by John Norman
“You are,” he whispered. “You are.”
***
“Doubtless master is tired now,” I said, “and should rest. I will stop.”
“Not yet! Not yet!” he said.
“Very well,” I said.
***
“Insatiable slut!” he growled. “Do you think I am made of iron?”
“It seemed so,” I said.
“Desist,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I laughed. It was hard for me to keep my hands off Drusus Rencius. He was so beautiful. I snuggled down beside him, my head at his hip. I kissed his hip. Then I lay there, quietly, beside him. “I am not disturbing you now, am I?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Would you like to rest now?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. His hand was in my hair.
“Would you like me to relax you?” I asked.
“Very well,” he said.
I crawled to my knees.
In a few moments, he said, “Is that your idea, as how to relax a man?”
I laughed, and continued my work, lovingly.
“Obviously you have been trained,” he said.
“I am not one of those women who thinks her part in making love is finished when she lies down,” I said.
“That is clear,” he said. The slave, of course, is not permitted the ignorance, inertness and mediocrity of the free woman. She must serve marvelously and totally. Nothing less is permitted her.
“I am a woman of many talents,” I assured him.
“Doubtless,” he said, half moaning.
“I have attended school,” I informed him. “And I am a skilled feast slave. I am also skilled at weaving on a mill loom.”
“Marvelous,” he gasped.
“Shall I stop now?” I asked.
“Continue,” he said.
“But I thought you wished to rest?” I said.
He looked at me, menacingly.
“I shall continue,” I said. “I would certainly not wish for a command to have to be repeated. That would be a reflection on my discipline. Too, I have no wish to be beaten twice in one day.”
“I wonder who is the master and who is the slave,” he said.
“You are the master, and I am the slave,” I said. “I am clear on that.”
“Would you care to mount me?” he asked.
Eagerly I did so.
“Are you now Mistress?” he asked.
“Whatever Master wishes,” I laughed. I sensed, suddenly, what might be the sensations of power and pleasure a woman might experience, putting a male to her use, before she was restored to the order of nature, and her servitude. “Would you truly permit me this?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, “but, later, we will do it somewhat differently.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, puzzled.
Then, to my amazement and delight, grinding and tensing, I watching him closely, I transformed him into a squirming slave beneath me, and then, when it pleased me, took his yielding from him.
Later in the afternoon, when we had rested, and he had had food brought in, and we had eaten, he put me again in such a place, but this time I must face his feet and my hands were held behind me. In such a way, sometimes, a captured free woman, stripped, is placed backwards on a kaiila, her hands bound behind her. This is usually done only when she is being led to slavery. In such a way, then, he used me. My slavery was again well impressed upon me.
This type of position, it might be mentioned, is also used by Gorean masters with the woman facing forward, when he can see her face, but with her hands tied, say, before her or behind her, or at her collar, bound either with actual thongs or, most cruelly, “by his will,” that form of “tie” in which a woman must keep her hands in a given position, for example, holding them as if bound, or, say, keeping them on her hips or clasped behind the back of her neck. If she breaks such a position, of course, she is subject to terrible discipline.
She must then, as he lies slothful and recumbent beneath her, at his ease, observing her, perhaps amused, writhe upon command and thus serve, and eventually cap, his volcano.
Later he taught me this sort of thing first-hand. He used the collar tie and, mercifully with real thongs. When he was finished I had not only learned again that I was a slave but that this general sort of position, even with the female facing forward, has no intrinsic connection with female dominance. He had let me experience it in that fashion to see what it was like. He had then returned me to total bondage.
“Master,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I have been doing a great deal of thinking,” I said.
“Is that what you have been doing?” he asked.
“I mean, in the last few Ehn,” I said.
“Yes?” he said.
“I have learned my collar,” I said.
“Good,” he said.
“You have taught it to me well,” I said.
He shrugged. The Goreans have a theory that any man can teach a woman her collar, and perfectly.
“But was it necessary,” I asked, “that you used me as you did earlier, after you had whipped me?”
“How was that?” he asked.
“Master!” I protested. Then I saw that he wished to make me speak. “when you made me kneel, with my head down,” I said, embarrassed.
“No,” he said. “It was not necessary.”
“Then why did you do it?” I asked.
“It amused me,” he said.
“Surely there was more to it than, that,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “it is a useful way to show a woman, one who may be proud, or not clear on the matter, that she is a slave.”
“I see,” I said. “I find it difficult to forget the experience.”
“Oh?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Doubtless you were appropriately degraded and shamed,” he said.
“No,” I said. “To be sure,” I said, “it was instructive, but, as I recall it now, I found it very loving and exciting.”
