Witness of Gor coc-26

by John Norman

  I ate eagerly and gratefully.

  I looked again at him, hopefully.

  But he had decided I had had enough.

  “We must be concerned with your figure, mustn’t we, sleek little animal?” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He then poured some water from a small pitcher into a shallow bowl, and put the bowl upon the tiles. As he had not placed it on the table, nor handed it to me, I understood how I must drink. I knelt before the bowl, and, my hands on the floor, put down my head and drank. He then had me kneel straight, and, with the same napkin which he himself had used, wiped my lips. He then gave me the napkin that I might clean myself, my fingers and my body.

  “The earrings are pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  He looked at the armlet, and bracelets on my wrists.

  I think he was pleased.

  Then he looked to my ankle. “Bangles look well on your ankle, Earth woman,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Do many women of your world wear bangles?” he asked.

  “I do not know, Master,” I said. I supposed that some might, in certain places, in certain cultures.

  “Secretly, perhaps,” he said.

  “Perhaps, Master,” I said. “I do not know.”

  “They are quite sensual,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Stand,” he said.

  I obeyed. I stood then before the divan.

  He fetched the whip from the divan and, slowly, as he had before, walked about me. Few women on Earth, I suspect, have ever been looked at as these men look at a woman. It can be frightening to be looked upon in this fashion, but it can also be profoundly stirring, profoundly gratifying. I stood straight, with my head up. A slave is expected to be beautiful. She is expected to be worth owning. How reassuring, incidentally, that one is here recognized as being sufficient interest and importance to be looked at, really looked at. One is here regarded as being worthy of attention, literally, and is actually accorded it. On my old world everyone, it seems, is regarded as being infinitely important but no one pays much attention to anyone else. How tragic, I thought, that so few of the women of Earth are ever truly looked at. It is not that they are invisible. It is only that no one pays them any attention.

  I supposed that I might be a little more flushed now, from the food. My belly, doubtless, was a bit more rounded.

  I felt the whip, coiled, move along my left flank, and then my waist. He was a bit to my left. He stood there. He lifted the whip to my lips. Quickly I kissed it. He then withdrew again to my left and then to a bit behind me. I looked straight ahead, over the divan, to the wall behind. “Oh!” I suddenly said. My entire body jerked. “Steady,” said he. He held the implement in place. I moaned. Then, slowly, he lowered it, sliding it downward, against the interior of my left thigh. I flexed my knees, and half sank down, trying to keep contact with it. Then it was gone. I stood straight again, but unsteadily. “Salve,” he said. His remark was an observation, not a mode of address. They make us like this, I thought, angrily. And then they mock us for being so! But then I thought they did not make us this way. This was the way we were. It was only that they would not permit us to be other than we were. They did not permit us, so to speak, to lie. But then why would they mock us for what we were? We could not help what we were, that we were slaves!

  He was then again before me. He lifted the coiled whip before him. He smelled the moist, hot, glossy leather, and looked at me, over the coil, and smiled.

  I looked away, distraught.

  “It seems,” said he, “that the Earth woman is a ready slave.”

  I looked away. It was true.

  “I thought that Earth women were supposed to pride themselves on their frigidity,” he said.

  “Not here, Master!” I said.

  “They are not permitted frigidity here, are they?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “It is not tolerated.”

  “No, Master,” I said. Why did he torment me? I knew that frigidity was not permitted to female salves, of whatever origin, that we could be beaten for it, that we could be slain for it. Too, why did he speak as he did? Surely he knew that I, as slave, whether an Earth woman or not, could not begin to resist men such as he, even if it were permitted. Too, surely he knew that I was a “hot slave.” That information, like my eye and hair color, was on my papers. He would know that I was helpless under the caresses of men such as he, that I could not help myself, that I was the sort of woman, pleading, helpless, vulnerable and spasmodic, who must, to a master, yield the totality of herself, sans reservation, sans qualification. Many times had I surrendered wholly to them. They could completely conquer me.

  “I wonder if you should be whipped,” he said, musingly, lifting the whip.

  “Please, no, Master,” I said.

  He held the whip before me, and I put forth my head and lips, and kissed it twice, quickly, fervently.

  “Earth woman,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Slave,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  He regarded me.

  I kept my eyes forward, not daring to meet his.

  He then, to my relief, tossed the whip to one side. He lifted me up, sweeping me quickly from my feet. He then held me in his arms, looking down at me. I felt momentarily giddy. I was naked and collared. I felt very small in his arms. He was very strong. My weight was as nothing to him. I could see hair upon his chest, in the parting of the lounging robes. How different we are, I thought, my smallness and softness, and his lean, mighty frame, the breadth of the shoulders, the thickness of his arms. One has no contact with the floor. In one sense this is disconcerting, in another it is absolutely thrilling. One knows one can be carried, and placed where he wishes. His left arm was behind my back, his right beneath the backs of my knees. I dared to put my arms about his neck and kiss him, timidly.

