Kajira of Gor coc-19

by John Norman

  “It is pleasant to enjoy the Tatrix of Corcyrus,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I sobbed, bitterly.

  Yet I could not deny that he was forcing me, too, to experience much pleasure, its nature and amount depended completely on his will.

  A quarter of an Ahn must have passed.

  Then again, for I do not know what time, he brought if to a point of almost unbearable tension.

  “You may now yield, Lady Sheila,” he said, “as you have begged, as a slave.”

  “Thank you, Master!” I cried, and threw my head back elation and gratitude, and freed myself of feeling, and, as he mastered me, cried out my slave’s submission to him.

  Afterwards he stood up and looked down, regarding me. “It is pleasant to have had the Tatrix of Corcyrus,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I lay, had, at his feet.

  He then crouched down, next to me, and rolled me to my stomach. He then jerked my hands behind my back and casually braceleted me.

  “You will spend the night braceleted,” he informed me.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He then shackled my left ankle and chained me, by means of it, to the slave ring at the foot of his couch. He then unlocked the leash collar and freed me of it and the leash. These articles, with the key, he then replaced in one of the chests at the side of the room. He then took most of the covers and threw them back on the couch. He did, leave me a sheet on the tiles. I lay on half of it. The other half, folded, he threw over me. He then retired.

  Toward morning, in the early hours, he summoned me to his bed and again made use of me. I knelt beside the bed, kissed the covers and crawled into it. He knelt me and turned me about, and pushed my head down. He was quick with me. He was half asleep. I suppose I should have been grateful that I was permitted the honor of the couch. I do not think he, half asleep, wished to leave it. He did not bother unbraceleting me. Then, with his foot, when he was finished, he thrust me from the couch. At the foot of the couch, on the tiles, with my teeth I readjusted the sheet about me, as I could. I then lay there, wide-eyed, for a time, not sleeping.

  How far I was from my small apartment, from the perfume counter in the department store on Long Island. That mercenary little chit was now, on this natural world, a braceleted slave at the foot of a man’s couch. No longer, now, was she, in the prerogatives of freedom, permitted to give men nothing, or frustration; now she must serve them with perfection and provide them, to the best of her ability, at their merest whim, with fantastic pleasures. At least now, I thought, I am good for something.

  How casually Miles of Argentum had just used me! But I did not object, for I was a slave. This form of casual, use, this off-handed employment of us, while perhaps inappropriate for a free woman, was acceptable for a slave. We did not have to be the subject of elaborate and tiresome preparations and pretenses, of complex rituals of attention and respect. We could, at times, be mere conveniences to the master, and, in this, too, we find something honest, natural, straightforward and lovely. There are times when the master simply wants us, and now. At such times, too, as we are slaves, it pleases us to serve.

  To be sure, the use to which Miles of Argentum had just subjected me, and I was well aware of this, had not been merely casual, a simple convenience use. It had, too, been a spurning use. Though he had not spoken to me, save to summon me imperiously to him, I had little doubt that he was still thinking of me in terms of Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus. What a rich joke on the proud Tatrix! What a splendid lesson for the captured sovereign, to be subjected to a mere convenience use in the early morning, and then to be spurned to her place at a slave ring. But even so I did not object. Something in the woman of me responded to the masterful authority in this treatment. It made clear to me, once again, the delicious, terrible domination to which I was subject on Gor. I wanted men to be my superiors and masters, as they were on Gor. I wanted to be owned by them, as I was on Gor. I wanted to love them, and obey them, as I had to, without choice, on Gor.

  I thought of Miles of Argentum.

  How skillful he was at teaching a woman her slavery. How well he had put me through my paces on the leash, and then later in his arms. And, but moments ago, he had simply ordered me to him and had then, wordlessly, before taking me, positioned me precisely as he wanted me, my head even down.

  I considered my compliance with his wishes and desires. I had obeyed him perfectly. I would not have dared to do otherwise, of course. He was not a man of Earth, or a typical man of Earth. He was a Gorean male.

  I twisted a bit on the tiles, carefully, so as not to dislodge the sheet. I moved my wrists a little, they locked helplessly behind my back in their slave bracelets.

  How men do with us as they please, I thought. How they master us!

  I pulled for a moment, angrily, futilely, irrationally, against the slave bracelets, but I could not, of course, free myself.

  What a glorious world this is for men, I thought, that here women such as I must serve and please them!

  But then I squirmed with pleasure and joy.

  And what a glorious world for women, I thought, that here we must so serve and please!

  I felt then the raptures of my bondage, from the tranquilities of selfless service to the ecstasy of a slave’s sexual surrender to the dominant male, the master. How perfect I was for bondage; how perfect bondage was for me. I had been designed by nature for bondage. This was clear in my body, and in my nature and dispositions. I rejoiced that I had been brought to a world in which I was free to fulfill, and, in certain circumstances, would have no choice but to fulfill, this implicit destiny. Here, on Gor, there were none of the confusions, the denials, the lies and ambiguities of Earth; here there was clarity, structure and truth. Here civilization did not war with nature; here slaves were slaves, and masters masters. Here I would be what I was, and without compromise, a slave. I did not object. Rather was I thrilled with this, as I had now learned, my natural fulfillment.