“You liked it?” he asked.
“Doubtless it brought my slavery home to me,” I said, carefully.
“I would think so,” he said. “It would doubtless be difficult to continue to think of oneself as a free woman after having been used in that fashion.”
“I liked it,” I said, suddenly.
“That is interesting,” he said. The beast! He knew I had almost screamed with submission and pleasure!
“Are slaves often used in such a fashion?” I asked, as though unconcerned.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“Might I ever again be put under such a discipline?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” he said. I looked at him.
“Perhaps if you beg prettily enough,” he said.
“I will,” I smiled. “I will!”
“Do you recall the position?” he asked. “Yes,” I said.
“Speak,” he said.
“The girl kneels, with her head down, her hands clasped behind her neck,” I said.
“You recall the position perfectly,” he admitted.
“Yes,” I said.
“Assume it,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said, joyfully.
***
“Thank you, Master,” I said, softly; lying in his arms, thanking him for his touch. It is now evening. Again he had gone to the door and summoned a slave. Again we had had food brought in and had, again, eaten.
“Ohhhh,” I said softly. “Thank you. Thank you, Master. You are my master. You are my Master! Thank you. Thank you, my master.”
Then, later, he held me closely.
“Master,” I said.
“Yes?” he said.
“I have often wondered what was the meaning of a golden cage, and why I, when thought a Tatrix, was placed in one.”
“The gold,” said he, “is a precious metal, is thought perhaps fitting for a free woman, in particular for one of hi
gh station, and certainly for a Tatrix. That it is a cage, on the other hand, signifies that she is taken to be, in actuality, no better than a slave, and only fit to be a slave. To place her in such a cage is then to make a clear statement as to her true and rightful nature.”
“I see,” I said. “And doubtless the golden sack is of similar import.”
“Yes,” He said.
“Yet Hassan enslaved Sheila before placing her in such a sack.”
“True,” he said, “and that she as a mere slave was yet placed in such a sack must have induced exquisite emotions in her, emotions of fear, of outrage and humiliation.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“It was a joke on the part of Hassan,” he said, “an exquisite one.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“But doubtless, too,” he said, “it served a useful purpose in her ongoing training.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“But doubtless, too,” he laughed, “it seemed an appropriate modality, did it not, in which to transport a former Tatrix to Argentum?”
“Yes,” I said. I shuddered.
“But I think you need not fear confinement now in golden cages or golden sacks,” he said. “Cages formed of simple, sturdy bars of black iron and deep, doubly-sewn sacks of heavy, plain leather, black and thick, tied or locked shut, will now serve well enough for you, confinements suitable to the more common slave you now are.”
“Yes, Master,” I laughed. Such devices would suffice quite well, surely, for a common girl such as I now was.
“Master,” I said.
“Yes?” he said.
“Read me my collar,” I begged, “please.”
“I showed it to you before,” he said. “You should have read it for yourself.”
“You are teasing me,” I pouted. “You know I cannot read.”
“Not even your collar?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “do not worry about it. It is not necessary for you to be able to read your collar. All that is necessary, from your point of view, is that it is locked on you, that you cannot remove it, and that it can be read by free men.”
“Are you going to teach me to read?” I asked.
“Such skills would seem to have a very low priority,” he said. “For example, can you play the kalika?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you know the exercises and luscious movements of slave dance?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“So why should you be taught to read?” he asked.
“I could spy on your mail,” I said.
“I had not considered that,” he admitted.
“It could improve my price,” I said.
“That is probably true,” he said.
“Many men,” I said, “enjoy having a girl who can read. It gives them pleasure to make her serve as well, or better, than an illiterate girl.”
“I shall think about it,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said. Whether I would learn to read or not was not up to me. In final analysis, it was up to masters. It would be done with me as they wished.
“Tell me, please,” I asked, “what is on my collar.”
“A speck of dust,” he said. “There, I have removed it.”
“Please,” I said.
“It is simple,” he said. “It says, ‘I belong to Drusus Rencius, of Ar’.”
I kissed him. “It speaks the truth not only of my legal condition,” I said, “but of my heart.”
He then, again, began to touch me. “Thank you, Master,” I breathed, again. I did not know whether or nor I would be taught to read. Then, in a few moments, gently, softly, I began again to yield to him.
***
I lay on one elbow, regarding Drusus Rencius. “What did you pay for me?” I asked.
“It is not important,” he said.
“I am curious to know,” I said.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira,” he said.
“Nonetheless,” I said, “we are notoriously curious. Doubtless the saying would not otherwise have gained such wide currency.”
“That is probably true,” he said.
“I would like to know,” I said.
