Slave Girl of Gor

by John Norman

  I hated peasants. What idiots they were! There were better things to do with a beautiful slave girl than hitch her to a plow!

  "The village is not a good place for you, Dina," Turnip had once said to me. "You are a city slave. You should be at a man's feet, in the secrecy of his compartments, collared and chained, curled and purring like a content she-sleen."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "I would curl and purr at the feet of Thurnus," had said the large Sandal Thong. We had all laughed. But she had not been joking. It seemed strange to me to think of the large Sandal Thong wanting to submit to the domination of a man. Yet she, too, I reminded myself, was a woman.

  Because of my slightness of strength Thurnus had had me help him often with the sleen. Some of the animals I grew to know. But, on the whole, I feared the sleen, and they, sensing this, were unusually vicious with me.

  "Are you good for nothing?" had asked Thurnus in exasperation. I had backed away from him, in the sand of the training pit where we had been working. The sun had been hot, and the sand was hot. It had not rained in several days. The Sa-Tarna was in danger of drought.

  Thurnus took me by the arms and shook me. "You are good for nothing," he said, angrily.

  I had shuddered in his touch.

  "What is wrong?" he asked.

  I averted my eyes, shamed. "Forgive me, Master," I said, "but I have not been touched by a man for several days, and I am slave."

  "Ah," he said.

  I turned my eyes to him. I looked up at him. He was very large. "Perhaps Master would care to rape his slave?" I said.

  "Does the slave beg slave rape?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said suddenly, clutching him. "Yes! Yes!" I could not control myself.

  He flung me back in the sand, thrusting up the tunic over my breasts. I lay at the foot of a slave cage. He seized me, and I reached back for the bars of the slave cage, and, holding them, cried out. I twisted and squirmed with the pleasure of his having me. Once I cried out with misery, for I saw Melina watching, from behind the wooden wall. "It is the Mistress, Master," I said. He laughed. "I do what I please with my slave girls," he said. "Let her watch, should she please to do so. Let her find excellent instruction in the behaviors of a hot slave." But Melina, angrily, had left. I then again yielded to the pleasures of him, moaning to the master a slave girl's gratitude. He had deigned to touch me. When he had done with me I knelt at his feet, whimpering. I kissed his feet. "Thank you, Master," I said.

  He laughed, and lifted me up, and looked at me, and then, in great humor, flung me to the sand at his feet, from where I looked up at him. "I see, Dina," he laughed, "that you are good for something after all."

  I looked down, shyly. "Thank you, Master," I said.

  It was now late afternoon.

  The cart of Tup Ladletender was now disappearing in the distance, a bit of dust rising behind its wheels.

  He had done slave assessment on me this morning.

  It was this morning that I had first discovered that I was a whore. But I suppose that every slave girl must be at least a whore, and a marvelous one.

  He had not had me, but I had, in his assessment, tried to present myself to him well.

  I wondered if I would see him again.

  It had begun this way.

  "Remain behind, Dina," had said Melina, companion of Thurnus. The other girls had left the village to carry water. Thurnus himself was gone. He would not return until late. He was visiting another village, to buy vulos.

  I was frightened of Melina. She was Mistress. Too, once she had prepared to kill me, on the day when I had failed in the plowing. Too, she had seen me in the arms of Thurnus. Yet, she had not of late threatened me. And, I supposed, she was fully aware that Thurnus used all his girls. Radish was used more than I. Surely Melina knew this. Only Sandal Thong was seldom raped.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said, apprehensively.

  I knew Melina did not like me, but I did not think she hated me more than the other girls. I was certainly not Thurnus's favorite. He preferred larger, wider hipped, larger breasted women than I, more of the sort that Melina might have been at one time, before, in her freedom, she had gone slack and fat.

  "Come over here, pretty little bird," had said Melina, gesturing to me. She stood among the pilings of the hut, in the shade. I, the Earth-girl slave, obeyed her. I went to her and, for she was free and I slave, knelt deferentially before her, my head down.

  "Remove your tunic, Dina," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. I slipped the short woolen tunic over my head. I was now naked.

  "Go to this piling," she said, indicating one of the pilings, "and kneel there, facing it."

  I did so.

