by John Norman
"Men and women, then," she said, "are not the same."
"No," I said. "Men are the masters. Women are the slaves. Your world has taught both sexes to strive for what are, in effect, masculine, or neuteristic, values. This produces unhappiness and frustration for both sexes. Hormonally normal women find it difficult or impossible to achieve happiness through the adoption of, in effect, transvestite values. Similarly this perversion of values complicates or precludes, for the glandularly normal male, the achievement of a natural biological fulfillment. Both sexes, then, frequently fail to obtain happiness, or fall far short of the happiness of which they are both capable, that happiness which is a consequence of maintaining a biological fidelity to their separate natures."
"The lies, the hypocrisies, the pretensions of pseudo-masculinity will not be permitted to me on Gor, will they, Master?" she asked.
"Not in the least," I told her, "for you are a slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Does this displease you?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"Does it please you?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Even the girl who does not have a female trainer," I said, "will often seek out more experienced girls, to beg them for their intimate counsels and their secrets of love and beauty. Sometimes she purchases these by such tiny gifts, of food and such, as may be within her province, or by performing portions of the other's labors, and so on. Indeed, much of the chitchat of slave girls, in their gatherings, has to do, in one way or another, with the pleasing of masters."
"It is in our best interest to fulfill our duties well," she said.
"But the best trainers you will have," I said, "will be your particular masters, and yourself. There is a specific magic, so to speak, and chemistry, between each master and each slave. Each master is different, and, so, too, deliciously, is each slave. Each master will train his own girl according to his own interests and tastes, and each girl, in the private and intimate context of the particular master/slave relation, by means of her intelligence and imagination, owned, will train herself to be his special slave, specifically and personally."
"I understand, Master," she said.
"But, even given the uniqueness of each bondage relation," I said, "there are still certain common denominators in all such relations, which must not be lost sight of, such as the legal status of the slave, that she is, ultimately, only an article of property, that she is liable to discipline and punishment, and that she is totally subject to the will of the master."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But beyond this," I said, "beyond the concern with an individual master, you will learn, more generally, how to be pleasing to men. You may be sold to a stranger, or given to one, or fall into the hands of a stranger, or group of strangers. You may know little or nothing of your master, or masters, other than the fact that he holds total power over you, and he may know little or nothing of you, other than the fact that your lovely hide is marked with the brand of the female slave. You thus begin again, anew, your struggle to convince a master that there may be some point in keeping you about, that there may be some point in putting a bit of gruel in a bowl, or hollowed stone, for you, or thrusting a crust of bread in your mouth. You attempt to convince him of this, of course, even though he is unknown to you, even though he is a total stranger to you, by serving him, and superbly, as a female slave. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"Yes, Master," she said, "that I must learn, in general, how to be pleasing to men."
"Yes," I said, "this any slave girl must learn, such things as the kisses, the touches, the squirmings, the thousand submissions."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"But, do not fear," I said, "such modalities are not learned in vain. They will be required of you even by a love master, and, indeed, he will doubtless require them from you with a harshness, an amplitude and exactness far beyond that of a more casual owner."
"But, why, Master?" she asked.
"Because you are," I said, "in the final analysis, as he will wish you to remember, only his slave. Too, do you think he would require less from you, a love slave, than from some more common girl chained at his feet?"
"No, Master," she said.
"Are you silent?" I asked.
"It seems strange to think of serving a love master with the same proficiencies with which I must serve any other man, as a mere slave," she said.
"Your skills and talents are surely as much, or more, at his disposal, as they are at the disposal of any other male," I said.
"True," she said.
"Do you object?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "I would want to serve my love master, to the best of my ability, with whatever skills or talents I might have."
"And he would see that you do so," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. Suddenly she sobbed.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"I am so frightened," she said. "This world terrifies me, and on it I am only a naked slave. I do not know what to do. I am afraid. I am so ignorant. I know nothing. I am so frightened. I am only a slave."
"You speak truly, ignorant slave," I said. Did she expect me to comfort her?
She turned her head to the side, and laid her left cheek on the blankets at my feet. "Please put your foot on my neck, Master," she said.
I did so, with just enough pressure that she could feel its weight, and that of my body.
"You could now," she said, "with one motion of your foot, kill me."
"Yes," I said.
"Please do not kill me, Master," she said. "Instead, take pity on me, I beg of you, and find me pleasing."
I took my foot from her neck. "I shall inspect you," I told her. "You may kneel before me."
Swiftly she rose from her stomach to kneel before me.
"Knees wide," I told her, "back on heels, stomach in, head high, hands on thighs, shoulders back, breasts thrust out."
I moved her hair back, behind her shoulders, and smoothed it out. It would not, thus, interfere with my view. I appraised her, slowly, carefully. "It is not impossible," I told her, at length, "that a man might find you pleasing."
