Explorers of Gor

by John Norman

  I locked the girl's left ankle in the first ankle ring. She looked, wonderingly, at the steel locked on her ankle. She lifted the chain, leading to the locked ankle ring on her left ankle. She looked at me. "You have chained me," she said. "Oh," she said. I thrust her to her back on the furs. I then fastened her left and right wrists in their respective wrist rings. I then put the alcove collar on her, shortening its chain, fitting it over Pembe's collar. She could not then rise more than a few inches from her back. I then went to her right, and shortened the chain there. I then took her right ankle. "Oh!" she said, as I pulled it far to her right. I then locked it in the ankle ring, on its shortened chain, which is at the left of the alcove entrance, as one enters.

  She looked up at me, terrified. I looked down at her. "Do you now begin to understand," I said, "what it might be to be chained as a slave?"

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Look now to your right, high on the wall," I said. "What do you see?"

  "—A whip," she said.

  "What sort of whip?" I asked.

  "A slave whip," she said. "A whip of a sort which may used upon slaves."

  "And what are you?" I asked.

  "A slave, Master."

  "Do you now begin to understand what it might be to be a slave?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "This is an alcove," I said. "But you may think of it as a very special sort of place."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "As a chamber of submission," I said.

  "Yes, yes, Master," she said.

  "Think of it now," I said, "think of it deeply and keenly, with every fiber and particle of your lovely body, as a chamber of submission, a chamber in which you, a slave girl, must bend in all respects, a chamber in which you, only a female slave, must submit, in every bit of you, totally, completely, to the will of men."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "I will now touch you," I said.

  "I am frigid," she wept. "Do not kill me, I beg of you."

  "Think deeply now, fully," I said. "You are in the chamber of submission."

  "Yes, Master," she wept.

  I then touched her, with exquisite gentleness.

  Her haunches leaped, the chains shook. She looked at me, startled.

  "Interesting," I said.

  She looked up at me, wildly.

  "Are you prepared to submit—fully?" I asked.

  "May I resist?" she asked.

  "Resistance is not permitted," I said. "Do you understand that?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Speak," I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, yes, I am prepared to submit—fully!"

  "The slave," I said, "if she knows what is good for her, will have a keen, a profound, even a desperate, intent to serve with perfection, to be as pleasing as possible. Perhaps you can suspect what the alternatives might be."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And so you desire, do you not, to serve with perfection, and to be as pleasing as possible?

  "Yes, Master!"

  "Do you understand what it is to submit to a man, fully?" I asked.

  "I do not know," she said. "I do not know!"

  "You will learn," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Will you submit fully?" I asked.

  "I will try. I will do my best, Master!"

  "You want to submit, do you not?" I asked.

  "No!" she cried.

  "Oh?" I said.

  "Do not make me speak," she said.

  "Speak," I said.

  "I think so," she whispered. "Yes. Yes, Master, I do desire to submit."

  "Fully?"

  "Yes! Yes!"

  "And in what manner does a woman submit fully?"

  "As a slave—as a slave to her master," she whispered.

  "I see," I said.

  She lifted her body, piteously.

  "Please touch me again," she said.

  I let her wait for a time. Then, again, I touched her, very gently.

  "Aiii!" she cried out, squirming. I continued to touch her for a bit. "Oh, oh," she began to moan.

  Then I stopped touching her.

  She looked up at me. "What are these sensations?" she asked.

  "Apparently you should be whipped," I said.

  "Why?" she asked. "Why, Master?"

  "Because you have lied," I said. "You told me that you were frigid."

  She looked up at me, frightened.

  "But you are not," I said. "You are only another hot slave."

  "No, no," she said. "Not a hot slave, not I!"

  "Let us see," said I.

  "Oh, oh," she moaned, softly.

  "I detect heat, curvaceous slut," said I.

  "Please do not speak so of me," she begged.

  "I think, in time," I said. "You will be a pleasantly hot slave, and, in time, even one extraordinarily so."

  "No!" she said.

  "Beneath the glaciers of your ice, the brittleness of those preposterous defenses you insist upon," I said, "are churning, searing subterranean lakes, the delicate, apprehensive magma of latent worlds, ready to burst forth, are you truly unaware of them, these undisclosed, molten, searing seas, these ready, steaming tides of scarlet need, these other worlds, these islands and fiery shores, these torrid countries and continents of passion, these living, impatient, secret worlds, worlds of seething, roiling desires which once tapped can never be diminished or curbed, tropics and volcanoes which once discovered can never again be concealed or denied."

  "I deny them! I deny them! I deny them!" she cried.

  "But they do not listen, do they? Perhaps you are not like the women you want to be? Perhaps you are less or more. Perhaps these things are your truth, your truth. Perhaps they will claim you, and you can do nothing about them. Perhaps they are you, and you are theirs."

  "No, please!" she wept.

