by John Norman
“You may, of course, do with me whatever you wish, and when you wish,” she said, a little resentfully.
“I shall,” I said.
“I am certain of that,” she said.
“Do you object?” I asked.
“I may not object,” she said. She smiled. “I am a slave,” she said.
“Are you a pert, intemperate slave?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“Will it be necessary to whip you?” I asked.
“No,” she said, quickly.
“You will try to be a good slave?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
“Master!” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
“But I am the female,” she said. I looked at her.
“I will try to please you,” she said quickly. She began, clumsily, to kiss and caress me. I laughed at the ineptness of her efforts.
“Why do you laugh?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“I was thinking,” I said, “that if I had bought you in the Sardar and thrown you to my men you would have been slain by now.”
“Teach me to survive as a slave girl,” she begged.
“I will show you some simple things,” I said. “But girls usually learn from other girls, or from their slave trainers in the pens.”
“Pens?” gasped Audrey.
“Of course,” I said. “Sometimes,” I admitted, “trainers are brought to the compartments, with their whips, but that is more expensive.”
She turned white.
“You are a slave, and you are going to continue to be a slave,” I told her, “so you had better learn how to be a good one.”
She looked at me.
“Do you want to live?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then learn,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Here,” I said, “hold your lips to my thigh. Put your lips thusly.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“It is strange,” she said, looking up at me. “I longed for your touch, but now it is I who must touch you.”
“Do not fear, little slave beauty,” I said, “you, too, will be touched in your turn.”
Her eyes were moist. She pressed her lips to my belly. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered.
“What is slavery like in the south?” asked Audrey.
“It is the same as here,” I said. “You would be in the absolute power of a man.”
“I know that, Master,” she said. “But how would I be dressed? What would I have to do?”
“You would be dressed, if at all, as your master pleased,” I said, “and you would have to do whatever you were told.”
“Oh, I know that, Master,” she said, laughing, kissing me. Then she lay with her head on my shoulder.
“Would I be branded?” she asked.
“Doubtless,” I said. “It is easier to keep track of a slave that way.”
“Does that hurt much?” she asked.
“At the time,” I said, “not later.”
“Where are we branded?” she asked.
“A girl is commonly branded on the left or right thigh,” I said, “sometimes on the lower left abdomen.”
“I am afraid to be branded,” she said.
“It does not hurt afterwards,” I said. “It is only a mark to help keep track of you.”
“Really, Master?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “if the truth must be told, it does, considerably, enhance your beauty. Also it is sometimes not without its psychological effect.”
“I can well imagine its psychological effect,” she said. She shuddered.
“It can help to impress upon a girl that she is a slave,” I admitted.
I touched her on the thigh.
“There?” she asked.
“Quite possibly,” I said.
Suddenly she clutched me. “Oh, oh,” she cried. “It is the thought of being branded,” she whispered, intensely. “Please, Master, hold me, hold me!”
Her thighs were clenched fiercely. “I am going into orgasm,” she cried out, frightened. I held her, as she gasped and wept in my arms. I had not even entered her, or touched her intimately. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. Angrily I thrust apart her legs. “Forgive me, Master,” she wept “It was the thought of being branded.”
“So, Slave,” I said, “you want the iron?”
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
“If I should have you in the south,” I said, “I would have you soon marked.”
“Yes, Master,” she wept. “Yes, Master!”
“Serve me now, Slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she cried. “Yes, Master!” she cried.
“Serve me again,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Audrey will now serve her master again.
“Does Audrey like serving her master?” I asked.
“Audrey loves serving her master,” she whispered.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Audrey is a slave,” she whispered.
“It is true,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. Then she began to cry out with helpless pleasure.
“In the south,” I said, “there are many cities. Many of these cities consist largely of high cylinders, joined by traceries of high bridges.”
“It sounds very beautiful,” she said.
“It is,” I said.
“Are there many slave girls in these cities?” she asked.
“Yes, many,” I said.
“Tell me of them,” she said.
‘They are commonly kept barefoot,” I said, “and are clad in brief tunics. Their hair is usually worn long and loosely. Their throats are normally encircled by collars, which identify their masters.”
“Are such girls treated kindly?” she asked.
“It depends on the will of the master,” I said. “They are slaves.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Most girls are treated kindly,” I said, “provided they are absolutely pleasing in all ways.”
She was silent.
“That is little enough to expect from a slave,” I pointed out.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Do you object?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “It is only that the domination to which the Gorean slave girl is subject is so uncompromising, so complete.”
“It is absolutely uncompromising and complete,” I told her. “Goreans are not men of Earth,” I said. “They will have what they truly want from a woman, everything.”
“Though I am destined to be the helpless victim of their will, their power and their lust,” she said, “yet I cannot help but admire and fear such men.”
‘They will make you be a woman, their woman,” I said.
“In my most secret dreams,” she said, “I longed for such a man. I did not know they could exist.”
“Something in your heart,” I said, “whispered to you that there must be somewhere such men.”