  I was frightened of Miles of Argentum.

  He seemed to think of me not as the helpless and lowly slave I was, a mere girl rented for his pleasure for an evening, but as though I were a high lady and free captive, Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, who was then, perhaps in his vengeance on her for her escape from his camp, to be humiliated and humbled, and forced even, in her now unbreakable captivity to perform and serve as a slave.

  Certainly he had taken much pleasure with me.

  But he must know that the true Sheila had fallen to Hassan, the Slave Hunter. Only recently he had brought her to Argentum in a golden sack. Even now, for his amusement, he kept her for several Ahn a day in that sack, suspended, tied shut in the throne room, while business was conducted. The sack was to be opened, and she was to be presented to Claudius Ubar of Argentum, and the high council, and high citizens of Argentum, at the climax of a great feast, to be celebrated two days from now.

  So what interest had Miles of Argentum in me?

  Surely he did not think that I might be the real Sheila.

  In his treatment of me, and in calling me Sheila, and so on, surely he had been only playing a game with me.

  He could not remember me that clearly, I hoped, from his appearance before me in the great hall, when I had sat upon the throne, for from the time when he had had me locked, naked, a captive, in a golden cage.

  No. He was only playing with me.

  I was merely Tiffany, a feast slave, brought to Argentum with others to serve at the victory feast.

  It was not my fault if I bore some remote resemblance to Sheila the Tatrix of Corcyrus.

  I reminded myself that Miles of Argentum did not own me. I reminded myself that he had only rented me for an evening, for a night, as men may rent women such as I. In a few Ahn, in the morning, I would be returned to my keepers. I would then forget about me. In a matter of days, probably some three or four days, I would be on my way back with the others.

  I had nothing to fear.

  He did n
ot own me. That was what was most important. He could not even harm me, at least seriously, or permanently, without paying some form of restitution to the Enterprises of Aemilianus. I was, after all, their girl propererty, not his.

  I then, toward morning, fell asleep.

  ***

  I awakened rather late. It must have been around the eighth Ahn. The room was flooded with light.

  There had been a knock at the door. It must have been girl keeper coming for me, I thought. I struggled to my knees. It is in such a position that a slave girl commonly greets a free man. I did not wish to be kicked or cuffed for discourtesy. Braceleted as I was, I could not keep the sheet on me. It fell across my thighs. But it was someone else, I saw. Miles of Argentum, dressed and shaved, answered the door.

  “She will be with you shortly,” he said. I did not understand that remark. He then closed the door. I gathered the man might be waiting outside. I did not recognize him.

  “I see that you are up, Lady Sheila,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “It is just as well,” he said. “It is now past the eighth Ahn.”

  I did not understand, at that time, the reference to the eighth Ahn. Was that supposed to have some significance to me?

  I was then startled. I felt Miles of Argentum, from the back, pressing a tiny key into my collar.

  “Master!” I cried.

  He then, to my astonishment, opened the collar and removed it.

  “Master,” I said, “what are you doing? How can you this? Where did you get the key?”

  “In Ar,” he said, “several days ago, the first day after I saw you in the city. I paid for you then, but the transfer of ownership, as specified in the contract, as I wished, did not become effective until this morning, at the eighth Ahn. A few Ehn ago, unknown to you, you became mine.”

  “Surely you jest, Master,” I wept. “Feast Slaves would not wish to sell me in this fashion. I am needed. There is no replacement here for me. There is no girl to attend to my duties!”

  “I did not realize one serving slave was so significant,” he said, amused.

  “They like to have a full complement of slaves on hand,” I assured him. “If I were to be sold to you, they would have sent out an extra girl, an addition to my group.”

  “And so they have,” he said, smiling, “though separately, as I requested. Her name is Emily. Perhaps you know her?”

  I looked at him, aghast.

  “Do you know her?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “She was trained in the cycle after mine. Apparently they have now transferred her to my group.”

  “Doubtless as your replacement,” he grinned.

  “Yes, Master,” I whispered. I looked at him. “Then I belong to you, truly?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “every inch, every hair, every freckle, every drop of sweat, every drop of intimate oil.”

  I shuddered.

  “Here is your new collar,” he said, displaying it for me. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. It was an attractive collar of gleaming steel, with a sturdy, heavy lock at the back. In it I would be marked as well, and confined as efficiently as I had been by the collar of Aemilianus.

  “See here?” he asked. ” ‘I am the property of Miles of Argentum’,” he read.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, miserably.

  “Lift your chin,” he said.

  I did so.

  He then snapped the collar about my throat. I wore the collar, then, of Miles of Argentum.

  “It is a perfect fit,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “It is the same size as the other collar,” he said. “I had your collar size from the Enterprises of Aemilianus.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You do not seem pleased,” he said. “I do not understand that. I thought you would be overjoyed.”

  “I am overjoyed, Master,” I whispered.