  "Have you never looked into the mirror, and seen a naked, lonely slave? Have you never knelt before the mirror, nude, and ready? Have you never longed for chains on your limbs, for binding fiber on your body? Have you never dreamed of lying naked, and helpless, locked in strong arms, mercilessly embraced, looking upward into the eyes of an amused, pitiless master?"

  "No, no!" she wept. "Yes! Yes!"

  She struggled, wildly, rearing up a little, as she could, trying to rise, shaking the chains, pulling at them. Then she subsided, helpless. She drew a little at the chains, futilely. She looked up at me, pleading.

  "You are helpless," I told her. "You cannot free yourself."

  Did she not know she was a slave, chained in a Gorean alcove, exhibited, and spread, for the pleasure of masters?

  She pulled a little, again, at the chains. She looked up at me, again. "Please, release me," she said.

  "I am not yet done with you," I said.

  "I have never felt like this!" she said. "I do not understand what is going on. I do not know what is happening in my body!"

  "Perhaps you are feeling unaccustomed sensations," I said.

  "I do not want these feelings," she said.

  "What you want is not important," I said.

  "I am afraid of these feelings!"

  "They will change you," I said.

  "What are these feelings?" she wept.

  "Do you not know?"

  "No!"

  "They are slave sensations," I said.

  "No!" she wept.

  "But, yes," I assured her.

  "I do not want them," she said. "Take them away, please!"

  "They will change you."

  "Do not do this to me, please!"

  "It will be done to you," I said.

  "Please, no!" she protested.

  "Shall I order you to silence?" I asked.

  "No, please, no," she whispered. "What are you going to do with me—truly?"

  "I think I shall turn you into an enstormed, ecstatic slave, an interlude of recreation, a mere, meaningless instrume
nt of my sport, a master's submitted, writhing plaything."

  "Rape me, quickly, and be done with it!" she cried.

  "Presumably that will be done with you, frequently enough," I said.

  "Do it!" she said. "Do it!"

  "I want more from you," I said.

  She regarded me, with horror.

  "Yes," I said.

  She turned her head to the side, angrily. "You may do with me as you wish," she said. "I am chained."

  "Yes," I said. "And you are well chained, absolutely helpless, conveniently placed, and well displayed."

  "Of course!" she said, bitterly.

  "Do you think that chains such as these are those which will best hold you?" I asked.

  "Doubtless these, and such as they," she said.

  "No," I said.

  "I do not understand," she said.

  "You do not even now know the chains which will most truly bind you," I said.

  "I do not understand," she said.

  "The chains which will most truly bind you," I said, "are those of your aroused, ignited needs, my shackled beauty, and the uncompromising, luscious condition of bondage itself, which will be yours."

  She looked up at me.

  "Such chains," I said, "you will find far fiercer and far more obdurate than the links of these iron laces which now weight your limbs."

  She began then, hysterically, sensing what portended, given the nature of her new reality, that of slave, to pull, and jerk, and tear at the chains.

  "They are far more irresistible and implacable than these dark, blunt impediments, these chains of heavy, linked iron, in which you are now held so helplessly, and against which you now struggle so in vain."

  She subsided. She wept, exhausted.

  Again she looked up at me, piteously. "Mercy," she begged.

  "No," I said.

  "You are going to ignite my feelings, and then entrust me to them, are you not?"

  "Yes," I said. "In the end, the slave craves her own conquest, and is incomplete and miserable without it."

  "What are you going to do to me?"

  "Introduce you to a slave," I said.

  "What slave?" she asked.

  "Yourself," I said.

  "No, please!" she said.

  "Do you dare to contradict my will?"

  "No, no!" she said.

  "In any event," I said, "it will be imposed upon you."

  "But what of my will?" she begged.

  "It means nothing," I said.

  "I am a slave," she moaned.

  "Yes," I said.

  "What then have you decided? What is your will with me—Master?" she asked.

  "You are going to feel feelings you never knew existed."

  "No!" she said.

  "And you will not be able to go back," I said. "You will never again be the same."

  "No, no!" she wept.

  I touched her, gently.

  "Ai!" she cried.

  "Do you like that?" I inquired.

  "Do not make me speak, please," she said.

  "Speak," I said.

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

  "You cannot go back," I told her.

  Again I touched her, very gently.

  "No, no, no!" she cried.

  "Even now, I said, I think you would writhe on the slave block, revealed, exposed, spasmodically obedient to the slaver's caress."

  "No!" she cried.

  "You are a hot slave," I mused.

  "No!" she said. "I am not a hot slave! I despise such women!"

  "You are one," I said.

  "No!" she wept.

  I touched her, again, gently, softly.

  "Aii!" she wept.

  "See?" I asked.

  "Oh!" she said.

  "Do you want to go back?" I asked.

  "No, no!" she said.

  "No?" I asked.

  "I cannot go back!" she said.

  "That is true," I said.

  "What have you done to me?" she said.

  "Helped you to become a woman," I said.

  "A slave!" she exclaimed, bitterly.

  "Save for some veneers, some conventions, and veils, they are the same," I said.

