Kajira of Gor coc-19

by John Norman

  “You have not even had her branded and collared,” said the Archon’s man. “If I were you I would see to these details promptly. If she escapes from you again, you might not recover her so easily. Someone else, having her properly marked and collared, might decide to keep her.”

  “I shall take all of these matters under the most serious consideration,” said Speusippus, nodding soberly.

  I smiled to myself. I saw that Speusippus had no intention of doing anything so cruel as putting a brand on me or anything as degrading as putting my neck in a collar. Too, he had not let the Archon’s man whip me. I saw that Speusippus would treat me with lenience, kindness and deference. I saw that I had nothing to fear from Speusippus. After all, I was a free woman, and the Tatrix of Corcyrus.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said, in relief, to the Archon’s man, as he released my wrists from the shackles. It felt so good to put my arms down. I almost fell on the platform.

  “Poor little Lita,” said Speusippus, sympathetically. He patted me, tenderly, on the shoulder. “This has been such a terrible experience for you. But do not worry now, little Lita, It is over. I will take you away with me now.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I whimpered, playing my role.

  But then I felt my hands tied behind my back, with a wire-cored cord. I was tied, and well.

  Then I was leashed like a dog, or less than a dog. It was a slave leash. I was leashed like a slave.

  “May I reimburse you for her keep?” inquired Speusippus.

  “No,” said the Archon’s man. “Such services are furnished by the city.”

  “Splendid,” said Speusippus. “Come along, Lita.” I felt the tug of the leash. I was leashed!

  “Do not spoil her,” cautioned the Archon’s man.

  “We would not want to spoil you now, would we, Lita?” asked Speusippus.

  “No, Master,” I whispered. I shuddered. Gorean slaves, I suspected, were seldom in any danger of being spoiled. They were commonly held under disciplines of iron.

  I followed Speusippus down from the platform. I did not want the leash to be pulled taut.

  “Master,” I said.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Can you read the sign that was posted over my head, please?”

  “Yes,” said he. “It says, ‘Who owns this slave? Who can identify her?’”

  “That is all?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said. For so little I had been struck by the free woman, and tricked and frustrated in the chains!

  He pulled me closer to him by the leash. I did not want to stand so close to him.

  On the sign, it seemed, it had been presupposed that I was a slave.

  To be sure, Gorean men tended to look upon me, it seemed, as though I belonged in that degraded category, or as though it might, in fact, be mine.

  “Have no fear,” grinned Speusippus. “They are well satisfied. From their point of view the slave has been identified and her owner has been located. Indeed, he has even come and claimed her.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He then took up the slack in the leash until he held me, by the leash, but inches from him.

  “I, Speusippus,” he said, whispering intimately to me, “have the Tatrix of Corcyrus naked and on a slave leash.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Say that word again,” be whispered, “and more slowly, pronouncedly and beautifully.”

  “Master,” I said.

  “And she addresses me, Speusippus, the lowly peddler, as ‘Master,’” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He turned about, slackening the leash, and I followed him.

  I was led through the streets. The people of Venna paid me little attention. Such sights, I gathered, were not that uncommon in a Gorean city, that of a naked, leashed slave in the care of her master.

  But could they not see that I was not branded, that I was not collared?

  But this seemed to make little difference. Clearly my status was either bond or that of captive. Indeed, perhaps I was being conducted even now the shop of a metal worker, there to be marked and receive, and have locked upon me, measured and fitted, a suitable, inflexible, identificatory circlet of bondage.

  I followed Speusippus of Turia through the streets of Venna, even through the great market square. I was naked, barefoot and bound. I followed him whether I wished to or not. I was leashed.

  Chapter 19 - THE TRUNK

  “Now we are alone, Lady Sheila,” he said.

  He had turned from the door, after locking it and depositing the key in his pouch.

  I stood with my back against the wooden wall. I watched him put the pouch, on its strap, in a far corner of the room, with other articles. It was a small, bare, largely unfurnished room. It had a common wall with a small stable, beyond which was a small stable yard. His tharlarion was in the stable, and his wagon, outside, in the yard, chained. His goods, in various crates and trunks, had been brought into the small room. It was one of several such small dwellings, with attached stables and yards, in a line, habitations rented out to teamsters and itinerant merchants. It was on the southern outskirts of Venna.

  I had scrubbed down the tharlarion, cleaning and washing its scales and claws. I had then, under his supervision, cleaned out its stable and brought in fresh greens for it to feed upon.

  After this he had taken me to the public trough where under his instructions, washed. We had then returned to the small dwelling in the complex where I, over a small grill in the yard, cooking not allowed in the shacks, had cooked for him. He had thrown me one piece of meat. In front of some of the other shacks in the line, in the yards, I could see girls cooking for masters, too. They, of course, were clearly slaves.

  After I had cleaned the grill and washed the paraphernalia connected with his meal we had come indoors. He had now locked the door.

  I felt the roughness of the wall at my back.

