Norman, John - Gor 19 - Kajira of Gor.txt

Norman, John - Gor 19 - Kajira of Gor.txt Page 49

by Kajira of Gor [lit]

  “Things are different now, aren’t they?” he asked. “Yes, Master,’ I said. I was

  now a slave. The least discontentment a girl causes her master can be taken out

  of her hide. I was now at his disposal, completely. I must now ready myself for

  him, and please him fully, at as little as a glance or a snapping of fingers.

  “Get on your knees,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I struggled to my knees. It was not easy, bound as I was.

  He did not help me. I then knelt before him. He stood then, his arms folded,

  some feet from me, across the tiles.

  “You look well on your knees, bound as a slave,” he said. “Thank you, Master,” I

  said. I recalled Corcyrus, where I had been to him as a Tatrix. I was now bound

  naked before him, as a slave.

  “There are vengeances to be taken upon you,” he said.

  “Do with me as you will,”. I said. “I am yours.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “How I despise you!” he said.

  ‘Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You are utterly beautiful,” he said “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You do not seem truly afraid,” he said.

  “I do not think you are the sort of man who buys woman to hurt her,” I said.

  “You cannot know that,” he said.

  “I suppose not,” I said. Consider the matter of marriage Most women, prior to

  their marriage, do not truly know the man they are marrying. They will come to

  know him, truly only in living with him, his. It is natural, then, that a woman

  should enter into such a relation with a certain amount trepidation. How much

  more so, then, must this be the ca with the female slave, whose new master, one

  who will have total power over her, is likely to be a total stranger, a fellow

  whom she has probably never even seen before her sale. Is I going to enfold her

  lovingly in his arms, and master her, and cherish her as a treasure, or is he

  going to feed her to sleet She does not know. You strive desperately to please

  him. You are his. You hope for the best.

  “You do not seem convinced,” he said.

  “I am not,” I smiled.

  “Perhaps suitable lashings would convince you,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I smiled.

  “Do you think you are never to be whipped?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said. “I know that I am a slave. I know that I am subject to the

  whip.”

  He unfolded his arms and looked at me, with fury. “Ho utterly, utterly beautiful

  you are,” he said, “and how provocative, and delicious!”

  “And I am yours, and you may do with me as you please.” I said.

  ‘How you infuriate me!” he cried, suddenly, his fist clenched. He turned away. I

  was silent. I squirmed a little the ropes. They held me well.

  He stood by the window in his quarters. “I remember Cos,” he said, bitterly. He

  put the palms of his hands on the sides of the window, looking out.

  “I, too, remember Corcyrus,” I said, happily.

  “Slut,” he snarled.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “There are vengeances to be taken upon you, he said, angrily.

  “You are certainly entitled to them, “

  Yes, Master,” I said, smiling. I loved Drusus Rencius.

  He looked about at me, angrily.

  “Let us put our heads together,” I suggested. “Perhaps, then, we can plan

  certain appropriate exactions, ministrations where with that arrogant slut,

  Sheila, may be well punished for her stupidities.”

  “You seek to divert my wrath,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I smiled.

  He leaned back, wearily, against the wall, by the window, looking at me.

  “Surely a girl cannot be blamed for hoping to do that,” I said.

  “I suppose not,” he smiled.

  “Oh,” I said, “I forgot! I am no longer Sheila, am I? My collar has been

  changedi” I looked at Drusus Rencius. “I do not have a name now, do I?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Is master going to name me?” I asked.

  “I will, if it pleases me,” he said. “I will not, if it does not please me.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “I am a fool,” he said.

  “I shall maintain a judicious silence,” I said. “If I agree I Would seem to

  proclaim my master a fool. If I disagree, I should, at the very least,

  contradict him.” “I am a fool!” he said, miserably.

  ‘I do not think so,” I said, “but, of course, I am only a slave, and I could

  conceivably be mistaken.”

  “I should sell you,” he said.

  “You may do with me as you wish,” I said. I had no fear, however, that he would

  sell me. It was not for such a purpose, I was confident, that he had bought me.

  “You do not fear me, truly, do you?” he asked.

  “Not, ultimately,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked

  “Must I speak?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, angrily. “You need not speak.”

  He turned wearily, angrily, away.

  “Master?” I asked.

  He turned again to face me. “You are a beautiful, complex woman,” he said.

  “I am a simple slave,” I said, “a man’s toy, a bauble for his pleasure.”