  She looked up at me. "How can you respect me?" she asked.

  "You are not to be respected," I told her. "You are only a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You no longer have any pride to guard," I said. "A slave is not permitted pride."

  "Yes, Master," she wept. "Oh, oh." Then she threw her head to the side, on the furs. "I want to respect myself!" she cried.

  "Your obligation is not to respect yourself," I told her, "but to be yourself."

  She looked at me, tears in her eyes. "I dare not be myself," she whispered.

  "Is it wrong for a woman to be a woman?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "yes! It is wrong, and demeaning!"

  "Interesting," I said. "What should a woman be?" I asked her.

  "She should be a man!" she said.

  "But, quite simply, you are not a man," I told her.

  "I dare not be a woman," she wept.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because," she said, "I sense, in my heart, that a woman is a slave."

  "Is it not permissible for a slave to be a slave?" I asked.

  "No!" she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "I do not know!" she wept. "I do not know!"

  "Can it be wrong to be what one truly is?" I asked.

  "Yes, yes!" she said.

  "It is wrong for the tree to be a tree, the rock a rock, the bird a bird?" I asked.

  "No, no," she said.

  "Why, then," I asked, "is it wrong for a slave to be a slave?"

  "I do not know," she said.

  "Perhaps it is not wrong for a slave to be a slave," I said.

  "I dare not even think that," she said. Then she said, "Please do not stop touching me, Master."

  "Does a slave beg?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Evelyn begs Master not to stop touching her."

  I kissed her, softly, about the breasts, but did not stop touching her.

  "Thank you, Master," she breathed.

  Then, suddenly, she tore at the chains, trying to free herself, but could not, of course, do so.

  "What is wrong?" I asked her.

  "I must resist you!" she cried. "I must not yield! I must not yield!"

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I sense the thing in me," she said. "I have never felt it before, but this must be it. It is like waves, from so deep in me. It is beginning to overwhelm me. It is fantastic. It is unbelievable. No! No! You must stop touching me!"

  I stopped touching her. "Why?" I asked.

  "I was beginning to come to you," she said.

  "So?" I asked.

  "You do not understand," she said. "I was beginning to come to you—as a slave to her master!"

  "But you are a slave," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And you are in the chamber of submission," I said.

  "You give me no choice," she said.

  I smiled at her. "This time, and this time alone," I said, "I will give you a choice."

  "A choice?" she said.

  "A slave's choice," I told her.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "You may yield—or die," I told her.

  She looked at me with terror. "I choose to yield, Master," she said.

  "Of course," I said, "you are a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Next time," I said, "you will not even be given that choice. It will not be necessary. Your slavery has now been confirmed. You will thenceforth be accorded no choice whatsoever, no alternative, however dire, to the enforcement of your submission upon you."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  Then I began again to touch her, lifting her to the heights she had chosen, the degrading joys of bondage, the humiliating ecstasy of the chained slave girl.


  "Aiii!" she cried, throwing her head back. "I yield me yours, my Master!" she cried.

  I had not even, this early in the evening, elected to enter her.

  "Please touch me, hold me," she wept, helplessly. I did so. How piteous were her small hands, opening and closing, in the wrist rings.

  "I did not know it could be anything like that," she said.

  "It was nothing," I told her.

  "Nothing!" she wept. "It was the most incredible experience of my life."

  "It was only a minor slave orgasm," I said.

  "When I came to you," she said, "I was submitting, and owned. It is the most beautiful and glorious feeling I have ever had."

  Then, after a time, I began to touch her again.

  "What is Master going to do now to his girl?" she asked.

  "I am going to teach her a little more of her slavery," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  This time, in less than ten Ehn, she began to squirm, and cry. Then, suddenly, she looked at me, frightened. "It is coming," she said. "It is greater than the first. I will not be able to stand it. It will kill me. I will die!"

  "No, you will not," I told her.

  "Aiii!" she cried out, head back. Then she wept, "I'm chained. I'm chained. Hold me, please. Do not let me go. Stay warm, and near to me. Please, Master. Please, Master!"

  I held her, and kissed her. Again I had not even elected to enter her.

  She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Please come in me," she begged. "I want to be fully yours, had without mercy by my master. Take me, I beg you. Have me!"

  "Later," I told her. "I have not yet begun to warm you."

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened.

  * * * *

  Later, toward morning, near dawn, I awakened, Evelyn's lips so intimate upon me.

  During the night I had unchained her, save for the steel and chain on her left ankle.

  She awakened me as I had instructed her. It is pleasant to be awakened in that fashion. I put my hands down to her hair, as she pleasured me.

  During the night I had taught her some small things, some techniques, little, simple things, for her mouth and hands, and breasts, her hair, her lips, and feet, and tongue. They might help her, I thought, to survive in Pembe's tavern. Most importantly I had tried to impress upon her the fundamental importance of submission, and that she was a slave girl. All else, for most practical purposes, follows from that.