“It was only a longing dream,” she whispered, “the yearning of a girl for a true man, one proud and free and strong, one not dishonest, one not broken, one not robbed of himself, one who could by his might and strength make me as much a woman as he was a man.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then, one day, on a platform in the Sardar, I learned that it was not a simple dream, but that it had been a dream to which there corresponded a fearful reality.”
“You, wench of Earth,” I said to her, “now lie naked on Gor, a slave girl.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Are you frightened?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am terribly frightened.” She clutched my arms. “Should those of Earth not be told that there truly is a Gor?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “It is better that they do not know.”
“How many gi
rls, this very night on Earth,” she asked, “are being brought to Gor?”
“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps none. I do not know the schedule of the slave runs.”
“The horror, and the joy, of it,” she said.
“Joy,” I asked, “Slave?”
“Yes, joy,” she whispered. “Master?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Would you please stand over me?” she asked.
I did so.
“Yes,” she said, “that is how I imagined him, the man in my dreams, he for whom I longed, he who would come for me and place me, regardless of my will, resolutely in his total bondage.”
“And what did you do?” I asked.
“I knelt before him, like this,” she said, “and put my head to his feet.” She looked up at me. “You see,” she said, “I knew, in seeing him, that he was my master.”
“And what did he do?” I asked.
“He did not let me speak,” she said, “but took me by the shoulders and gently, but powerfully, pressed me back.”
“Like this?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, I wanted to protest, and speak, and question him, but I saw in his eyes that I must not do so.”
“And then?” I asked.
“He told me that he would try me out,” she said, “and see if I pleased him. If I did not he would leave me alone, and unharmed, and I should not see him again. But to beware, for if he was pleased with me, he would take me away with him, to a far world, one very different from my own, where he could keep me as he wished, and would do so, as a slave.” She smiled at me. “He encouraged me to try to resist him, that I might keep my pride and freedom.” She looked up at me. “You see, he only wanted me if I truly was a slave,” she said.
“What did you do then?” I asked.
“I opened my body to him like a flower,” she said. “I said to him, “Do not leave me, Master. Take me with you. I am truly a slave as you have suspected. You are the first man to discern this. Thus you are the first man to whom I belong.’” She smiled. “‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I see that you are a slave, but I do not know if you will please me.’”
“And then?” I asked.
“Then,” she said, “I was very afraid, for I sensed that if he should so much as touch his lips to mine I could never again be anything but a man’s slave. What if I should not please him? Would he not then simply abandon me, leaving me behind, a masterless girl, a lonely, forlorn slave on a world empty of men strong enough to be a woman’s master?”
I supposed it was hard for one who was a slave to be in a world in which there were no masters. Perhaps there were masters on such a world, but she had not yet found them. The slave seeks her master, the master his slave. When they find one another they will know it. She will kneel to him, and he will accept her as his.
“Did he permit you to speak further?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. I opened my arms to him. I said to him, ‘I will try with all, my heart to please you, my master, that I may be found worthy to be taken with you as your slave.”’
“What then did he say?” I asked.
“He said nothing,” she said. “He only held me by the arms, and I could not move. Then he laughed. Then he used me for his pleasure.”
“His domination was ruthless?” I asked.
“Yes,” she smiled, “lovingly ruthless.”
“He treated you as a slave?” I asked.
“Completely,” she said.
“As was proper,” I said.
“Of course,” she smiled. “I was his slave. Should a slave not be treated as a slave?”
“Of course,” I said.
“When he finished with me,” she said, “I said to him, ‘Have I pleased you, Master?’ He did not respond but, from a bottle, poured a tiny bit of fluid into a cloth. ‘Did I please you, Master?’ I again begged. Then he placed the damp cloth over my mouth and nose, holding it tightly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you have pleased me, Slave.’ I looked up at him. I could sense the fumes in the cloth. ‘You are a pretty slave,’ he said. ‘You will bring a good price in the market.’ I realized then that he would only keep me for a time, and would then sell me. I realized then that I would have many masters. I struggled, but I could not escape. Then I lost consciousness.”
“An interesting dream,” I said.
“Then one day,” she said, “I awakened, chained on Gor,” She kissed me. “Master,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“The girls who are kept slave in the cities,” she asked, “are they happy?”
“Many are blissfully happy,” I said. “Strange,” I mused, “that that should be so, and yet the facts are incontrovertible, Many of them, collared, subject to the whip, are yet blissfully happy. It makes little sense to me. I do not profess to understand it.”
“I sense how it could be, Master,” she said.
“A girl, of course,” I said, “in having many masters learns how to please men. She must, of course.”
“I am sure that is part of it, Master,” said Audrey. “May I speak?”
“Yes,” I said. “I sense,” she said, “what my true master would be like.”
“Any man who owns you is your true master,” I said.
“That is true,” she laughed. “But I have a dream of a perfect master, to whom I could be but a perfect slave.”
“I see,” I said.