  "Closer," she said. "Put your knees on either side of it, and put your belly against it."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  "Do you like our village?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes, Mistress!" I said.

  "Put your arms around the piling," she said, "and cross your wrists, palms up."

  I complied.

  "Are you happy here?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes, Mistress!" I said.

  "Would you like to leave our village?" she asked.

  "Oh, no, Mistress!" I said. Then I added, hastily, "Unless it be Mistress's will!"

  She removed a bit of cord from her robes. I felt my wrists lashed together on the other side of the piling. They were tied very tightly.

  "Will that hold you?" she asked.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  She stepped back from me. She looked at me, and then she went up the stairs into her hut, and, soon, returned, with a coil of rope. She tied one end of the rope on my rope collar and then, pulling my head to the piling, tied the rope there, fastening it about the piling with several loops. The right side of my face was against the piling. I was tied to it, closely, by the neck. The rest of the rope, depending from the piling, she let fall to the dirt.

  I looked up at her.

  "You are a pretty one," she said.

  Because of the rope on my neck I could not stand at the piling. It was clearly the intention of the Mistress that I was to remain on my knees.

  "Quite pretty," she said.

  "Thank you, Mistress," I said.

  I was secured, naked, on my knees, at the piling. I was her prisoner.

  "A peddler," she said, "is in the village."

  I knew this. His name was Tup Ladletender. Radish had told me this. I had seen his arrival. He drew a handcart. It had long handles, and two large wheels. In the cart were many shelves and racks, on which there was a rich miscellany of cheap goods, and pegs and loops, from which hung many utensils, pans and tools. Drawers in the side of the wagon contained, too, mysteries of goods, such as threads, cloths, scissors, thimbles, buttons and patches, brushes and combs, sugars, herbs, spices, packets of salt, and vials of medicine. No one knew what all might be contained in that unusual cart.

  "I am going to fetch him," said Melina, "to take a look at you."

  At the piling, my heart leaped. Melina was going to sell me off, I thought, while Thurnus was out of the village.

  "Present yourself to him well, you little slut," warned Melina, "or I will switch you to within an inch of your life."

  "I will, Mistress!" I promised. Indeed I would! When might come another chance to escape the slavery of the village? I would do anything to escape peasant slavery! Present myself well? Indeed! I would be a wonder to him of obedient, sensuous female flesh! Then suddenly I was afraid. What sort of man was he? Different modalities of wench excite different men. I wanted to be exactly what he wanted. I was desperate to be exactly what he wanted. But what would he want? What a whore you are, I thought to myself. My wrists squirmed in the bonds in which Melina had fastened me. I did not know what he would want! Would he want a quiet, timid girl, one to throw to his feet and abuse? Would he want a lascivious wench, begging to reach him with her tongue? Would he want an angry, defiant girl, to be brought to her knees in
docility and surrender? Or would he want, perhaps, a cold girl, haughty, icy with contempt, to be turned into a writhing slave, screaming piteously for his touch? I did not know. One thing I knew was that I would be presented beautifully, physically, to him. Melina had seen to that. She was a clever, shrewd woman. A girl is most beautiful when she is naked, save perhaps for a collar or chain. And I was tied kneeling, in submission position. And my knees were thrust apart by the piling, about which my hands were tied, against which my belly was thrust. This would suggest, perhaps only subconsciously, my vulnerability, my penetration, and the massiveness and irresistibility of masculine power, to which I, a slave girl, must helplessly submit. Too, my hands, tied as they were, contributed to the carefully calculated effect. When I raised them, tied as I was, the softness of their palms was brought against and about the piling, in an intimate clasp. The piling, thus, would be embraced, and held beautifully. Lastly, there was a rope on my neck, long, a tether. This might easily suggest, again perhaps only on a subconscious level, that I might be removed from the post, have my hands tied behind my back, and be led away, like a tethered tabuk doe, to the master's pleasure. Such a rope might easily be looped on the back of a wagon, and I would follow, naked, barefoot, behind the wagon, in the dust. Melina was clever.

  "This is the slave," said Melina.

