by Pat Powers
"How close did you let them?" Pulazzi asked.
"Pretty close," I said. "The Goreans have these special chairs with notches in them so the slavegirls can move in very close."
I sensed that my words were going straight to Pulazzi's libido. That worked fine for me. Might loosen up more information. It's not like women never take advantage of male sexual desire.
"So they talk like that to every man that visits them?" Pulazzi asked.
"Don't think so," I said. "Not the mailman or the refrigerator repairman. I don't think the cops who are interviewing the members are getting that treatment, though most of the Gorean slavegirls are extremely polite and deferential to men generally. I imagine the cops will like that, they're not used to being treated well by those they visit professionally. Tends to put you on your best manners, if you're not a complete idiot."
"So why do you think you've been getting all the treatment from the Gorean women?" Pulazzi asked.
"I don't know, really," I said. "I'm on good terms with them, I guess. Somebody must have given them the high sign about me, that I was OK to treat as one of them, for whatever reason."
"Or maybe they just personally trusted you," Pulazzi said. "You do give off this vibe ... you seem trustworthy and safe, somehow, even though you also seem to be a strong man. It's an unusual combination."
"No, it's not that," I said. "Most of the time, the women were deferring to me the minutes I came into their homes."
"You mean kneeling and so forth?" Pulazzi asked.
"Yeah, and so forth," I said.
"What did they do beside kneel?" asked Pulazzi. She kept it casual, but she was dying to know.
"Well, they wore these big houserobe kinda things when they answered the door," I said. "Covered them from head to toe. But as soon as the door was shut, they'd drop the robes, and mostly what they wear under the robes is a thong. If that."
"Really?" asked Pulazzi.
"Yeah, I got the impression it was normal wear for the ones that didn't have kids at home," I said.
"I could see how a guy could like that," said Pulazzi.
"The nudity was nice," I admitted. "But I think it was the general deference and submission that was most striking. Most of the time you don't get that from women. It's noticeable, when it happens."
"Makes you wonder what the women get out of it," Pulazzi said.
"The Gorean men are very appreciative of them," I said. "Very, very appreciative. From what I've seen, it's a very intense relationship. When the woman submits, the man has to .... extend himself. He is her master, but also her protector, her confidante, her caretaker, if you will. He doesn't just sit around ordering her to kiss this and lick that, though any master who DIDN'T issue such orders would be without a slavegirl in short order. They want to be taken care of, AND they want to be taken."
"They don't sound all that different from a lot of women I know," said Pulazzi, and I was pretty sure that by 'a lot of women I know' she meant 'me.'
"Well, to be frank, a lot of them really like being tied up, naked, and required to dance naked or even have sex naked in public," I said. "I imagine that might be an idle fantasy for some women, but for Gorean slavegirls, it's not an idle fantasy, it's what they do after dinner when visiting other Goreans."
"I guess they're a little different from most women in that respect," Pulazzi said thoughtfully. "They live their fantasies."
"I get that impression," I said.
"So, do you find yourself envying Gorean men?" Pulazzi asked.
"Kind of," I said, wondering where Pulazzi was going. "I mean, there's no denying the appeal of women who'll do anything you like, how you like, and enjoy every minute of it. But it also takes an awful lot of care and attention to the relationship. I'm not sure I'm interested in making that much effort in personal relations, even for that kind of reward. But the thing is, nowadays I'm not sure -- before I met these Goreans, I would have been absolutely certain that I wasn't interested. The rewards ... the rewards of being a Gorean kind of guy are really, um, rewarding."
"I wonder if it would be possible to bring that kind of relationship into a committed Christian marriage," Pulazzi said.
"I dunno," I said. "Probably easier if you're a Southern Baptist."
"You're talking about that resolution about the wife having to obey the husband," Pulazzi said.
"Yeah," I said. "It sounds kinda Gorean to me, in retrospect."
