“Is not freedom inordinately precious?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “but more inordinately precious to me is my slavery.”
I looked at her.
“I choose the brand,” she said, “the collar, and the hands of a master on my body.”
I pulled her up beside me, and threw her to her back. “Use me ruthlessly, Master,” she begged.
“I shall,” I told her.
“Rape me as a slave,” she said.
“It will be done,” I told her.
In a few moments she screamed her submission and looked at me, unbelievingly.
“I did not know what it would be to be raped as a slave,” she whispered.
“It was so swift, and brutal,” she said. “Please hold me,” she said.
I spurned her with my foot to the side of the alcove, and she lay there, trembling and weeping.
She held out her hand to me. “Please touch me,” she said.
“Be silent, Slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
I began to dress.
She rose to her knees and knelt there, then, by the side wall, the steel ankle ring, with its chain, leading to the floor ring, still upon her ankle. “How you used me,” she said. She was still trembling.
“Sandals,” I said.
She crept to me and, head down, placed my sandals on my feet. She then tied them, drawing the thongs tight and then fastening them. “How you used me,” she whispered. Then she held my legs and pressed her cheek against the side of my left leg, above the knee. I did not kick her from me. She looked up, tears in her eyes. “If one Is a true slave,” he said, “it is not wrong to be a slave, is it?”
“No,” I said.
She held my legs, looking up at me. “If one is a true slave,” she said, “it is right that one should be a slave, is it not?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I am a true slave,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“It is thus right that I should be a slave,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. I lifted her to her feet, holding her by the arms before me.
“It is right,” she said, “that a true slave should be en-slaved.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I am a true slave,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“It is thus right,” she said, “that I should be enslaved.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I am enslaved,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. I then threw her to my feet and, turning, parted the curtains of the alcove,
“Master,” she wept.
I turned to look at her.
“But one more kiss, please, Master,” she said.
She knelt on the furs, chained by the ankle, and I crouched before her, and took her in my arms. We kissed. Then I thrust her back, and stood up.
“You subjected me earlier to slave rape,” she said, soft tears in her eyes, with tender reproach.
“Yes,” I said.
“And afterwards spurned me from you.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Keep me, Master!” she suddenly begged. “Keep me!”
I looked down upon her. She knelt before me. She was so soft and beautiful, her eyes and lashes wet with tears, her hair dark and soft on her shoulders, her lip trembling.
“Keep me,” she begged.
She had been an agent of Kurii.
“Take me with you,” she begged. “Do not leave me behind in this place.”
She had been an agent of Kurii.
“Speak,” I said.
Tremblingly, head down, she spoke.
“He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave.”
“Each night, for a month,” I said, “after you are chained in your kennel, and before you fall asleep, say that”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Similarly, for the same month,” I said, “repeat it to yourself many times during the day.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“It may help you to survive,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Remember to yield well to men,” I said.
“I will not be able to help myself. Master,” she smiled.
“Remember submission, and that you are a slave girl,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“You may now find this difficult to believe,” I said, “but the time will come when you will find that you are unable to part these curtains and enter this alcove from the floor outside without being hot and wet. Merely to cross this threshold, that of an alcove, that of a chamber of submission, will make you ready for a man’s pleasure.”
“I do not find it difficult to believe, Master,” she whispered. “Merely to look at the curtains excites me.” She touched her collar. “Merely to touch my collar excites me. To kneel on the furs, to feel them on my body, to be kneeling itself, before a man, excites me. To be naked before him, on my knees, makes me miserable with the desire for his touch.”
“I think you will survive, Slave,” I told her.
“May I kiss your feet but once more, Master,” she said.
I permitted this.
I felt her lips, so sweet on my feet, her tears and hair. “Keep me,” she begged. “Keep me, Master.”
I looked down once more at the slave at my feet, who had been an agent of Kurii.
Then I turned about and left the alcove.
“Master !“ she cried.
I looked back at her, once more. She was on her belly, half through the curtains, her left leg extended behind her, held by the ankle ring and chain. She hold out her right hand to me. “Please buy me! Don’t leave me here!” she wept.
“How was she?” asked a paga attendant, pausing in his work, buffing goblets.
“I will not demand a refund,” I told him.
“Do you think she will work out?” he asked. “Pembe was curious.”
“Probably,” I said. “It is hard to know about those things. It is my guess that she will prove satisfactory.”
“Is her slavery close to the surface?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Doubtless it will soon become fully manifest.”
“Does she have slave fire?” he asked.
I remembered her sobbing in my arms, kissing and licking, and begging for my least touch.
“Yes,” I said.
