"Perhaps," I said.
"It is just as well," he said. "If she were to fall into our hands, here in the delta, it would be a court-martial for her."
"And then?" I asked.
"Is it not obvious?" he asked.
"What?" I asked.
"The impaling spear."
"I see," I said.
"I wish you well," he said.
I was silent.
"I am sorry," he said, "that you so hate the men of Ar."
"I have excellent reason for doing so," I said.
"True," he said.
"What were you doing here?" I asked.
"Hunting," said he.
"You seem to have had little success," I said.
"We cannot live in the delta," he said, "and we cannot escape it."
"Ar would have done well to have considered such matters before she entered the delta," I said.
"Undoubtedly," he said.
"You are to me as my enemies," I told him.
"Be pleased then," said he "for we perish."
I did not respond to him.
"I wish you well," he said.
I did not respond to him.
He then made his way away, rather to the southeast, testing his footing carefully.
I watched him until he had disappeared among the rence.
An anger and hatred flooded over me then for the men of Ar, at whose hands I had been so cruelly treated. I hated them then, and in my heart reviled them. Let them perish in the delta then, or at its edges, under the swords of mercenaries, thought I. It would be difficult enough for a single man to leave the delta, or a man and a woman. How much more difficult then for a group. I then made my way back slowly toward the raft.
Ina, as I appeared, quickly knelt. She looked at me with a sort of awe. She spread her knees very widely, moving the sand in a small hill on either side of her knees.
"You do not have permission to speak," I told her.
She was silent.
I must think.
"Turn about," I said, "and put your head down, to the sand."
I must think.
Surely death to the men of Ar, I thought.
"Oh!" she said.
"Be silent," I warned her.
She gasped.
They had mistreated me. What mattered it if they perished, to a man, in the green wilderness of the delta?
"Keep your head down," I told Ina, absently.
They were nothing to me, I told myself.
"Oh, oh," said Ina, softly. I did not admonish her for the softness of her moans. Her small hands, her wrists tied together by the binding fiber, twisted behind her back, her fingers moving.
It would be difficult enough for one man to escape the delta, or a man willing to accept, say, the handicap of a helpless, beautiful captive, without worrying about more, perhaps even a squad or more.
"Oh!" she gasped, suddenly.
The odds of being detected, by rencers, by a patrol, by a tarn scout, by a guard at the edge of the delta, by someone, increased considerably with each addition to the party.
"Oh, oh, oh!" she wept, eagerly, helplessly, gratefully.
"Ah!" I said.
"Ohhh," she said, softly, unbelievingly.
I then lay beside her, she now on her stomach. She had been very useful. I had now reached my decision. Slaves are often used for similar purposes.
"You may speak," I informed her.
But it seemed she still did not dare speak.
I moved up, beside her, on my elbow. She looked at me, timidly.
Still she did not dare to speak.
"The sand is warm," I said.
She made a small noise, and lifted herself a little in the sand.
"You are bound," I said.
She whimpered, pleadingly, and lifted herself yet a bit more in the sand. She looked at me. "May I truly speak?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said, "that permission was granted to you. To be sure, it may be instantly revoked, at my will."
"Touch me again," she begged. "Yes!" she said.
"You may be interested in what transpired on the other side of the shrubbery," I said.
"Yes!" she said. "Yes!"
"You need not jump so," I said, "but you may do so, if you wish."
"Oh!" she said. "Your touch!"
I observed her fingers moving. Then, suddenly, they straightened, tensely.
I then withheld my touch for a moment. She was now mine.
"It was not an animal, as you thought," I said, "but, as it turned out, a man, as I thought."
She looked at me, frightened, but, too, teetering on the brink of an uncontrollable response.
"It was a fellow of Ar," I said.
"Oh, no!" she whispered.
"—whom I managed to save," I said.
She closed her eyes, tightly.
"Perhaps you are interested to know what became of him?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
"He returned to his fellows," I said. "Apparently their camp is not far from here."
She looked at me with terror.
Then, as it pleased me, I touched her again, once, briefly.
"Oh!" she said.
"He does not know, of course," I said, "that you are with me."
"Good," she said.
I again touched her, once.
"Good! Good!" she said.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"Every particle of me begs to respond to you!" she wept.
"It is just as well they do not know you are with me," I informed her, "for, as you feared, by now the treachery of Saphronicus, and that of those closely associated with him, such as the Lady Ina, is well understood."
She moaned.
"I see you feared as much," I said.
"Yes," she said.
I was letting her subside a little. I could bring her back to the brink of her response, as I chose. This she knew.
"He brought up your name," I said, "not me."
She groaned in the thought of it.
I turned her to her back. In this way, in the circumstances, I made her even more vulnerable to me. Too, I could better see her face. It was very beautiful, the lips parted, the hair about it.
She tried to lift herself toward my hand, but I withdrew it. She lay back, moaned, remained tense, turned her head to the side.
