Blood Brothers of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Then she lay back, looking at me.

  Sometimes, in the cities, one puts a woman in slave chains, making her helpless, her limbs fastened apart, and then addresses her beauty, lightly, with a feather. In a few moments she is usually begging to serve you in any way you might wish. There are many ways to teach a woman that she is in your power, and truly yours. This is only one.

  "Are you subdued?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "totally."

  "And how will you yield?" I asked.

  "With perfection," she said.

  I then began to caress her, with my hands, and with my mouth, my tongue, lips and teeth. She began to moan and whimper.

  "They are coming closer," said Cuwignaka, casually. "They seem to be interested in your handling of the slave."

  I continued to attend to the lovely, bound woman whose use was mine.

  She was almost beside herself with orgasmic sensation.

  "Please," she begged. "Yes!" she said.

  Then she writhed beneath me, mine.

  "Yes," she wept. "Yes!"

  "They are quite close now, a few feet away," said Cuwignaka, casually, "a few feet to your right, in the grass, one a bit behind the other."

  "Please!" begged the girl.

  "Very well," I said.

  "I yield me," she cried. "I yield me yours!" She was so marvelous. How glorious are women.

  "They seem fascinated," said Cuwignaka.

  "Let me know if there is any change in their location," I said.

  "I wish that I could hold you," she said.

  "You cannot," I said. "You are bound as a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I held her, closely. She pressed herself against me, helplessly. Whether she was held or not was my decision. She could be, if I chose, spurned in a moment, thrust aside in the grass.

  I kissed her, softly. She was very beautiful.

  "They are changing their position," said Cuwignaka, working on the trace from the travois. "One is falling back. The other is going for the pemmican."

  "All right," I said.

  The girl looked up at me, lovingly. Again I kissed her.

  "Oh!" she said.

  I had leapt from her side. I lunged through the grass. With one hand, before he could leap up, I had seized the young fellow by the collar of his garb and hauled him to his feet.

  "Greetings," I said to him, in Gorean.

  "Greetings," he stammered. He still clutched the tiny pemmican cake.

  I pulled him toward the center of our camp where Cuwignaka, now on his feet, waited. There, too, risen now to her elbows, her hands still tied behind her, startled, was the slave girl, Mira, once the Lady Mira, of Venna, with whom I had been pleasuring myself. On the travois, sleeping, was Hci.

  In the grass now, standing, some yards away, frightened, the grass to her waist, was a young girl, some sixteen or seventeen years of age, blond. She, like the young man, wore the garb of the Waniyanpi.

  I transferred my hold on the lad's garment to my left hand and, with my right, beckoned the girl to approach. "Come here," I said.

  Timidly, she approached. Then she stood, too, with us.

  I released my grip on the lad's garment. "Who are you?" I asked.

  "I am Squash," he said.

  "I am Strawberry," said the girl.

  "We have been following you," said the lad.

  "We know," I said.

  "We took pemmican," said the lad. "Are you going to kill us for stealing?"

  "It was left for you," I said.

  He extended his hand to me. In it was the small cake of pemmican which he had just seized up from the grass. "I took this, just now," he said.

  "You are the male," I said. "It is yours."

  He looked at me, puzzled. "I am not a male," he said. "And she is not a female. We are Waniyanpi."

  "That is over now," I said.

  The girl was looking at Mira, fascinated. "Turnip," she asked, "is it you?"

  "She was once Turnip," I said. "She is now Mira, a slave girl. She cannot respond to you. I have not given her permission to speak."

  The girl looked at me, in awe.

  "Turn on your side, Slave," I said. "Show them that your hands are thonged."

  Immediately Mira obeyed. The young man and woman saw that her wrists were tightly bound with thongs.

  "Be now as you were before," I said, "up on your elbows."

  Immediately Mira obeyed.

  "What is that on her neck?" she asked, referring to the narrow, dark, braided rawhide rope, looped three times about the slave's neck and knotted before her throat, the two loose ends dangling between her breasts.