  “Simple or complex, you are a slave,” he said. “There is no doubt about that.”

  “Your slave,” I reminded him.

  “Why did I buy you?” he asked.

  “I can think of several reasons,” I said.

  “Do you mock me?” he asked.

  “I tease you,” I said. “I do not mock you.”

  “I care for you,” he said, suddenly, bitterly.

  “I know,” I said.

  “And you only a slave!”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “What a fool I am!” he cried.

  I was silent.

  “You did it to me,” he said.

  “I?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “you, with your intelligence, your beauty, your vulnerability,

  your sensuousness, your glances and movements, your bondage skills, your

  insidious slave wiles, the perfections of your servitude, made it impossible not

  to desire you, not to lust for you, inordinately, not to want you, not to demand

  you, to the point of madness, for my very own!”

  I was silent, bound before him. There was some truth’ of course, or at least I

  thought so, to these charges. At least I hoped there was. I had tried, with all

  the skills I had been taught, and with all the devices, and instincts, of the

  natural slave, which I was, to attract and lure him. The outcome of such a

  campaign, of course, if successful, is that the girl becomes the man’s slave.

  She i
s then, of course, subject to whatever vengeances he might be pleased to

  take upon her.

  I squirmed in the ropes. I belonged to him. I began to sweat. For the first time

  I felt genuine fear.

  “You wrapped me about your finger,” he said. “You manipulated me!”

  “Forgive me, Master,” I said.

  “Gloat in your power, Slave!” he said.

  “Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.

  “Even last night,” he said, “in your writhing on the steps, you made me wild for

  you. You made me want to tear off your silk and hurl you beneath me, then to

  have you, uncompromisingly, like the luscious slut and slave you are!”

  “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  “I saw your body jerk in the hands of the soldier!” he said, accusingly.

  “I cannot help what I am!” I cried, looking up at him, angrily, tears in my

  eyes.

  “You are a slave!” he cried.

  “Yes!” I cried. “And had you been there you could, later, have seen my body jerk

  in the hands of Miles of Argentum. That night he made me, three times, serve him

  well, and the third time, writhing, I cried myself his, a submitted slave. In

  the morning I kissed his feet in gratitude!”

  “Slave, slave!” snarled Drusus Rencius.

  “And do you not make women respond like that,” I said, “the girls in the

  taverns, the girls on their mats, the girls thrown to your feet, for your sport,

  at the house of a friend?”

  “Yes,” he said, angrily. “I make them grovel and scream!”

  “And why, then,” I asked, “should you object if other men make me respond in the

  same way?”

  He regarded me, with fury.

  “Am I different?” I asked. “Apparently not,” he said. “I am not!” I said.

  “They are slaves,” he said. “So, too, am I!”

  “I had hoped you might be more,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “A free woman,” he said.

  “I have been a free woman,” I said. “Do not laud them to me!”

  “Do you speak ill of free women?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “for I do not wish to be whipped!”

  He glared at me.

  “Look at me.” I said. “I am naked and bound before you! Would you really prefer

  that I was a free woman?”

  “No,” he said, and my blood almost froze in my veins.

  “You see?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said, angrily.

  “I am a thousand times more than a free woman,” I said “both to a man and, in my

  heart and emotions, to myself.”

  “How is that?” he asked.

  “I am a slave,” he said, simply.

  He looked down, sullenly.

  “You take free women into companionship,” I said, “but you dream of slaves. You

  even dream of the free woman as slave. I doubt that any glandularly sufficient

  rhale does no want us as slaves. If he doesn’t, then I think he must be very

  short on imagination. What do you think is the meaning of your size and

  strength, your energy and agility, your dominance? Do you think it is all some

  alarming, inexplicable, statistical eccentricity? Can you not see the order of

  nature? Is it so difficult to disclose? why do you think men make us slaves, and

  put us in collars? It is because they want us a slaves. And why do you think we

  make such superb slaves Because we are born slaves.”

  “if I take my place in the order of nature,” he said, “then obviously, you will

  be put in yours.”

  I pulled at the ropes. “I think I am already there, Master,” I said.

  He looked up at me.

  “I am on my step,” I said. “It is now only necessary that you ascend to yours.”

  “You do not even have a name,” he said.

  “Perhaps Master will, if it pleases him, give me a name.”