  “Good,” he said. “I like my girls to be happy.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “I paid fifteen silver tarsks for you,” he said.

  I was startled. “That is too high a price for me,” I said.

  “I do not think so,” he smiled.

  “I am not worth anything like that,” I said. For such a price one might get a fine dancer. Some of the lesser girls in a Ubar’s pleasure gardens might not have cost so much.

  “You are to me,” he said.

  “I will endeavor to see that you get your money’s worth,” I said.

  “Have no fear,” he said. “I will.”

  I began to tremble, uncontrollably. He freed my left ankle of its shackle, that which had fastened me to the slave ring.

  “Stand,” he said. I stood.

  “You are not very tall, are you?” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “But you are well curved,” he said.

  “Perhaps, Master,” I said. “Thank you, Master.”

  “This is the key to your slave bracelets,” he said. He showed me a key, on a string. He slung the string over my head and, by it, hung the key about my neck. It fell between my breasts. Much good it did me. I could not reach it with my braceleted hands.

  “I am going to turn you over now to Krondos, my slave master,” he said. “You will find him a kindly and fair man. On the other hand, your least imperfection in either discipline or service will be severely and promptly punished.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “As I am an indulgent master,” he said, “you will be accorded clothing from your first day in my ownership.”

  “Master is generous,” I said. I was not speaking ironically. Sometimes a girl, particularly a new girl, must strive for days to earn even a narrow strip of cloth and a piece of string.

  “It will be a tunic appropriate to the girls of Miles of Argentum,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. He was a soldier. He probably would have a distinctive tunic, in effect, a uniform, for his females. I had no doubt, too, he being a soldier, that it would display us well.

  “Clothing privileges, of course, may be quickly revoked,” he said.

  “Of course, Master,” I said.

  He picked up my silk, that which I had worn to his quarters last night, before I had removed it at his command, and wrapped it about my old collar and its key. These things he placed on the foot of the couch. They would be returned, doubtless, to a representative of Feast Slaves, currently in the palace.

  “After you, Lady Sheila,” he said, gesturing graciously toward the door.

  I preceded him to the door, where I stopped.

  “May I speak, Master?” I asked.

  “Of course, Lady Sheila,” he said.

  “Fifteen silver tarsks,” I said, “is a great deal of money to pay for a mere feast slave.”

  “Yes,” he said, “fifteen silver tarsks would be a great deal of money to pay for a mere feast slave.”

  “Master understands clearly, I trust,” I said, “that that is all I am, that I am only a feast slave.”

  “Do you really think,” he asked, “that I would have paid fifteen tarsks for you, and had you brought here with your group, all the way from Ar, if you were only a feast slave?”

  “But that is all I am,” I said, “only a feast slave!”

  He spun me about, to face him. He stood but inches from me. I was naked. My hands were braceleted behind my back.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  Obediently I stood on my toes and kissed him.

  “Do you call that a kiss?” he asked.

  “Permit me to try again, Master,” I said. I then kissed him again, but this time as a slave.

  “Very good, Lady Sheila,” he said. “From the first time I saw you, I thought there was a slave in you.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “That is interesting,” he said.

  “Why do you call me ‘Lady Sheila’?�
� I asked, protestingly.

  “It amuses me,” he said.

  “Who do you think I am?” I asked.

  “You are now, as I own you,” he said, “whoever and whatever I wish you to be, but the most interesting thing about you, from my point of view, is who you once were.”

  I looked at him, with fear. “And who do you think I was?” I asked.

  He took me and threw me against the wall. I turned, and faced him, the wall at my back.

  “You look well,” he said, “my former regal slut, now reduced to total slavery, naked and in slave bracelets.”

  “No,” I whimpered. “No, no.” I shook my head, helplessly, trying to deny his accusation.

  “To my lips,” he commanded.

  I fled to him, and kissed him, deeply, as a slave. I drew back. I saw that I had kissed him too well. “No, no,” I whimpered.

  He took me by the upper arms and, thrusting me from behind forced me across the room. He then put me over one of the large chests at the side of the room. I felt the wood of the chest, and the iron bands. The key about my neck, on its string, made a small sound as it struck the wood.

  “It is not my fault if I bear a resemblance to Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus,” I said.

  “You kissed well,” he said.

  “Oh!” I cried, entered.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I moaned. Sometimes a slave girl does not understand the incredible power she exerts over men, what she can do to them with a kiss, with a glance, with a smile, a gesture, a touch. My wrists twisted helplessly in the slave bracelets.

  “I cannot help it if I resemble her!” I said.

  “You do more than resemble her,” he said.

  “Master?” I cried.

  “You were she,” he said.

  “No, no!” I cried.

  “We do not wish to keep Krondos waiting, do we?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I moaned. “Of course not!”

  “I have discussed your work schedules with him,” he said. “You will be worked hard for some five Ahn a day. Your tasks will be such things as laundering, scrubbing floors, and working in the kitchens. These seem suitable tasks for the former Tatrix of Corcyrus. Do you not think so?”

  “Yes, Master,” I moaned. “Oh, Master!”