  "It serves as a slave collar," I said.

  "I see," said the girl, stepping back a bit. She put down her head. She drew a quick breath. She blushed.

  "You may lie down," I told the slave.

  She lay back in the grass, naked and bound, near our feet.

  "You two are far from your compound, are you not?" I asked.

  "Yes," said the young man, putting down his head.

  "We were recently at a Waniyanpi compound," I said. "It was Compound Eleven, I believe."

  The young man did not respond.

  "That was your compound, was it not?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "We heard there of two young people who were put out of the compound, a young man and a young woman," I said. "Doubtless you are those two."

  "Yes," admitted the young man, not raising his head.

  "You followed us here, from its vicinity," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "We hoped you would lead us to food," he said. "We did not know what else to do."

  "Your crime, as I recall, was to found touching one another."

  "No," said the young man. "No!"

  "Kneel down," I told the young woman, "before this young man, and strip off that foolish garb."

  The young man looked at me, startled. "Do not avert your eyes from her," I told him.

  The girl pulled up the long, clumsy dress, to her knees, and then knelt before the young man. She then drew the dress over her head and put it to the side. In this way she was on her knees before him, as she bared her beauty to him.

  "Do not avert your eyes," I warned the young man.

  "Ohhh," he said, softly. "She is so beautiful."

  "Does it now seem to you so shameful, or horrifying, to touch her?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "No!"

  "No longer are you Waniyanpi," I said. "She may now be touched freely, however and as often as you wish."

  "I cannot believe such freedom," he said. "It is so different! It is glorious!"

  "It is your freedom, not hers," I said.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Do not forget that she is a female," I said.

  He regarded me, puzzled.

  "She seems hungry," I said. I had noted that she was eyeing the cake of pemmican in his hand.

  "Forgive me, Strawberry!" he said. "I am so thoughtless!" He quickly broke the cake of pemmican in two.

  I put my hand on his arm. "You are the male," I said. "It is yours, not hers."

  "I will share it with her, of course," he said.

  "She has not yet begged," I said.

  He looked at me, startled. Then he, in confusion, looked again upon the girl.

  "I beg for something to eat," she said, smiling.

  He quickly gave her half of the tiny cake of pemmican and she, on her knees, naked, swiftly, ravenously, ate it.

  He then, musingly, regarding her, finished the remaining part of the cake of pemmican.

  "Hold still," I told him. With a knife I cut away much of the long, gray skirt of the Waniyanpi garb he wore. I cut the sleeves away, too. Then, with a part of the material, I made a belt. I belted the garment then, tunicwise, about his waist.

  "How strong your legs look," said the girl, softly, admiringly, looking up at him, "and your arms!"

&nb
sp; "You are permitting her to speak?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Very well," I said.

  The girl put down her head, smiling. Whether or not she would be permitted to speak had been discussed.

  "The camp is quite close," said Cuwignaka. "Let us be on our way."

  "You are welcome to accompany us," I told the young man, "and you may, if you wish, bring the female."

  "I want to bring her," he said.

  "Very well," I said.

  Again the girl smiled. It had been explicitly discussed, whether or not she would be brought with us.

  "I will conceal, as I can, the signs of our encampment," said Cuwignaka.

  "I will load the travois," I said.

  "Are you truly a slave—Mira," asked the girl.

  Mira cast a glance at me.

  "You may respond," I told her.

  "Yes, I am a slave," said Mira, "totally."

  "What was he doing to you, before?" asked the girl.

  "You watched?" asked Mira.

  "Yes," said the girl.

  "He was enjoying me and using me as what I am, a slave," she said.

  "Are you embarrassed?" asked the girl.

  "No," said Mira. "A slave is not permitted modesty."

  "You seemed ecstatic with pleasure, overcome with gratitude and joy," said the girl.

  "It was my yielding," she said.

  "Need you have yielded like that?" asked the girl.