What is the difference of a coin or two?” he asked.
“I know it was not much,” I said.
“Oh?” he asked.
I laughed merrily, and he reddened. I knew I had triumphed!
“You paid for me!” I laughed. “You know what you paid! What did I cost you? What did I bring Miles of Argentum!”
“I do not recall,” he said.
“Miles of Argentum,” I laughed, “when he saw me in Corcyrus, thought I would bring a whole silver tarsk! He, then, too had only seen me fully clothed, clad in the full regalia of the Tatrix. Only my face had been unveiled! Had he seen me naked he might have raised his estimate! Too, suppose he had seen me in a posture of submission or had had me writhe at his feet in slave chains! Suppose he had put me through detailed and methodical slave paces, or had had me bring him the whip in my teeth!”
“Perhaps he would have added a copper tarsk or so to your price,” speculated Drusus Rencius.
“Who knows?”
“You yourself,” I said, slyly, maliciously, “in Corcyrus, as I recall, conjectured that I would probably bring only between fifteen and twenty copper tarsks.”
“That seems about right,” he said. “In a normal market, under normal conditions, of course.”
“But that was untrained,” I said. “Subsequently I was trained.”
“Yes,” he said, “that is true. I suppose it would be only fair to improve your price by a copper tarsk or so in virtue of such a consideration.”
“But suppose a man particularly wanted a woman,” I said. “Suppose she was, for some reason, very special to him. Perhaps she had been cruel to him. Perhaps he mightily desired her. He might then be tempted to pay at least a little more, might he not, to obtain her?”
“I suppose so,” said Drusus Rencius, irritatedly.
“What did you pay?” I asked.
“It doesn’t really make a difference, does it?” he asked.
“I suppose not,” I said, “but I would like to know.”
“I do not recall,” he growled.
“Miles of Argentum,” I said, “truly at one time believed me, and with good reason, from his point of view, to be the Tatrix of Corcyrus. For that reason he paid fifteen tarsks for me, fifteen silver tarsks.”
“What an idiot,” said Drusus Rencius, darkly.
I laughed. “Fortunately he was your friend,” I said, “and for that reason would cheerfully accept a considerable loss in my resale.”
“I paid more than fifteen silver tarsks for you,” said Drusus Rencius.
I clapped my hands with pleasure. “I knew it must be so!” I laughed.
The face of Drusus Rencius was black with rage.
“What did you pay!” I asked. “what did you pay!”
“More than twenty tarsks,” he said, angrily. “How much!” I demanded. “How much!”
“I paid fifty silver tarsks for you!” he said, furiously.
“Fifty!” I cried.
“Yes!” he cried, in fury.
“Wonderful!” I laughed. “That is wonderful!” He scowled at me fiercely.
“I am surely the poorest investment a man has ever made in a slave girl,” I laughed. “You will have to keep me forever. You will never recoup that loss!”
“Oh!” I cried, thrown to my stomach on the love furs.
Then my legs were thrust apart. Then as I gasped and clutched at the furs, almost before I could move, from behind, handled like the slave I was, I was pinioned, held and entered.
“You need not fear I will sell you,” he said. “I have waited long to possess you.”
I squirmed, impaled.
“And do not worry about the economic aspects of the matter,” he said. “You are going to m
ake your sales price up to me in value, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “a thousand times!”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“A thousand times a thousand times!” I gasped.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“And more, and more, and more!” I cried.
“You will now move as I direct,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Yes, Master!”
***
“I love you. I love you. I love you!” I moaned. “I love you so much I could die with the love of you.”
Then his lips were again upon me.
It was now in the early light of morning. In a few hours he would leave for Ar. I would accompany him, perhaps even in his chains, his.
“You are doing it to me again!” I moaned.
“Be quiet,” he whispered.
Then I melted to him again, soft and lost, held, in his arms, and then he swept me up again, willless, his collared slave, like a swirling leaf high into the clouds of ecstasy, and love.
Chapter 37 – AFTERWORD
Wars, I suppose, continue.
Who knows what knives are lifted, what secret, stealthy marches may be afoot?
But these things seem far away.
Ar, in the evening, seems very beautiful.
I must conclude this narrative now. I have been summoned to my master’s couch. I hasten to obey.
FB2 document info
Document ID: bd-9e2542-77fe-8c45-66b5-7a22-5ad3-32f1f0
Document version: 1.3
Document creation date: 02.12.2008
Created using: Book Designer 5.0, FB Editor v2.0, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
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mifisailka aka tatuk
Document history:
v.1.0 - created FB2 (mifisailka aka tatuk)
v1.2 - add chapter 28-30 (Claymore)
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