"Make me please you," she begged.
"Rather," I said, "I shall permit you to beg to please me, and as a slave."
"I beg to please you, Master," she said.
"As a slave?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said, "I beg to please you—and as a slave."
"But you are untrained," I said, scornfully.
"Train me," she begged, tears in her eyes.
I regarded her, dispassionately.
"Train me, Master," she begged. "Train me, please, Master!"
"Take your hair from behind your left shoulder," I said, "and hold it before, and against, your lips. Part of the hair keep before your lips and against them. Another part of the hair, the center strands, take back between your lips, so that you can feel it on the soft interior surfaces of your lips. A portion of this same hair take then back against your teeth, and a portion of that back, between the teeth. Now purse your lips and, while remaining kneeling, rise from your heels, and lean forward, gently and submissively."
And thus began the training of a nameless slave on the plains of Gor.
In a few moments I thrust her back to the blankets.
* * * *
"Do I train well, Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "pretty slave. You are an apt pupil, and you train well."
She snuggled against me.
"It is a tribute to your intelligence," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"And to your genetic predisposition to slavery," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
A woman's acquisition of slave arts follows a steep learning curve, far beyond what would be expected was the template, or readiness, for these arts not intrinsic to her nature. She learns them far too swiftly and well not to be, in effect, a born slave.
"Oh!" she said, and then I again took her.
This time the slave squirmings of her, though inchoate and rudimentary, were unmistakable.
* * * *
"How long has it been since you were a virgin?" I asked.
"A thousand years," she smiled. "I think perhaps ten thousand years."
"Do you feel now less than you were before," I asked, "less important, somehow less significant?"
"No," she said, "I feel ten thousand times more important, more significant, than I was before."
"Virginity, as I understand it, in English," I said, "is sometimes spoken of as though it might be something which could be lost. In Gorean, on the other hand, it is usually conceived of as something which is to be outgrown, or superseded."
"Interesting," she said.
"What, in English," I asked, "is a woman who is not a virgin?"
She thought for a moment. "A nonvirgin, I suppose," she said.
"This type of distinction is drawn in various ways in Gorean," I said. "The closest to the English is the distinction between 'glana' and 'metaglana.' 'Glana' denotes the state or virginity and 'metaglana' denotes the state succeeding virginity. Do you see the difference?"
"Yes," she said, "in Gorean virginity is regarded as a state to be succeeded."
"Another way of drawing the distinction is in terms of 'falarina' and 'profalarina.' 'Profalarina' designates the state preceding falarina, which is the state of the woman who has been penetrated at least once by a male."
"Here," she said, "the state of virginity is regarded as one which looks toward, or has not yet attained, the state of falarina."
"Yes," I said. "In the first case, virginity is seen as something to be succeeded, and, in the second, it is seen as something which is conceived of as merely antedating the state of falarina. It takes its very meaning from the fact that it is not yet falarina."
"Both of these situations are quite different from the English," she said. "In English, as I see now, interestingly, virginity is spoken of as a positive property, and nonvirginity, in spite of its obvious and momentous importance, and even its necessity, presumably, for the continuation of the species, seems to be regarded as being merely the absence of a property, or the privation of a property."
"Yes," I said. "It is as though the whole spectrum were divided into the blue and the nonblue. Properly understood the nonblue is every bit as real, and is even more extensive and variegated than the blue."
"Yes," she said.
"It is thus that pathological conceptions, ingrained in common speech, can produce distorted notions of reality," I said.
"I understand, Master," she said.
"In Gorean, as not in English," I said, "the usual way, however, of drawing the distinction is in terms of 'glana' and 'falarina.' Separate words, these, are used for the separate properties or conditions. Both conditions, so to speak, are accorded a similar status. Both are regarded as being equally real, equally positive, so to speak."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Sometimes, metaphorically, in English, however," I said, "a distinction is drawn between the virgin and the woman, a distinction which is almost Gorean in tone. Strictly, of course, in English, one might be both a woman and a virgin."
"Do Goreans speak freely of these things?" she asked.
"Free persons do not commonly speak freely of them," I said. "For example, whether a free woman is glana or falarina is obviously her business, and no one else's. Such intimate matters are well within the prerogatives of her privacy."
"Such matters, however, I suspect," she said, "are not within the prerogatives of a slave's privacy."
"No," I said. "Such matters are public knowledge about slaves, as much as the color of their hair and eyes, and their collar size."
"And my most intimate measurements?" she asked.
"Public knowledge," I assured her, "if anyone should be interested."
"What privacy am I permitted, then?" she asked.
"None," I told her.
"And what secrets?" she asked.
"None," I told her.
"I see," she said.