  "Yes," said Mira. "The slave is given no alternative other than to yield to the master fully."

  "But you would want to yield like that, would you not?" asked the girl.

  "Yes," said Mira.

  "Then the slave is forced to do what she, in her most secret heart, most deeply desires to do," said the girl.

  "Yes," said Mira. "But you must understand that a slave's lot is not an easy one. We are often worked long and hard."

  "But is there not a pleasure in such a service?" asked the girl.

  "At one time I would not have thought so," said Mira, "but I know now, now that I am an owned slave, that there is."

  "How must a slave act?" asked the girl. "What must a slave do?"

  "We are to be absolutely docile, totally obedient and fully pleasing," said Mira.

  "Horrifying!" said the girl.

  "Perhaps," laughed Mira.

  "And what if you are not?" asked the girl.

  "But we are," laughed Mira. "The masters see to it."

  "But what if you rebel?" asked the girl.

  "Only stupid girls rebel," said Mira, "and they are soon taught its uselessness."

  "But can you not even protest?" asked the girl.

  "We may protest, of course, if the masters see fit to permit it," said Mira, "but then, when we are finished, our discipline is reimposed upon us, perhaps even more severely."

  "Discipline?" breathed the girl.

  "Yes," said Mira, "the slave girl is subject to discipline and punishment. She is owned, like a sleen or tarsk is owned. She is owned, literally owned. You must understand that in its full sense. Accordingly, anything may be done with her that the master wishes. She may even be slain, if the master wishes."

  "Then the slave girl is totally helpless," said the girl. "She is totally at the mercy of the master."

  "Yes," said Mira.

  "I would like that," said the girl.

  "Oh?" asked Mira.

  "Are you happy?" asked the girl.

  "Yes," said Mira, "incredibly so."

  "Do you not desire freedom?" asked the girl.

  "The only freedom I would now desire," said Mira, "would be the freedom to be totally a slave."

  "I have so much love in me," said the girl, "I, too, would be a slave."

  "But you have no master," said Mira, smiling.

  "Stand," I said to Mira.

  She struggled to her feet.

  I unbound her hands and put the thongs in my belt. She then knelt before me and kissed my feet.

  "What are you doing?" asked the girl.

  "I am kissing the feet of he who is to me as my master," said Mira.

  The young girl then rose to her feet and went and knelt before the young man.

  "What are you doing!" he cried, startled.

  "I am kissing your feet," she said.

  "That is a slave's act!" he cried.

  She lifted her head, proudly, defiantly. "Yes!" she said.

  He shrank back, frightened. "We are Sames," he said.

  "No," she said, "we are not. You are a man and I am a woman."

  "No," he cried. "No!"

  "I would be a slave," she said.

  "No, no," he cried. "No!"

  "Do I displease you?" she asked. "Am I not attractive? Am I not desirable? Am I not beautiful? Do you, truly, not wish to own me?"

  "Of course I want to own you!" he said. "Just to look at you is to want to own you! For years I have wanted to own you!"

  "Own me," she said.

  He cried out in misery and bent over, clenching his fists.

  "What is wrong?" she asked.

  "It is the thought of owning you," he said. "It is so overwhelming. It would mean such power, such joy!"

  "Own me," she said.

  He looked down at her, trembling.

  "There is something to be said for the idea," I said, "particularly if you are not going to leave her behind."

  He looked at me, puzzled.

  "She is a white female," I said. "Few white females, if any, in the Barrens are free. We are going to an encampment of red savages. She is attractive. If you do not want to enslave her, I have little doubt but what someone else will do so."

  He looked down at her.

  I went to the travois and freed the coil of narrow, braided rawhide rope I had used for Mira's collar. I cut off a suitable piece. I then replaced the balance of the rope on the travois, securing it in place.

  "Stand," he said to the girl. She stood.

  I handed him the length of rope. He stood there, looking at her, the rope in his hands.