  Startled, suddenly frightened, I clutched the post. It was an involuntary reaction. But, tied as I was, I could not have helped but seize it beautifully. I then realized Melina had wanted to startle me, from the direction from which she had approached, and the suddenness of her assertion. The man had seen the reaction of a beautiful, startled slave girl, bound at a post. It had been completely natural. Melina had intended that it would be.

  I decided that I would be an Earth-girl slave, the desirability of whose flesh was being assessed, tied in a peasant village. I did not know what else to do, and that was what I was. On this world I was a beautiful barbarian and alien, from a world quite different, one which had not prepared me for their world. Perhaps Gorean men might find it of interest to own, and tame and train me. Earth girls, I had heard from Eta, made superb slaves. I supposed it was true.

  "How are you, little vulo?" he said.

  "Well, Master," I said.

  "She is barbarian," he said.

  "Oh?" said Melina. She knew I was barbarian.

  "Open your mouth," said the man.

  I opened my mouth.

  "See?" he said to Melina. He had his fingers in my mouth, opening it widely. "There, and there."

  I had had two cavities. They had been filled.

  Melina peered into my mouth, as it was held open, painfully.

  "Physicians can do that," she said.

  It is common to publicly examine slaves, their bodies, their teeth, and such. We do not object. We know that we are animals.

  He removed his fingers from my mouth.

  "Are you from a place called Earth?" asked the man.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "See?" he asked Melina.

  "Clever slave," said Melina.

  I feared I would be switched.

  "There are many ways one can tell," he said. "There is, for example, in many barbarians, this tiny scar on the upper arm."

  He indicated a vaccination mark on my upper left arm.

  "That is a subtle slave brand, I take it," he said.

  "No, Master," I said. "It is called a vaccination mark. On Earth I was free."

  "As pretty as you are, you were free?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master."

  "The men of Earth," said he, "must have very little imagination."

  "On Gor," said Melina, "there are many beautiful women who are free."

  "Yes," he said, "they have not yet been put in their collars."

  This response I could tell did not much please Melina.

  "That you were free on Earth," he said to me, "was a mistake, was it not?"

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "But you are not free now, are you?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said.

  "And you should be a slave, shouldn't you?" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "I am Tupelius Milius Lactantius, of the Lactantii, of the merchants, of Ar," he said to me, "but we fell upon hard times, and I, though only eight at the time, fell as well, it being my duty, caste discipline, family pride and such."

  I smiled.

  "She smiles well," he said. "In the villages I am known as Tup Ladletender," he said. "What is your name?"

  "What do you think of her?" asked Melina.

  The man regarded me. "She is obvious collar meat," he said.

  I felt shamed at the post. It was obvious to the eyes of a Gorean male that I was a slave. It was only a question as to my price, and to whom I would belong.

  "Is she not pretty?" asked Melina.

  "In the cities," said he, "such girls are numerous. In Ar alone, each year, thousands of such girls are vended and procured in the slave markets."

  I shuddered.

  "What is her value?" demanded Melina.

  "I could get for her, at best," he conjectured, "only a handful of copper tarsks."

  I knew that I was a beautiful slave. What I had not realized was that slave beauty was so plentiful on Gor. Beautiful slaves are not unusual on this world. Beauty in collars was cheap on Gor. Girls more beautiful than I often slaved in the kitchens of great houses or, in state tunics and chains, scrubbed the floors of public buildings at night.

  Melina was not pleased.

  "Do you not want her?" she asked.

  He caressed my flanks, and I held the post. "She is not without interest," he said.

  Suddenly, without warning, he touched me, and I cried out, my body thrusting against the post, my hands clutching it, my eyes closed. I could not help myself.

  "Ah," he said.

  I opened my eyes, startled.

  "She is a hot slave," he said. "That is good. That is very good."

  "How hot is she?" asked Melina.

  Again he touched me, and I cried out, miserable, bound. I could not help myself.

  He laughed. "Very hot," he said. He laughed. Then he said, "Steady, little vulo."

  "Please, Master, don't!" I begged.

  Then I cried out, and began to writhe at the post. My fingernails tore at the wood. "Stop!" I wept. "Please, stop Master!"

  He withdrew his hands and I shuddered against the post, fearing only that he might again so touch me.

  He stood up.

  "How hot is she?" asked Melina.