“Other girls, too,” she said, “must sense this sort of thing.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Do not men have some sense of what sort of girl would be their perfect slave?” she asked.
“Some girls are surely more attractive and desirable than others,” I said, “and clearly this is not a simple function of physical appearance. Indeed, some rather plain girls are, for no reason that is clear to me, tormentingly attractive, intensely desirable.”
“There is no simple answer,” she said.
“No,” I said, “I do not think so.”
“Is it not true,” she laughed, “that all men want a woman who will bring them their slippers in her teeth?”
“Sandals,” I corrected her.
“Sandals,” she laughed.
“Yes,” I said, “every man wants such a woman.”
“And a slave girl must,” she said.
“If the master so instructs her,” I said. “Of course.”
“All men want,” she laughed, “is a girl panting in their arms.”
“Surely more than that,” I said. “Any girl can be made to pant in a manes arms,” I pointed out.
“That is true,” she said, bitterly. She was slave. She knew she could be forced to yield to any man.
“What is it that you are trying to say?” I asked.
“You could not easily delineate for me your criteria for the perfect slave,” she said, “nor I to you my criteria for the perfect master. Indeed, one might be a perfect slave to one master and not to another, as one might be the perfect master to one slave and not to another.”
“Go on,” I told her.
“But we both sense,” she said, “that there would be a rightness, or rightnesses, about such matters.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I think I would know my perfect master as soon as his eyes met mine,” she said.
“I doubt it,” I said.
“I would certainly know,” she said, “that it might well be he.”
“Perhaps,” I granted.
“Too,” she said, “I suspect that you generally have little difficulty in picking from a line of chained girls those who are of the most interest to you.”
“That is true,” I smiled. “But such difficulties, even should they occur, are, of course, not intolerable.”
“Beast,” she said. “But my point, Master, if I may be permitted to continue to speak, is that both of us would sense rightnesses, fittingnesses, matches, agrecabiities. complementarities, in such matters.”
“Of course,” I sai
d. Then I said, “Ah yes, your point is an interesting one.”
“Yes,” she said. “Suppose that a woman is, as I am, a natural slave.”
“Yes,” I said, “the buying and the selling.”
“A girl will often have many masters, will she not?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “A comely girl may change hands many times.”
“And a master, of course,” she said, “is likely to own, from month to month, or year to year, several different girls.”
“Yes,” I said. Most Gorean masters could not afford more than one girl. The price obtained on one, of course, can be applied to the purchase of the next. In this sense, after the initial investment, provided one both sells and buys, girls are cheap.
“A man, too,” she said, “buys women who are attractive to him. It is harder for the woman, but she, too, at times, is in a position to influence her sale. She will try to appear more beautiful and pleasing to the man she wishes to buy her than to one she does not wish to buy her.”
“The slaver will take her hide off with the whip if he catches her at it,” I said. “Too,” I said, “at a public auction that sort of thing is difficult or impossible.”
“Yes,” said Audrey, “in a public auction, as I understand it, a woman is completely at the mercy of the men.”
“Your point is an excellent one,” I said. “If women are true slaves, and men are true masters, and slave exchanges are frequent, there is a resonable chance that a man may find his choice slave, and a girl her choice master.”
“Or perfect slave and master,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said.
The bliss of many slave girls now seemed less puzzling to me. First, as girls, natural slaves, they were in a relationship to which, in effect, they were bred by nature, that of the submitting organism in an ancient biological complementarity of male and female; female slavery is but the cultural institutionalization, the expression and perfection, to be expected in conscious, intelligent organisms, intent upon remaining true to nature, rather than violating it, of the male’s control and ownership of his female. Man owns woman by nature; in a complex society, and in a world with property rights and laws, female slavery, as a legalized fact, is to be expected; it will occur in any society in which touch is kept with the truths of nature. Gorean law, of course, is complex and latitudinous on these matters. For example, many women are free, whether wisely or desirably or not, and slavery is not always permanent for a slave girl. Sometimes a girl, winning love, is freed, perhaps to bear the children of a former master. But the freedom of a former slave girl is always a somewhat tenuous thing. Her thigh still bears the brand. And, should her ears be pierced, it is almost certain she will, sooner or later, be re-enslaved. It is hard for men to leave a woman who can be a good slave girl free. She will always dread that in the night men will come again for her, hooding her, carrying her to a distant city, to be again put on the block of a steaming market, that once again her throat will be encircled by a steel collar and that she will kneel at the feet of a new master. Slavery also, of course, encompasses the ownership of male slaves, for which there is less precedent in nature. Where males are concerned the institution is primarily economic. The labor of male slaves is useful and cheap. It is applied in such places as the quarries, the roads, the great farms, in certain types of cargo galleys, on the wharves, at the walls of cities and in the forests. Male slaves are usually debtors or criminals; sometimes they are captives, taken in actions against enemy cities or facilities; sometimes they have merely accrued the displeasure of powerful men or families; some slavers, working in gangs, specialize in the capture of free men for work projects; they obtain a fee per head on a contractual basis.