"There's a well established tradition of the wife serving as helpmeet within the marriage in Christianity," said Pulazzi. "Many Christian women would find serving their man in such a way well within the confines of their understanding of the religion."
I thought I knew one who might.
We finished up the meal shortly thereafter and headed out to the van.
"I like the tinted windows on your van," said Pulazzi as we approached my van. "You can see out, but people can't see in."
"Yes, comes in handy on the occasional crime story," I said, sticking to my cover.
"I wonder if we could do a little more talking at that table in the back of your van," she said. "Maybe we could drive over to the far corner of the parking lot."
"OK," I said. I didn't know what Pulazzi had in mind, but somehow I wasn't worried about her trying to clobber me.
Pulazzi got in the back of the van and seated herself at the table while I drove over to a relatively empty section of the parking lot for the Abbey.
"This table folds down, doesn't it?" Pulazzi asked as I moved the van. "Would you mind if I folded the table down, it's kinda cramped back here."
"Sure, go ahead, there's a catch under the table next to the side of the van," I said. "I can help you if you like."
If she asked me if the back seat folded down to form a bed (it did) I'd know what she had in mind. But she didn't ask.
By the time I had the van parked and the doors locked (just in case, you understand) Pulazzi had the table down. I clambered back to the van and took a seat next to Pulazzi.
"I want to understand this Gorean slavegirl thing a little better," said Pulazzi. "Now, you've had experiences with actual Gorean slavegirls, I was wondering if you'd help me."
"I'd be happy to, I guess," I said a little defensively. I had an idea what Pulazzi was up to now.
"I'd like to kneel in front of you for the rest of our talk, as a slavegirl might," Pulazzi said.
"OK," I said.
Pulazzi slid out of her seat and knelt on the floor in front of me, in the space where the table had been. The cramped confines of the van meant she was kneeling directly in front of me, about as close as a Gorean slavegirl might.
"This about right?" Pulazzi asked.
"Close," I said. "A slavegirl would cross her hands behind her back as if bound, if they weren't in fact bound. And she'd hold her knees wide apart to signal her availability to her master."
Pulazzi took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She crossed her arms behind her back and spread her knees wide.
"This better?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. She should also have been naked. But I wasn't going to tell her that. She'd heard me describe how slavegirls dressed for their masters.
"I'd like you to address me as a Gorean master might address a slavegirl," said Pulazzi, looking up at me from her position of vulnerability. "And I'll address you as a slavegirl might address her master."
"I can talk like a master, and you can talk like a slavegirl," I said. "But it would sound kind of phony. We're not really master and slavegirl."
"I was hoping we could pretend we were master and slavegirl, for a little time," said Pulazzi. "It would really help me understand."
"What is it you are seeking to understand?" I asked.
"What it feels like to be a slavegirl, what it's like to have a master," said Pulazzi. "Understand, I'd much rather work this out with my husband, but it would take me weeks to get him to agree to it, and I don't have weeks. And he's not really inclined this way. You've been wi
th Gorean slavegirls, and the Goreans seem to think you're their kind of guy. And, to be honest, you're a guy who won't be around after this. You're on to your next story, That's fine with me, it's what I want. So I'm asking you, no begging you as a Gorean slavegirl might, to help me learn this thing. It could help me in my marriage, and in my job. Please treat me as your slavegirl for the next hour or so. Make me yours in the manner of a Gorean master. I would be so grateful."
Another woman, asking me for sex. Had my dick, unknown to me, doubled in size? Or was there really something to this Gorean thing that made men sexually attractive, as well as women? I didn't know. But I knew one thing.
"I'd be glad to, but I am kind of worried about the fact that you're married," I said. "Are you absolutely sure this won't have any bad effects on your family? Are you absolutely sure you can keep it a secret from your husband? Are you absolutely sure you want to? Because I'm pretty sure you want to keep your family intact, and I know I don't want to be a part of breaking up your family. We have to be very strong on those points before we can go any farther."
