hem,” I said, “it will be even short” “Must a command be

  repeated?” he asked.

  “No, my master!” I said.

  He then stepped back, to regard me.’

  I pulled down at the sides of the garment. If it had been much shorter I feared

  my brand might have shown!

  “Stand straight,” he said.

  I did so, my hands at my side.

  “A great improvement,” he said. “Even though it is perhaps a bit long it is now,

  at least, within the normal ranges for slave lengths. Yes, I think it is now,

  even though a bit long, acceptable for a slave, even perhaps suitable for one.

  Before, of course, it was suitable, intentionally, only for a free woman

  pretending to be a slave.”

  “Turn,” ‘he said.

  I did so.

  “Yes,” he said, “I think it is now suitable, or will be, when you’ have attended

 

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