  “I melt in your arms, Master,” I whispered. I hoped not to offend him.

  He carried me to the rear portion of the divan, and placed me down upon it, on my back.

  He then sat at the edge of the divan, the palm of his left hand on the divan, resting on it, across my body. His right hand was on his right knee.

  “You did not dance badly,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “It is slave dance,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “The Earth women dance it well,” he said.

  “She is a slave, Master,” I said.

  “Is slave dance danced on your world?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Did you understand the meaning of slave dance on your old world?” he asked.

  “I think so, Master,” I said. Here, on this world, of course, there was no doubt as to what its meaning was.

  “Do many woman dance slave dance on your world?” he asked.

  “Not many,” I said.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “They are afraid to be so beautiful before men,” I said.

  “They are afraid to be women?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Were you afraid?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “That is unutterably stupid,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He regarded me. “You are a woman, I assure you,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Do you object?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “Do you want to be a woman?” he asked.

  “I am a woman,” I said.

  “But do you want to be a woman?” he asked.

  “Feel?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I love being a woman,” I said.

  “Good,” he said.

  Until I had been brought here I had not under
stood what a marvelous, glorious, wonderful thing it was to be a woman. To be sure, I had learned this, as perhaps one must, in bondage. A female slave, you see, is not permitted to deny her sex. Only here, for the first time in my life, had I found it possible to fulfill my sex. Indeed, here I had no choice in the matter. I must fulfill it, wholly and irreservedly. It was no wonder then that, in spite of the dangers in which I might stand, I was so joyful.

  He rose from the edge of the divan and picked up the length of chain looped beside it. This chain was some seven feet in length. There was a lock clip at one end and a collar at the other. I lay there. He made me wait for the collar. By means of the lock clip he fastened the chain to a ring fixed in the divan, one near the floor, on the right, as one faced the divan. He then took the chain about the head of the divan and there, at one point, placed a link over a stout hook, part of an integral slide-ring mounted there. In this way, it was, in effect, as though the chain was mounted at the head of the divan, but, ultimately, on a long chain, run from the side ring. This is a convenience in chaining for masters. One need not, then, locking and unlocking them, spend a great deal of time changing chains. The amount of chain allotted to me from the hook would be about three feet, and from the side ring, if the chain were freed of the hook, about seven feet. There were various rings and hooks about the divan, permitting a large degree of flexibility in custodial and pleasure arrangements. The slave is commonly prohibited from touching the slide-rings and, in the event, remains attached to the divan, by means of the longer chain. Also, of course, the slide-rings may not be available to her, depending on how she is secured, what she can reach, the number of chains, and so on. As an analogy, it would be quite easy for a girl to unbuckle certain sorts of leather wristlets and anklets, but if she is unable to reach the buckles, as, for example, if she is spread-eagled between rings, she is as helpless as if she were held by locked steel. Slide-rings, too, it might be mentioned, can be locked shut, either with their own locks, or, more commonly, with external clip locks. He then put the collar about my neck, and closed it. I was then chained by the neck to the divan, held about a yard from the slide-ring at the head of the divan, and held, ultimately, by the lock clip, to the side ring.

  He stood beside the divan. He looked down upon me.

  “Your not a trained dancer, of course,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “Yet,” said he, “I did not find your dance displeasing.”

  “The slave is grateful if she has not been found entirely displeasing,” I whispered.

  “I am now going to have you, Earth woman,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I was well had and soon screamed my submission and my begging for more. His least touch, that of a master, set me on fire. Occasionally he tortured me, as it amused him, bringing me to the point of yielding, and then desisting, as I writhed, pleading, before hi, lifting my body, begging for relief, for mercy. Four times he roared, laughing within me, as I clutched him. In the manner of these men with their slaves, almost in moments, I had been made wholly his. Numerous times, sweating in my collar, I yielded.

  The minimalities, the tepidities, accepted by men of Earth in their females were not, by men such as these, permitted to us.

  They choose to own us, wholly.

  Then, though I clutched him still, he wearied of me.

  He undid the chain from the slide-ring at the head of the divan and thrust me from the divan to the floor. I looked up at him, above me, from the tiles.

  “You will sleep there tonight,” he said.

  Tears came to my eyes.

  “I may want you again, toward morning,” he said.

  I looked up at him.

  “Turn about,” he said, “so that you lie with your head toward the foot of the couch.”

  I rose to all fours, and turned about, and then lay down on the tiles, on my left side, so that I might face the divan. The chain was on my neck, holding me to the divan.

  I drew my legs up.

  He tossed me a sheet. I gratefully clutched it about me. I then lay there, huddled in the sheet, on the tiles, my head toward the bottom of the divan.

  He was soon asleep.

  I lay there for a long time, trying to understand my feelings.

  But, too, it seemed, this last time, he had too soon finished with me.