  "You understand, do you not," I asked the girl, "the meaning of this?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "You may freely enter into the state of bondage," I told her, "but you may not freely leave it. This thing, once it is done to you, is, on your part, irreversible. It is not then within your power to break, alter or amend it in any way. You will then, you see, no longer be a free person, but only a slave."

  "I understand," she said. She then turned to the young man. "I am ready," she said. "Make me a slave."

  He then looped the dark, narrow, braided rawhide rope three times about her neck. He adjusted it so that it was snug and not too tight, and the ends were even. He then tied the two loose ends together, closing the collar. He jerked the two loose ends, sharply, snapping them in contrary directions, making the knot tight. A narrow, inverted triangle of flesh showed between the first two coils of the collar, wrapped closely about her neck, and the knot. He released the two loose ends of the collar, below the knot, and they fell lightly, dangling, as was the case with Mira's collar, between her breasts. The subtle touch of the leather on the breasts of a slave can be useful to a slave, particularly when she is naked, reminding her that she is a slave. Also, as I have suggested, they provide a convenient, short leash wherewith one might drag her about and control her, as one pleases. The collar, as was the case with Mira's, would serve not only to mark the girl as a slave but, in its way, would distinguish her from the common properties of the red savages, whose collars are usually of beaded leather. It was natural that the young man, whose experiences in such matters were limited, should follow the general collar design I had used with Mira. I had no objection. Indeed, it seemed appropriate that both girls, both former Waniyanpi girls, should be similarly collared. I would later explain to him the identificatory aspects of the collar, and he might then, if he wished, change it, or personalize it in some way, perhaps with a special knot, tag or ornament. On the other hand, too, if he wished
to leave it as it was, I had no objection. Both we and the girls, and soon so, too, would others, well understood the bondage relations in which they stood.

  "She is a pretty slave," I said.

  Then they were in one another's arms. "I have always wanted to own you!" he cried, his voice rich, husky and wild.

  "Any man may now own me," she said, "for I am a slave, but it is you who do own me! It is you who do own me!"

  "I love you," he cried, crushing her to him.

  "And I love you, my Master," she cried. "I love you, my Master!"

  "I must have her," cried the young man to us. "I cannot wait. Go on without us!"

  "We can wait," I said.

  He then lowered the naked, collared slave, so beautiful, so vulnerable, so helpless, so tremulous, so eager, so ready, so loving, to the grass. "I am so happy!" she said. "I am so happy!"

  * * * *

  "The camp," said Cuwignaka, "is just over this rise."

  Cuwignaka and I trudged upward, through the grass. It was late afternoon.

  Behind us, some fifty yards, came the travois. The young lad who had been once of the Waniyanpi had insisted on helping to draw it. We had rigged a center trace. He now drew it, flanked on either side, also in harness, by a female slave, Mira on his right and the blond girl, who also had been once of the Waniyanpi, on his left. A man's slave usually heels him, following behind him, or behind him on his left. He had made a tunic for his slave. He had fashioned it for her from her former Waniyanpi garb. It was incredibly short. It was sleeveless. It had a deep, plunging neckline. It, too, was belted tightly, with a belt of rolled cloth, which device served well to accentuate the delicate lineaments of her lovely figure. Such tiny, skimpy garments, so straightforwardly and brazenly revelatory of a woman's beauty, are usually regarded by free women as scandals and outrages. Nonetheless they are the sorts of garments in which a girl, if she is a slave, will come to expect herself to be placed, if she is permitted clothing at all. Indeed, slave girls tend to enjoy such garments. They appreciate the freedom of movement which they permit and relish, too, the insolent exposure and display of their desirability and beauty to the bold appraisal of men. The young man's slave seemed quite pleased with her garment. It was, of course, all she wore. Mira I was keeping naked. I would decide later whether or not to permit her a garment. I smiled to myself. She had once been an agent of Kurii. She would, accordingly, drink deeply of slavery under my tutelage. She would learn it well.