  "She is hot enough to be a paga slut," he said.

  "Excellent!" said Melina.

  "Yet," said he, "still I think I could get only tarsks for her."

  "Why is that?" inquired Melina.

  "The wars," he said, "the raids, the falls of cities. There are many beauties, many of them even formerly free, who find themselves upon the block these days, being sold for a pittance of tarsks."

  "But are they as hot as this one?" demanded Melina.

  "Yes, many of them," he said. "Brand a girl, put her in chains, give her a bit of training, and in a week she is panting, hot and ready for a master."

  "So soon?" asked Melina.

  "Yes," he said, "take a woman, any woman, not just these Earth girls, who are slave meat, but any woman, even one who is Gorean, and free, and of high caste, even one who is an iceberg, lock a collar on her, which she cannot remove; teach her she is a slave; and she will turn to fire."

  Melina laughed. I reddened, bound at the post. How grievously had the women of Earth been slandered! Did they not know I was a woman of Earth? Of course they knew! How casually, how unthinkably, they spoke in the presence of a slave! But I wondered if it were true. If it were true, in Gorean law, it could be no slander.

  "Lock a collar on her," said the man, putting his hands about my neck, as though they were a collar. I tensed, my throat collared in his hands. I knew he could crush my throat easily with his Gorean strength,
did he choose. I felt very helpless. He removed his hands from my neck and put them in my hair. "No!" I begged. "Hold to the post," he said. "Yes, Master," I wept. He tightened his hands, and pulled my head up and back. "Teach her she is a slave," he said. I cried out as he tightened his hands further in my hair, and pulled my head back further. I held tightly to the post, as commanded, that the rope collar I wore, fastened to the piling, would not pull against my throat. He caused me only enough pain to let me know what he could do to me if he chose. Then he relaxed his grip. Involuntarily I shuddered, gratefully, acknowledging him as male and master. He removed his hands from my hair. I tensed at the post. I felt his hands at my flanks. "And," he said, chuckling, "she will turn to fire." He touched me, and I cried out, tears in my eyes, squirming, thighs grasping the post, turning my head, biting at the wood with my teeth.

  "Hot enough to be a paga slut," said Melina.

  "Yes," he agreed.

  The women of Earth had been pronounced slave meat. I wept. If this were true, it was, in Gorean law, no slander.

  I hoped that he would not touch me again.

  But I wanted to be touched!

  I wanted so much to be touched again!

  Oh, please touch me, Master, I thought.

  Dina, she who had been Judy Thornton, was so much a slave!

  The women of Earth are slave meat, I thought. I am a woman of Earth. I clung to the post, slave meat.

  "Pretty slave meat," he said, gently touching my flanks.

  I squirmed.

  "Disgusting," said Melina.

  I wondered if all the women of Earth were slave meat. I knew only that I, undeniably, was such. Perhaps others were not. Let other girls, in their secret heart, ask themselves that question. They need tell no one the answer to that most private and revealing of questions, unless perhaps they meet one before whom they can speak only the truth, their master. Perhaps the matter is hormonal. Perhaps there are hormones which fit a girl for slavery, as there are hormones which fit a man for mastery. I do not know.

  Only on Gor had I felt my true femaleness, and that in the presence of Gorean males, who owned or could own me, men capable of owning a woman, as most men of Earth simply are not. My femaleness had been suppressed on Earth, first by my own conditioning, the confused product of centuries of intellectual and social pathology, and, secondly, by the set of societal institutions in which I had grown up and existed, rather than lived, institutions to which sexuality was irrelevant, if not inimical. It is difficult to know what would constitute a good society. Perhaps it would be a necessary condition for such a society that its institutions would be compatible, at least, with the truths of biology. A society which sickens and weakens its members, which cripples them and denies them to themselves, is not obviously superior to a society in which human beings are organic and whole, healthy, and happy and great. The test of a society is perhaps not its conformance or nonconformance to principles but the nature and human prosperity of its members. Let each look about himself and judge for himself the success of his own society. Man lives confused in the ruins of ideologies. Perhaps he will someday emerge from the caves and pens of his past. That would be a beautiful day to see. There would be a sunlit world waiting for him.