“That is good,” he said. “Perhaps there is hope for the wench. I grow weary of carrying bodies to the harbor.”
I went to the place, near the rear wall, where I had left the blond-haired barbarian. She had fallen asleep, slumped, blindfolded, there. She had, of course, released her ankles.
I touched her gently, and she, with a little moan of anguish, awakened. She realized then, suddenly, she had dropped off to sleep. Suddenly, fearfully, she assumed the kneeling position in which I had placed her, head down, gripping her ankles.
“No,” I told her, softly.
I then took her gently in my arms. How small and light she was. I do not think she weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds.
“I am leaving by the back way,” I told the paga attendant.
“As you wish,” he said.
Outside I waited for a few moments, to see if the door, behind me, should be moved ajar. I examined, too, the dust of the alley, to see if it moved, or otherwise stirred, as it might have, if a foot had passed. I looked about, at the roofs about. The door did not move. The dust did not stir. The tops of the buildings, as nearly as I could determine, seemed clear.
I looked at the girl in my arms. She was again asleep. For a moment I felt moved to tenderness toward her. Her life, in the past few weeks, had not been easy. She had been a pawn in the cruel games of worlds. Too,
it is sometimes traumatic for a proud, free woman of Earth to discover that she has suddenly become an owned slave. I would let the girl sleep. I carried her through the streets of Schendi. I did not take a direct route to my room.
14
A Girl Becomes More Beautiful; I Must Take My Leave Of Sasi
Sasi opened the door.
“Master,” she said.
“Prepare a chain for the new girl,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I do not think Sasi was too pleased when I carried the blond slave over the threshold and placed her on the straw by the slave ring. Gorean slaves, incidentally, are commonly carried over the threshold when they first enter a master’s house or place of residence. This is reminiscent of a bridal custom on Earth, of course. That custom, an ancient one, makes tacitly clear the bride’s ownership by the male, and has clear implications of capture and bondage. It is natural that the bride desires this ceremony, and will plead for it. The oafish male, commonly, does not even understand what is going on. He should, of course, take her directly to the bed, and throw her upon it, his.
Women wish to be the slaves of their men. What woman would want a man who is not strong enough to be her master?
Not all Gorean slaves, of course, are carried over a threshold. Some are leashed and enter on their hands and knees. Some, perhaps bound and collared, are thrust through. The common denominator of these customs, of course, is that the slave must understand that force, either explicitly or implicitly, is involved, and that she will enter the stronghold of the master, and as a slave, whether she wills to do so or not.
“Is that not the girl from the Palms of Schendi?” asked Sasi. The blond girl. exhausted, was still asleep.
“Yes,” I said.
Sasi fastened a short chain to the slave ring, locking it, with its own lock, on the ring. She then, with a key, the same key which would open the chain lock, opened the chain’s ankle ring.
“What do you want her for?” asked Sasi. She handed me the opened ankle ring.
“She interests me, at least for the moment,” I told her. I shut the ankle ring then on the blond’s left ankle. She was secured. Sasi rose and put the key on a hook to one side of the room. Near it, on another hook, there hung a slave whip. From one of the overhead beams, near the side of the room, there was a whipping ring, to which a slave could be tethered, which could be lowered. It was a furnished room. Slaves, it must be understood, are not that uncommon on Gor.
I covered the blond with one of our blankets. The poor thing was exhausted.
“You did not carry me across the threshold,” said Sasi.
“You were bound in a blanket, and on my shoulder,” I said, “when I entered this room.”
“I mean before,” she said.
“No,” I said, “I did not. I did, however, if you will remember, when first I used you, order you to my blankets.”
“I have never forgotten,” she said. She shuddered with pleasure, remembering the moment. “I was simply ordered to your blankets,” she said.
A similar sort of thing is done sometimes when a master brings home a new girl to a house which is completely empty, if necessary, by prearrangement, and new to her, and orders her to enter alone. “Warm wine,” he tells her. “Light the lamp of love. Spread furs. Crawl naked into them, and await me.”
“Yes, Master,” she says.
She then enters the house, obeying. Not a shackle or a cord is on her body. But few women could be more slave than she, entering fearfully the strange, empty house, and preparing herself for her master’s pleasure.
“It is difficult to convey to a man,” she said, “the feelings of a woman at such a time.”
“They are the feelings of a slave,” I said.
“So simply put!” she said. “Yes,” she said, “they are the feelings of a slave. But I wonder if a man, ever, will truly understand what a woman’s collar can mean to her.. I wonder if he, ever, truly, will be able to fathom the nature and depth of the emotions of the woman who kneels at his feet.”
“Surely free women, too, have emotions,” I said.