"Oh, that's not a problem at all," said Pulazzi. "To be absolutely honest, this wouldn't be the first sexual secret I've kept from my husband. Frankly, he's oblivious. So long as my love for him remained true, he won't notice. If I ever stopped loving him, or loving him as much, he'd know about it in a heartbeat, because that's what he's focused on. That's why you're the perfect man to teach me this -- you won't be around to break up my marriage, you'll be on to your next story."
I thought about it. Ordinarily, I drew the line at married women. But it was because I didn't want to be a party to breaking up any marriages. I'd broken up my own marriage, I knew that, it wasn't the various women I had had sex with. Blaming them was wrong. But I didn't feel like being blameworthy any more, I hadn't enjoyed it.
But realistically a marital breakup wasn't likely to happen here, or at least, I could reasonably tell myself that. Of course, if I said "no" there would be no chance. But if I said "yes" maybe it would make her marriage work better. In fact, if I said "no" it might contribute to the decline of her marriage. Why, this might be a noble thing I was about to do.
I decided that ultimately the job of protecting Pulazzi's marriage had to be her responsibility. I would do the best I could for her, either way. And to be honest, I was not unmindful of the advantage this could bring me in case of any future dealings. Not that I'd blackmail her about any tryst we might have. But hell, she oughtta be grateful, at the very least. Plus, sex with a hot woman, the card that had always trumped my marital vows, and now I was not married.
And her face, looking up at mine, was so beautiful and imploring.
"OK," I said. "I'll go with it. We can pretend we're master and slave for a little while."
"Oh, thank you," she said happily, with no trace of sarcasm whatsoever. She smiled up at me, her hands still held behind her as if bound.
"So how should we start?" she asked.
"I think we should start by establishing a safe signal," I said. "It's a signal that you can give at any time, and that lets me know that we have to stop whatever we're doing and find out what's bothering you."
"Do Goreans do that?" Pulazzi asked suspiciously.
"Always," I said, "although the slavegirls rarely have to use the safe sign with their regular masters. They have a pretty good idea what goes and what doesn't. But at the beginning of every relationship, safe signs are ALWAYS established. I mean, what if you had a heart attack all of a sudden?"
"Then I'd need more than a safe sign," Pulazzi said, grinning, "but I see your point. What should it be?"
"We'll have a couple," I said. "Flip me the bird with either hand. Kick three times with either foot, then stop, then do it again until I notice. Say, "yellow." Any of those and we aren't master and slavegirl any more. Got it? Do them a couple of times for me, so we're sure we're on the same page."
"Got it," said Pulazzi calmly, wiggling her feet, flipping me the bird and saying "yellow!" a couple of times. I had expected the safe signs to scare her a little. But obviously she wasn't the sort of woman who was easily scared. If she hadn't been, she wouldn't be here in the van with me.
"OK, we'll start with some obeisance," I said. "You're a new slave, you need to show me that you know you are my slave, that you belong to me, physically. You need to demonstrate your complete physical and emotional submission to me."
"All right," said Pulazzi, sounding a little nervous for the first time.
"From now on, you should ask permission before speaking, though you can answer any questions I may ask without asking permission first, as permission is implied," I said. "And you should address me as 'master.' You may say 'yes, master' to show understanding of any command."
"Yes, master," Pulazzi said, grinning.
"Very good, slavegirl," I said, grinning back at Pulazzi. "Now, I have a question for you. Do you think you can show absolute submission while clothed?"
Pulazzi was silent for a moment.
"No, master," she said softly. She had known it would come to this, but she hadn't expected it to come so quickly. I had half expected her to balk at that question, to say she was only kidding and so forth, then I could take her back to MOP headquarters. But the soft, sultry way she said, 'No, master,' made it clear she wasn't backing out. I was in for a slavegirl scene, and I wasn't sure I was ready for it, but like her, here I was.