"He spoke of a court-martial for you, here in the delta," I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
"To be followed, of course," I said, "by the impaling spear."
She shuddered.
"He thinks, however," I told her, "that you were done away with by rencers."
"Good!" she said.
"Interestingly," said I, "he does not seriously entertain the speculation that they might have enslaved you, not regarding you as woman enough to be a slave, or indeed, even woman enough to begin to understand what it might be, to be a slave."
She looked up at me, angrily.
So I touched her twice more, delicately.
She looked at me, wildly, helplessly.
I moistened my finger, and again touched her, again delicately.
She squirmed, helplessly.
She looked up at me.
She knew I could do what I wanted with her.
I could let her sink down, or hold her where she was, or, with a few gentle, even delicate, touches, have her explode into helpless, moaning, writhing submission.
"I would think," she said, "that any woman who has been in your binding fiber would have some inkling as to what it might be to be a slave!"
"No," I said. "To know what it is to be a slave one must be in the collar, one must be a slave."
I touched her, softly.
"Oh!" she said.
It is pleasant to have a woman so in your power.
She looked up at me, wildly. "I begin to sense," she whispered, "what it might be like, to be a slave yielding to her master."
"You sense perhaps the incipience of a mild submissi
on orgasm," I said, "quite suitable for a captive, but do not delude yourself that you can even begin to sense the significance and totality of the slave orgasm, for that has a special informing ambiance, and takes place within a unique conditioning context, physical, psychological and institutional. You cannot sense it for a very simple reason, you are not owned, you are not a slave."
She moaned.
"But," I said, "you can perhaps, even now, sense how a female slave can beg for sex."
"Yes," she said. "Yes!"
I touched her again.
"Oh, yes!" she said.
"Do you like that?" I asked.
"Yes, yes!" she said. "Please, more."
"I do not mean, once significantly ignited by the master's touch," I said. "I mean, for example, when the master returns from his day's labors, such things."
"I understand," she said. "Please, more!"
"Do you think you could understand how a girl, in the middle of the night, fearing being beaten, could beg for sex?"
"Yes," she said. "I can!"
There are many ways in which a female slave can beg for sex, for example, the bondage knot, offering the master wine, holding up to him fruit, next to her body, kneeling, licking, kissing, and so on. Many times, too, she must beg explicitly. Then she may be told she must wait, or can have only a brief use. After the slave fires have been ignited in a girl's body, which usually occurs in the first days of her slavery, the denial of sex to her amounts to a torture. Sometimes, cruelly, slavers will deny a girl sex for days before she ascends the auction block. Needless to say she is then likely to perform well, becoming, in effect, a piteous dream of needfulness on the block, her bare feet in the sawdust, pleading to be purchased, begging to serve, fully, totally, as what she is, only a slave.
Again I touched her.
"Oh, yes!" she whispered.
Some think of the female's sexual response as a matter of simple physiology. This is incorrect. Her response is holistic, and significantly conditioned by large numbers of factors, often complex and subtle. For example, being put on her belly over a table, her wrists tied to the opposite legs of it, is a very different experience for her than being fastened down on the wave-washed deck of a Torvaldsland serpent, subject to the attentions of its crew. Yet both may be exciting and precious to her. Too, her sexuality is not a matter merely of episodes but of a mode of being. In the case of the female slave, for example, her entire life is one of sexuality, vulnerability and love.
"Will you not complete your work?" she asked. "Will you not give me relief?"
"I am thinking," I said, "of giving you a slave strip, perhaps two."
"But I am not a slave," she said.
"A free woman, a captive, may be put in such," I said.
"I do not understand," she said.
"Your breasts are beautiful," I said. "I think I will, accordingly, keep them bared. Too, this seems fitting, not only because you are a captive, but given the heat in the delta. In this way you will be more comfortable. Perhaps when you were a free woman, that is, not yet a captive, in your barge, on the islands, and such, in your robes of concealment, you often wished you might go about stripped, or, say, in slave strips, that sort of thing, surely, at least, barefoot in the scanty garments of a female rencer."
"I do not understand," she said. "Why would you now, only now, be thinking of giving me clothing?"
I touched her.
"Oh!" she said.
"Do you not wish clothing?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, warily.
"And are you not grateful," I asked, "even as would be a slave, for such an indulgence?"
"Of course," she said.
"Good," I said.
"But why, only now, are you thinking of giving me clothing?" she asked.
"Can you act?" I asked.
"I do not understand," she said, apprehensively.
"Can you act?" I asked.
"I am a free woman," she said.
Free women, on Gor, are seldom seen on the stage. Almost all female roles, accordingly, are played either by men, sometimes boys, or female slaves. To be sure, there are many exceptions to this, as theater on Gor is a very diversified institution, with many forms, with varying levels of prestige. There is a great deal of difference, for example, between a grand historical drama recounting the saga of a city, staged in a tiered amphitheater, and a comedy set up on an improvised stage at a crossroads. On the whole free women do not attend most forms of theater on Gor, unless incognito, in heavy veiling or even masked.