  “Perhaps I should name you,” he said. “Doubtless you might be conveniently

  ordered about and referred to, if you were named.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. The name would be a slave name, of course. Such names,

  like collars, are worn whether the slave wishes them or not. Some masters think

  of such names being along the lines of verbal leashes, the utterance of the

  name, like the sudden tug of a leash, immediately calling the slave’s attention

  to the master and his wishes. In any even the slave name, and the knowledge that

  it is a slave name deeply, and appropriately, informs the consciousness of the

  slave. Too, of course, it is the only name she has.

  He turned away from me.

  “You still hesitate to accept me as, what I am, a total slave don’t you?” I

  asked.

  “Perhaps,” he growled.

  “If you wish,” I said, “relate to me as to a despised slut bondage. You will

  discover that I will respond well to you m r that role.”

  He spun about. “Do you think that you are not despised? he asked.

  “Master?” I asked.

  “I do despise you,” he said, angrily, “for Corcyrus, for your meaninglessness,

  for your pettiness and cruelty, for what you are, and for what you have done to

  me I”

  I shrank back in the bonds.

  “And you are maddeningly beautiful,” he said. “You are excruciatingly

  desirable!”

  I was silent.

  “I am a free man!” he cried. “I am of the warriors!

  “Do you want me to pretend to be a free woman?” I asked. “I can do that. I did

  it for years. At times I even believed it. I can do it again! Command me, if you

  wish, to the pretense!”

  “You are a slave,” he said. “It is all you are. Do not mock me.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” I said.

  “Day in and day out, night in and night out, I fought my feelings for you,” he

  said. “I immersed myself in duties. I adopted strenuous activities. I sought

  solace even in the taverns, and in the arms of others. I chided myself for my

  foolishness. I berated myself for my stupidity! I castigated myself for my

  madness! But I could not drive you from my mind! Ever more hotly burned the

  flames of my passion! And you are not even free!”

  “No,” I said, suddenly, angrily. “I am not even free!”

  “A slave!” he said.

  “Yes!” I said. “A slave!”

  “Gloat, Slave,” said he, “for you, with your wiles, and your insidious beauty,

  have brought a soldier, and a free man, low.”

  “Punish me,” I said. “You own me.”

  “Do not fear,” he said. “You will be punished, for CorCyrus, and for your

  insolence.”

  “Even now,” he said, “still, when you are helpless, in my ropes, I find you

  exquisitely desirable, exquisitely beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I whispered.


  “You ruin me,” he said. “You tear me apart!” I put down my head, frightened.

  “You make me a slave!” he cried. “It is I who am the slave,” I said. “I hate’

  you!” he cried.

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “As Sheila, who was the true Tatrix of Corcyrus, was to Ligurious, so, too, are

  you to me!” he said.

  “No!” I said. “There is a great difference!”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “I love you I” I said.

  “Sly, clever slave!” he sneered.

  “I do love you!” I cried.

  “Cunning, insidious slut,” he said. “You fear for your own hide! You know that

  you are now, at least, within my power. You fear that it will be done to you as

  you deserve, that you A ~ill be thrown to sleen!”

  “No!” I wept.

  “Sweat and squirm now, luscious slut,” he said. “Cry out your love for me.

  Perhaps I will be moved to be merciful, and keep you as the lowest and most

  worthless slave on Gor!”

  “I do love you!” I wept.

  “Lying slave!” he cried. He leapt across the room, and, with the flat of his

  hand, savagely, struck me from my knees. My right shoulder struck the tiles. I

  tasted blood in my mouth. I lay there, bound, frightened. It had been only a

  slap, but I felt as though my head might have been almost taken from me. I was

  awe-stricken. I had not realized how strong he’ was. What if he had truly struck

  me? I knew I must obey him with perfection.

  “On your back,” he said, “knees raised, heels on the floor.” I then lay before

  him, in a standard, supine capture position.

  “You look well at my feet, Slut,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Have you reconsidered the telling of truth?” he asked.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “Lying slut!” he hissed. He then, with the side of his foot, kicked me. I

  recoiled, crying out. I would doubtless, for several days, bear a fine bruise

  there, evidence of his displeasure.

  I turned to my side. I put down my head. I kissed the foot that had kicked me.

  Then I returned to my former position.

  He turned away from me and went to the other chair in the room, a curule chair,

  with ornate, curved arms. I, my head turned to the side, watched him. He sat

 

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