"Then remove your clothing, slavegirl," I said. "Do it slowly and sensuously. Be sure and display your body well for your master."
"Yes, master," Pulazzi said. She closed her eyes for a second, clearly gathering her resolve. Then she began unbuttoning her blouse. I had a little inspiration.
"As you undress, tell me your thoughts and feelings, slavegirl," I ordered, "for my pleasure. Your mind must be as naked to me as your body."
She flushed slightly and I realized she had really liked that. Maybe her motives for wanting to understand Gorean practices were more personal than she let on. Or maybe most women understood this Gor stuff better than I supposed.
"Yes, master," said Pulazzi. She removed her coat. "Right now I feel nervous and a little afraid, and embarrassed, too. But also very excited." She laid the coat on the floor with care and began unbuttoning her blouse, carefully looking down at her buttons as she did so. That reminded me of something the slavegirls did.
"Don't look down at your buttons, look at your master," I said.
"Yes, master," I said, and suddenly her 200-watt hazel Mediterranean eyes were gazing straight at me. My expression must have gone blank or something because I saw crinkles form in the corner of her eyes and I saw smile lines form at the corners of her lips. But her eyes were deep pools of passion that sucked every thought from my brain. I found myself regretting my order to have her look at me.
She gathered confidence from what must have been an awestruck expression and began unbuttoning her blouse with easy, smooth motions. Good, I had succeeded in helping her understand the power of the slavegirl.
"I'm having you look at me because Goreans always maximize intimacy between slavegirl and master," I said, using the words as cover while I got a grip on myself. "The idea seems to be to remove all barriers between master and slavegirl, creating an extremely close and intense emotional relationship. I think the intensity of that relationship may be the real appeal that Goreanism has for both the men and women who participate. And I guess that holds true for submissive/dominant relationships in general."
By the time I had finished speaking, Pulazzi had removed her blouse and laid it on top of her coat, revealing a stunningly beautiful pair of breasts enclosed in a heavy-duty bra. The breasts seemed oversized, enormous, as often happens when a small woman has large breasts.
"Master, I can see your pleasure in looking at me in your face and body, and they make me feel very good," said Pulazzi when I finished talking. "Though I still feel very nervous at the thought of being naked before you."
As she spoke, Pulazzi p
ulled her shoes off.
"I am sorry, master, it is hard to do things like this gracefully," as she slid her panty hose down over her hips in the cramped confines of the van.
"I was just thinking every move you make is graceful," I said. "I don't think you even know how to move clumsily."
"Check me out before I've hand my coffee in the morning, master, you'd change your mind fast," said Pulazzi.
With her pantyhose removed, Pulazzi unzipped a zipper at the side of her dress and unbuttoned it, sliding it down over her hips, revealing slinky black undies.
"I am feeling very vulnerable and exposed right now, master," said Pulazzi. "I am not used to this."
"You should feel exposed and vulnerable, because you are," I said. "A slavegirl always feels exposed and vulnerable before her master, because she is. It's an essential part of the relationship, just as it's essential that although the master may ask a lot of his slavegirl, he must never betray her trust."
"I can understand that, Master," Pulazzi said as she reached around behind her back to reach the clasps on her bra. "Oh, this is hard, master," she said.
"I should think you'd be accustomed to unfastening your bra by now," I said.
"It's hard to reveal my breasts to you, master," said Pulazzi.
"The life of a slavegirl is hard in certain respects, there is no doubting it," I said. I thought she might fold at that moment, but instead she suddenly shrugged her bra straps down and allowed her breast to spill out of her collapsed bra cups.
Her breasts were so large that I had suspected augmentation since I had first seen her, except for that caveat about small women's relative breast sizes, but as she moved to put her bra with the rest of the clothes, her breasts swung freely and naturally.
"Well, since you feel a little nervous about your breasts, I think you should sit with your back straight and your hands clasped behind your back, so that I can inspect them thoroughly," I said.