"But you must be curious as to what it might be, to act?" I said.
"Forced to appear on a public stage scandalously clad, or naked," she asked, "dancing, singing, saying lines, being struck with paddles, and such, your master all the time in the wings with a whip?"
"If you like," I said.
"And then serving in tents, in the back?" she asked.
"Perhaps," I said.
There are, incidentally, certain slavers who specialize in the capture of free women for the stage. Too, it is a joke of young bucks to capture an arrogant free maiden and sell her to a theatrical producer out of the city. Then, later, they enjoy her performances, both on the stage and in the tents later.
"I think I could manage," she said.
"Even in the tents, afterwards?" I asked.
"As I understand it," she said, "one is forced to manage there."
"True," I said. "Normally one is chained there, commonly to a stake."
"I see," she said, shuddering.
"Yes," I said.
"Of course," she said, "there are more serious roles."
"True," I said.
"Ones which perhaps do not involve the tents afterwards?"
"More likely special booths, or arrangements, for wealthy patrons," I said.
"Yes," she said, "I think I might be able to act."
"In any sort of role?" I asked.
"I suppose so," she said.
I thought with amusement of what it might be to see the former Lady Ina, then a slave, hurrying about on a stage, crying out, trying to evade, but never quite managing it, the paddles of a Chino or Lecchio.
"Why do you ask?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said.
She looked at me. She squirmed a little. Then she whimpered.
"You may beg explicitly," I said.
"Please touch me," she said.
"Very well," I said.
"Not on my nose!" she said.
"Oh," I said.
"Yes," she said, suddenly. "Yes!"
I then, after having let her subside for a time, indeed, even languish, judging by her whimper, began, she, eyes closed, moaning with gratitude, to lift her up again, toward flowers and treetops.
I then desisted.
She looked up at me. "Please continue," she said.
"You are bound," I said.
"Please, more," she said.
I regarded her.
"Please," she said.
"Perhaps you can free your hands," I said.
"No," she said, "I cannot."
"Try," I said.
She fought to free her hands.
She was unsuccessful.
"I am at your mercy," she said, lifting her body. "Please, more."
"Very well," I said.
"Yes!" she wept, joyously.
I then began to stoke and build, so to speak, and then, gently, to fan the fires in her belly.
"Where are you taking me?" she begged.
"Somewhere, I suspect," I said, "where you have not been before."
"Take me there, my captor," she wept. "Force me there! If I dally, whip me!"
Moment by moment, touch by touch, she ascended higher and higher. I myself marveled, for my own contribution to this, at least to my own mind, was negligible. To be sure, I had put her in bonds and was forcing her through her paces. But even so, to my mind, I was doing very little. All, or almost all, of this glorious responsiveness was somehow within her. Women as a whole, giv
en a little patience, are marvelously sexually responsive. It is well worth waiting for them. One will not be disappointed. But this one seemed unusually so. Her reflexes were almost as instantly activatable as those of a female slave, most of whom, in virtue of their condition and training, juice readily, often at so little as a glance or a snapping of fingers. If she was this responsive as a free woman it was interesting to consider what she might be like if she were a slave. She would be, at the very least, particularly at the mercy of men.
"You are a feast, Ina," I said.
Her eyes were closed. She was utterly beautiful, being ravished in the thralldom of her needs.
"And that is why it is," I said, "that I will put you in two slave strips."
She opened her eyes.
"It will be little enough to conceal you," I said, "but it may be enough."
"I do not understand," she gasped.
"Otherwise it would be much like carrying a tray of steaming, roasted viands into a yard of trained, but starved sleen."
"What are you saying?" she asked, twisting in the sand.
"One could scarcely blame them if they leaped forward with ravenous ferocity and devoured them on the spot."
"I do not understand," she said.
"I am speaking of the difficulty of practicing restraint in the presence of objects of incredible desirability," I said, "even on the part of trained beasts, particularly under certain conditions."
She looked at me, frightened.
"To be sure," I said, "one might always fling the viands to the beasts, that they might feed. That, undoubtedly, sooner or later, is best."
"An object of incredible desirability?" she said, falteringly.
"You, my dear Ina," I said, "as lately you have become."
"No," she said. "No!"
"But, yes," I said. "Observe." I then touched her a little, making her squirm and leap.
"See?" I said.
She thrashed in the sand, wild protest in her eyes, but unable to help herself.
"And you are beautiful, too," I said.
"Oh!" she wept, touched.
"Wait until they see how you respond," I said.
"No, no!" she said.
"To be sure," I said, "you are not a female slave."
"No, no!" she said.
"But there do not seem to be any of them about," I said. "So you will have to do."
"Please, no, my captor!" she begged.
"The fellows from Ar need help," I said. "I am not keen on this, you understand, but I really think they will be in a rather bad way if someone does not lend them a hand."
Vagabonds of Gor Page 32