  He opened a chest and drew forth, from somewhere within it, apparently from under several other objects, a brief gray tunic, and threw it to me. I caught it, eagerly. I had not had clothing since shortly after my capture in Corcyrus. Even so tiny and despicable a scrap of clothing as a mere slave tunic, I then realized, can be a precious treasure to a woman. He sat down on a box, watching me, his hands on his knees, across the room from me. Swiftly, elatedly, gratefully, I drew the tiny garment over my head. It was sleeveless, scandalously short and its neckline plunged to my belly, but I welcomed it as though it might have been the most splendid gown in the wardrobe of a Tatrix.

  “Now take it off,” he said.

  Slowly, numbly, I took the garment off, and dropped it to the side.

  “Now kneel before me, Lady Sheila,” he said.

  I dropped to my knees before him.

  “Open your knees,” he said.

  “I am a free woman,” I protested.

  Then I saw his eyes, and opened my knees before him.

  “Excellent, Lady Sheila,” he said. “Now say, ‘I, Lady Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, kneel naked, my knees open, before Speusippus of Turia.’”

  “I, Lady Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus,” I said, “kneel naked, my knees open, before Speusippus of Turia.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “Do you remember sentencing me, in Corcyrus?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You seemed very proud then,” he said. “You do not seem so proud now.”

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “You are sorry for having sentenced me, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And you wish to atone for it, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And I will see that you do so,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “On your belly, Lady Sheila,” he said. I lowered myself to my belly before him.

  “Do you wish to be taken to Argentu
m for impalement?” he asked.

  I lifted my head to look at him, my eyes wild. “No,” I cried. “No!”

  “We are going to get along very well, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And we are going to get to know one another very well, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I sobbed.

  “You may now beg to please me,” he said.

  “Whip me!” I begged him. “Enslave me! Give me no choice! Do not make me do this of, my own will!”

  “Say,” he said, ” ‘I, Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus, naked and on my belly, of my own free will, beg to please Speusippus of Turia.’ “

  “I, Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus,” I said, “naked and on my belly, of my own free will, beg to please Speusippus of Turia.”

  “‘And as a slave,’” he added.

  “And as a slave,” I sobbed.

  I lay there on the floor, sobbing, and, to my horror, watched him unroll wretched, stinking sleeping furs.

  He then removed his tunic and reclined on the furs, watching me, leaning on one elbow.

  “I do not even know how to please a man,” I said, “let alone with the sensuous intimacies of a slave.”

  “Have no fear,” he said. “I know that you are an ignorant free woman.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “But I shall expect you to show marked and rapid improvement in these matters,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “If you do not,” he said, “you will be punished.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You do not want to be punished, do you?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “You will endeavor, then, to make rapid progress in the arts of intimacy, won’t you, Lady Sheila?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He then beckoned that I should approach him.

  “I am a virgin!” I cried.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Then, before the night is done you will be opened by Speusippus of Turia for the uses of men.”

  I then, on my belly, sobbing, began to crawl toward him.

  “Stop,” he said.

  I stopped, puzzled. My body was still on the floor. I had not yet even come to the edge of those stinking furs.

  “You are a free woman,” he said, “and you have much to learn. We will begin with simple things.”

  “Master?” I asked.

  “Lie at my feet,” he said, “and lick, and kiss and suck at them. When you have managed to learn to do that properly, I will give you further instructions.”

  “Yes,” I wept.

  “Yes, what?” he asked.

  “Yes—Master!” I sobbed.

  ***

  “You did not do badly, Lady Sheila,” he said. “If I did not know better, I would have thought that you had had some training. Perhaps it is natural in a woman. Get in.” He held open the lid of the large trunk.

  I crawled into the large, deep trunk, and lay down in it, on my side, with my legs drawn up.

  “Did I please Master?” I asked.

  “You speak like a slave,” he sneered.

  “Forgive me, Master,” I said. Interesting enough, and I hardly understood this, and it seemed almost incredible, I did, clearly, want him to find me pleasing.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. For my supper I had received only one piece of meat. It had been thrown to me, as though I might have been a dog.

  He went somewhere in the room and returned with a piece of dried meat. He dropped it into the trunk, near my face. I seized it in my hands.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  He was looking down into the trunk. I looked up at him.

  “If I had not been pleasing,” I asked, “would you have given me this?”

  “No,” he said.

  I then realized that it was truly in the best interest of a female captive, or slave, to be pleasing. If she was not pleasing, and perhaps even quite pleasing, she might not be fed. By superb performances a girl might, I thought, encourage a master to believe that she was worth feeding, and, perhaps, even feeding well.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I asked.

  “What I please,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “In the morning we are going south,” he said.

  “Not to Ar!” I said.

  “No,” he said. “We will be turning west.”

  He looked down at me, huddled in the trunk. I bit a little at the meat.

  I was ravenously hungry.

  “Were you given permission to feed?” he asked.

  “Forgive me, Master,” I said. I hoped he would not take the food from me.

  “What do you know?” he said. “You are only a stupid free woman.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You may feed,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said. I bit hungrily at the meat.