“I was free,” she said. “I did not know what it was to feel until I became a slave. I was free. There was no need to feel, or be aware. But this has changed since I became a slave. I must now be sensitive to the feelings of others. I have never been so aware of other human beings as now. And I cannot always have my way, and I must yield to male domination. I can be commanded, and I must obey, and be pleasing. This answers to something very deep in me, Master.”
“Of course,” I said, “to the slave in you.”
“Yes,” she said, “to the woman, and slave, in me.”
“They are the same,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“It is hard to be a man,” I said, “until one stands in a relation to a woman. And, I suppose, it is hard to be a woman until one stands in a relation to a man.”
“What relation,” she asked, “Master?”
“That of the natural order of nature,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I looked at her. “I cannot know well the nature of your feelings,” I said, “but I know, and well, that women are deep as well as beautiful.”
“We are so different from you,” she said. “I fear you will never understand us.”
“It is doubtless easier to put you on your knees and push the whip to your teeth than it is to understand you,” I said.
“The man who truly understands us,” she laughed, “is the first to put us on our knees and make us kiss the whip.”
‘Take off my sandals,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She looked up. “Never until I was a slave,” she said, “did I feel so helpless, alive and vulnerable.”
I said nothing.
“I must untie your sandals,” she said. “I must crawl to you, if you wish. I must do anything you want. I am happy.”
“Attend to your work,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she said. Then she had removed the san-dais. She kissed them, and looked up at me.
“Tonight,” I said, “before I leave the room, I will pierce your ears.”
‘Thank you, Master,” she said.
“You will then be,” I said, “for all practical purposes, irrevocably a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. She looked up. “You do understand us, don’t you?” she asked.
“It will improve your price,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she smiled.
“I think also,” I said, “I will pierce her ears, too.” I indicated the sleeping blond girl. She had been an agent of Kurii. I decided that I would guarantee, for all practical purposes, that she would remain in a collar on Gor. I would pierce her ears.
I looked over to the sleeping girl, so worn and exhausted. I went over to her and, with one hand, lifted the blanket away from her. She stirred, troubled, sensing the difference in the temperature, the air, upon her skin. “No,” she whimpered, softly, in English. “I do not want to get up.” How beautiful she was, lying soft and helpless in the straw. She stirred again, and lifted her knee, shifting the position of her shackled ankle. “No, I do not want to get up,” she whimpered, in English. She reached down, searching for the blanket. I then held her by the upper arms. “Oh!” she said, half awakening, twisting. But I held her. “Oh,” she said, “oh,” suddenly, rudely, returning to a slave’s reality, then understanding that she lay in straw, her back on a wooden floor, held in the arms of a man. She moved her ankle, frightened, and felt the shackle and chain.
“Who is it?” she asked. I did not speak to her.
“Is it my Master?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Who is my Master, please,” she begged. I said nothing to her.
“Who is my Master!” she cried out, miserably.
“I am,” I told her.
“Who owns me?” she begged.
“I do,” I told her.
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br /> She turned her head to the side, and moaned. Then she again turned her face toward me, its upper portions obscured by the black, knotted blindfold.
“Why are you holding me like this?” she asked.
I said nothing to her.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
I did not speak to her.
“What do you want of me?” she asked. “Oh, no, please,” she said. “I am a virgin!” Her lip trembled. “No, please!” she said. She tensed. “No,” she said, “please, no, please do not take my virginity like this, not like this. I am blindfolded! I cannot see you! I cannot even see you. I want to see who takes my virginity from me!” Then she cried out, softly, and wept.
“It was your Master, Slave,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
I held her very still.
“How sweet and strong it is,” she breathed. “And how helplessly I am held. I could not escape now, unless you were to release me.”
I did not speak.
“Would Master deign to kiss a slave?” she asked.
I put my lips, gently, to hers, and she lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, and kissed me, and then she put her head back to the straw and the floor.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“This first time,” I said, “doubtless it is difficult and painful for you.”
“It does not hurt,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
“I have never been had before,” she said. “I did not know what it was like, to lie like this.”
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “yes, Master.” She then held my arms. “Master,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said.
“I begin to feel like I want to respond to you,” she whispered. “May I move, Master?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Oh,” she. said, softly, moving, “I did not know it could be like this. Never before have I been locked in a man’s arms in this fashion. How sweet it is. How helpless I feel. I am beginning to become excited, Master. I am beginning to become terribly excited, Master!”
She lifted her lips, suddenly, to me, and kissed me, and then she put her head back, and turned it from side to side, lost in her pleasure and in the darkness of the blindfold.
Norman, John - Gor 13 - Explorers of Gor.txt Page 22