"You perhaps now understand, a little better than before," I said, "what it will be to be a slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Your opening, for example, is not to be kept a secret," I said.
"The blood you smeared on my leg will see to that," she smiled.
"Do you fear the criticism, the derision, or ridicule, of the other girls?" I asked.
"I fear only," she said, "that I may not have sufficiently pleased my master."
"Excellent," I said.
"As they, too, soon shall fear," she said.
"Yes," I said. I wondered if she knew how truly she spoke. The girls on a chain, once opened and made to serve, usually begin to compete among themselves, and soon, to see who can serve the masters best, and those who do not enter earnestly into this competition, it might be mentioned, are usually the first to be fed to sleen.
"I was glana," she smiled. "Now I am falarina."
I put my hand, forcibly, over her mouth. Then I removed it from her mouth. "Such expressions," I said, "are commonly to be spoken of, and by, free persons. They are not to be applied to slaves, any more than to tarsk sows."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You were white silk," I said. "Now you are red silk."
"We are not even entitled to the same words as free persons in such matters?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
"I understand, Master," she said, tears in her eyes.
"Even here, however," I said, "you will note that both words suggest a similar status. Both notions are equally positive, both properties are conceived of as being equally real."
"That is true," she said.
"To be sure," I said, "'white' in the context of 'white-silk girl' tends less to suggest purity and innocence to the Gorean than ignorance and naiveté, and a lack of experience. 'Red,' in the context of 'red-silk girl,' on the other hand, connotes rather clearly, I think, experience. One expects a red-silk girl, for example, not only to be able to find her way about the furs, but, subject to the whip, owned and dominated, perhaps chained, to prove herself a sensuous treasure within them."
"I am red-silk," she said. "Have me."
"Perhaps," I said. I began to touch her, gently.
"Ohhh," she said, "yes."
"Do you like that?" I asked.
"Must I respond to such a question?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "I like it." She closed her eyes. "Oh, yes," she said, "I like it."
"Master," she said, looking up at me.
"Yes," I said.
"More than once tonight," she said, "you have mentioned binding, or chaining."
"Yes," I said.
"I would fear to be bound or chained," she said.
"All the more reason to bind or chain you," I said.
She shuddered.
"Master," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Why would you bind a woman who is a slave?" she asked. "She knows that there is no escape for her. She is not going to run away. She knows that you may do with her as you please."
"It holds her in a given position," I said, "for your leisured work upon her body."
"That is true," she said.
"But the primary reasons," I said, "are, as you might suspect, psychological, both from the point of view of the master and the slave. She, chained, or bound, is helpless. She knows that she might, at the master's whim, be slit like a larma. This increases her terror, her vulnerability, her desire to be found pleasing. This makes her feel more slavelike and, accordingly, more ready to respond to the touch of the master. From the master's point of view, of course, this is also stimulating. It is pleasant for a man to have absolute power over a woman, to have her bound or chained in a position of his choosing, and to know that she must submit to whatever he chooses to do to her. In this situat
ion the equations of nature, those of dominance and submission, are intensified. This is felt by both the master and the slave. Too, to be sure, there is, for physiological reasons also, commonly, some boosting of the female's responses, as the result of the binding, the restraint. The orgasmic spasms, somewhat restricted, or, perhaps better, channeled, regulated and controlled, confined within the parameters set by the master, must then seem more intense, more concentrated."
"I see," she whispered.
"But the main thing, in my opinion," I said, "is the psychological effect on the woman, the bringing home to her, in clear, forcible and undeniable terms, the reality of her situation, that she is helpless, that she is at his mercy, that she, regardless of her will, is now his to do with as he pleases, that she is owned, that she is his slave, and that he is her master."
"I would be terrified to be bound," she said.
I saw that she wished to be bound.
I continued to caress her.
"Master," she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
"Bind me," she whispered.
"Do you beg it?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered. "I beg to be bound."
"Kneel," I told her, "quickly."
Swiftly then did she kneel, and looked at me, frightened.
"I have changed my mind," she said.
"Do not break position," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I went to my saddlebags, with the kaiila saddle, and withdrew two fairly short lengths of soft, pliant, braided black leather, each about twenty-five inches in length.
I pulled back her right wrist a bit and tied it to her right ankle. I left her about six or seven inches of slack between wrist and ankle. "This is a common open-legged tie," I said. "It is not good for general security, but it is a good, and familiar, slave tie." I then fastened her left wrist to her left ankle, as I had done with her right wrist and ankle. "When finished with you," I said, "I might simply bind your wrists behind you and tie your ankles together. That is a familiar and effective security tie. If you had not been sufficiently pleasing I might pull up your bound ankles and tie them to your wrists. Your neck, of course, might always be tied to a stake, or bound to a tree."