  “You eat like a starving slave,” He said.

  “Forgive me, Master,” I said. I then took smaller bites, bites perhaps somewhat more conformable to the dignity of a free woman, a lady and a Tatrix. Still, when one is naked and in a trunk, and half starved, it is difficult to eat with dignity. For most practical purposes, as he had treated me, even though technically I might be the Tatrix of Corcyrus, I was a half-starved slave.

  “I never thought to have the Tatrix of Corcyrus naked and in my trunk,” he said.

  “Can I breathe in here, Master?” I asked.

  “There are air holes,” he said. “You are not the first woman who has been in this trunk. To be sure, this is the first time it has ever held a Tatrix.”

  “There is a blanket in here,” I said. “Thank you, Master.”

  “That is to keep the prettiness of its occupants from being bruised,” he said. “The sweat and stink on it is from female slaves. It will serve for you as well, Lady Sheila. As it floored this trunk, serving as their kennel, so, too, it floors it now, when it serves as yours.”

  “As Master wishes,” I said.

  “Do you remember in my trial,” he asked, “the matter of he hair, how it was discovered that I might inadvertently have sold some slave hair as that of free women?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “In the morning,” he said, “I am going to obtain some hair from a free woman.”

  “Master?” I asked.

  “In the morning,” he said, “you are going to be shorn.”

  “Master knows my secret,” I said. “He has power over me. He may do with me what he wishes.”

  “And I shall,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Sleep tight in your kennel, Lady Sheila, lofty Tatrix of Corcyrus,” he said. “It is where you are going to be spending quite a few nights.”

  I looked up at him.

  “Pleasant dreams,” said he, “Slut.” Then he shut the heavy lid of the trunk. In another moment I heard the turning of keys in two heavy locks. Then he walked away.

  With the trunk shut I could see the air holes. Some of them, tiny perforations, I could see through. I saw him extinguish the lamp. I then heard him lie down on the sleeping furs. I then lay back in the trunk, my legs pulled up.

  He had called me “Slut”. Was it my fault if I had responded well to his instructions, if I had done what I was told! I wondered if I had done too well. Next time he would surely want at least that, and probably a good deal more. I smiled to myself. He had seemed surprised. I, too, had been surprised. My tongue, and lips and fingers, after a few Ehn, astounding me, had been ready and eager, and quick, subtle and delicate. I was grateful for his instruction, and I sought to improve upon it.

  Interestingly, I found that I was pleased to touch him. To be sure, I was crude and unrefined. I was uninformed in subtleties of technique and I had too simple a sense of pacings and rhythms, of when to make him, and me, wait, of
when to be languorous, of when to be merciless. I was unaware, even, of the fuller possibilities of sound, of speaking to him, and of vocalizing my emotions and sensations in a variety of ways, adding a whole additional dimension to the totality of the experience. To be sure, some masters, at least at some times, desire to be served, in so far as the girl can, in absolute silence. “What has a slave to say?” they sometimes ask. Forced to perform, humiliatingly, under the ban of silence, enforcing as it does the male’s total domination of her, can he very thrilling for a woman. Also, it helps her to keep clearly in mind that it is a mere animal who is serving.

  Also, I was unaware, more seriously, of many of the aesthetic and psychological aspects of what could be done. I did not make the most of the visual dimension, for example. Too, more naively, in my almost exclusive concern with touching, a common error, incidentally, with new slaves, I neglected by expressions and attitudes, to acknowledge and confess the deeper realities of our relationship, that I was, in the final analysis, his obedient captive.

  I was probably insufficiently alert, too, to the deeper ranges of his desires, of what he wanted, fully, from a woman. The master is to be served, of course, by the total slave. On the other hand, within my limitations, and within the ranges within which I was operating, I seemed to have an almost instinctual sense for what I was doing. I seemed to have a natural sense of timing and a capacity to anticipate, on many occasions, probably from subtle body cues, what he might desire, or what might please him. I discovered that I had talents I did not know I had, and I found myself thrilled to apply them. Though it was I, in the, final analysis, who was in his total power, yet I found, to my gratification and astonishment, that I could turn him into a twisting, writhing slave under my touch. Then, angrily, he would seize me and throw me beneath him, making me helpless. I was then well reminded who, ultimately, was in command. I lay in the trunk, my legs pulled up.

  He had called me a “slut”. I did not really mind this. Indeed, something in me relished it. I remembered how I had behaved in the furs. The expression was, perhaps, I thought, with a shudder, quite appropriate.

  Certainly, he had not permitted me to relate to him, in the least, in the inhibitory modalities of dignity and respect; accordingly, I had found myself relating to him in a deep, real, primitive, sexual, natural, biological manner, in a manner certainly not that of a free woman, but rather of a slave or a slut. Doubtless this was supposed to be a part of his vengeance on me, but I, nonetheless, found it quite fulfilling. Something in me found it quite rewarding to relate to a man in this fashion. Too, I found it stimulating knowing that if I did not please him he might punish me.