  He had wearied of me and then thrust me from him, before I had completed.

  I squirmed a little, and moaned softly.

  He did not hear me, for he was asleep. And, if he had heard me, he might have ordered me to silence. Or perhaps kicked or beaten me.

  I had seen two other girls as I had entered. They had then slipped away. I had no doubt that, in this place, they would be prize slaves, not ignorant girls from the pits. How I envied the, serving in their light silks in a place such as this. Might I not be able, sometime, to so serve, in some such place? Was I so inferior to them? Could I not serve wine, and tend to the cleaning, and polish silver, as well as they? How much better to be slave in a place such as this than in the pits! And how much better, too, I thought, might it be to be merely the slave of a quiet, simple man, not even a rich one, and serve him, and keep his compartments, and love him. I wondered where the slave, Dorna, was, whom I had met on the surface of the tower. I wondered if she sometimes lay here, beside the divan, as I. I wondered if she was kenneled tonight. I did not think she would be pleased, if she learned who it was who now lay here, beside the divan.

  I then fell asleep.

  Toward dawn I awakened.

  I lay there on the tiles. A bit of light crept into the room from the window and porch.

  I heard him stirring.

  I lay there, tensely. It would be he who would decide what was to be done.

  He stood up, beside the divan. He lifted me in his arms, and turned me about, so that my head was toward the head of the divan. He then, with a rattle of chain, flung me upon it.

  He must have slept well.

  He was indeed refreshed!

  But his day would doubtless be a busy one. He was an important man. He would have much planned. He had little time now for a slave. He was quick with me. But I had been restless during the night, it had almost been as though I had been waiting for him, hoping for him. My response was grateful, almost instantaneous. But then he was done with me. He thrust me from the surface of the divan, to my knees, beside it. I was grateful for whatever crumbs or morsels I had been thrown. He unlocked the collar from my throat. I was free now of the divan. “Fetch the street sandals,” he said, indicating a pair of sandals across the room. I went to all fours and crawled to the sandals, and picked them up in my teeth, and, on all fours, brought them back to him, and dropped them at his feet. I had been taught to fetch sandals in the pens.

  He looked down at me.

  I knelt before him.

  I picked up one of the sandals, and kissed it, and then, humbly, head down, placed it on his foot. I did the same with the second sandal.

  I then looked up at him.

  “You fetch, kiss, and tie sandals well, Earth woman,” he said.

  “Please do not call me an Earth woman, Master,” I begged. “Surely, by now, it is clear what I have become, that I am only a Gorean salve girl!”

  “But we will keep an Earth-girl name on you,” he said.

  “As Master pleases,” I said.

  “It may serve, from time to time, to remind you of your origins.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  In a short time he was prepared to leave his compartments.

  “Guards will come for you shortly,” he said.

  He carried some things, and motioned that I should lie upon my stomach in the vicinity of the double door. He crouched beside me and crossed my wrists. He jerked tight knots on them. He then crossed my ankles, and pulled them up, close to my wrists. In a moment, with a few quick movements, my ankles had been tied tightly together and fastened to my wrists. He then put me to my side. I loo
ked up at him.

  “Slave,” said he.

  “Yes, Master?” I said.

  “You did not dance badly,” he said, “and it is clear that you are familiar with slave movement,” I supposed that slave movement, its subtlety, its grace, its sensuousness, was now a part of me, in part trained into me, in part naturally manifesting itself, in my current condition. I was no longer even aware of it, really. Slaves are not permitted to move with the rigidity, the awkwardness, of free woman. Indeed, it is said that a skilled slaver can tell the difference between a free woman in the robes of concealment and a slave in them merely by having them walk about. Even so subtle a thing, you see, militates against a slave’s possibility of escape. To be sure, a slave might escape one master, to fall into the hands of another. She might change her collar, so to speak. But then the new master, knowing her for an escaped slave, is likely to keep her in close chains, and treat her with great harshness and cruelty. Indeed, after he has pleasured himself with her for some weeks he may simply return her in chains to her former master, for her punishment.

  “Master?” I asked.

  “It was not merely for your ignorance that you were purchased,” he said. “We also wanted one who was beautiful and desirable, and such things.”

  I was silent.

  “You are a natural slave,” he said, “and you have come along well. We are pleased.”

  “Then I, too, am pleased,” I said, “Master.”

  “The peasant,” he said.

  “Yes, Master?” I said.

  “He is in your keeping,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. He was actually in the keeping of the pit master, the depth warden, of course, but it was I, it seemed, who would be attending to the servile trivialities of his keeping, his feeding, the emptying of his wastes bucket, and such.

  “Do you recall how you are to appear before him?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “In a string and slave strip, if that.”

  “And how are you to move before him?” he asked.

  “Master?” I asked.

  “You are to move well before him,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “Surely I need not explain such things to a female slave,” he said.