Slave Girl of Gor

by John Norman

  I looked at her. "Your collar is very becoming," I said.

  "Is it?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "It is a common collar," she said.

  "It is still very beautiful on you," I said.

  "Truly?' she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Is it more beautiful because it is locked?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. I did not doubt but what that was true. That the collar was locked did not simply mean that she could not remove it, a fact which played its important role in guaranteeing slave recognition and identification, but, perhaps even more importantly, was momentous in its significance of bondage. A brand might be concealed by clothing, even the brief garb commonly allotted a female slave, but the collar, consistently and openly, proclaimed her girl property. The collar, stressing her vulnerability as a slave, is sexually exciting to the girl who wears it, and to the men who look upon it. Perhaps that is why free women do not wear collars. The steel on her lovely throat, lost beneath her hair, glinting beneath it, contrasting so with her delicious softness, is sexually and aesthetically maddening. No girl is so beautiful, I suspect, as she who wears a Gorean slave collar.

  Elicia looked at herself in the mirror across the room. She lifted her head, and turned it to one side. "It is not unattractive," she said.

  "No," I said. "It is extremely exciting and attractive."

  She looked at me, frightened. "What will men think?" she asked.

  "That you are a slave," I said. I shrugged.

  She shook with fear. Then again, she regarded herself in the mirror, turning.

  "Is my brand pretty?" she asked.

  "Why do you ask?" I asked.

  "I was only curious," she said.

  "Oh," I said.

  "Is it?" she asked.

  "You were a student of anthropology," I said. "You can look upon the institution of slavery dispassionately and objectively, as an interesting cultural phenomenon, characterizing certain civilizations."

  "I am a slave!" she cried. "Do you not understand what that means!" She struggled with the bonds on her wrists.

  "I understand very well what it means," I assured her. I thought of Clitus Vitellius. "Where is your coolness?" I inquired. "Where is your objectivity?"

  "I am owned," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I did not know it could feel like this," she said. She looked at me, wide-eyed. "It is indescribable," she said.

  "You are now experiencing a cultural institution from within," I said. "So, too, one who is a master experiences it from within."

  She shuddered as she thought how a master must look upon her, with what desire and power.

  "In the past," I said, "you have had some verbal acquaintance with cultural institutions. Now, perhaps for the first time, you have some inkling of what it is to understand one."

  She looked at me with fear.

  "Do not be afraid, Elicia," I said. "You need only learn how to please men immensely." I laughed.

  "I do not even like men!" she cried.

  "It does not matter," I said. "The earrings are pretty," I said.

  She rose to her feet, the chain on her ankle, and turned her head back and forth.

  "They are pretty," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I never wore earrings," she said, "for they were too feminine."

  "You are very feminine, Elicia," I said to her. "You should not have fought your femininity."

  She looked angrily at me.

  "Your days of fighting your femininity are at an end," I told her. "Men will not permit it. They will force you to yield to your femininity."

  "To be feminine is to be less than a man!" she said.

  "Whatever it is," I said, "it is what you are."

  "Is it what I am?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Judy," she said.

  I did not answer her.

  "Mistress," she begged.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Is my brand pretty?"

  I laughed. "Yes," I said. "It is deep and clean, and it marks you well."

  "The beast put the iron well to my body," she said, angrily. I could also detect a bit of pride in her voice.

  "Yes," I said, "he did indeed."

  "I wonder if I am the first woman he has ever branded," she said.

  "He is a warrior," I said.

  "Oh," she said, subdued. Then again she regarded the brand. "It is deep and clean," she said, "and it marks my body well as that of a slave, but Mistress, is it pretty, is it attractive?"

  "What do you think?" I asked.

  She looked at me in anguish. Then she said, "I think it is beautiful."

  "I do, too," I said. "It is a perfectly beautiful brand. Many girls will envy you such a lovely brand."

  She looked at me, gratefully. The brand with which she had been marked was the common slave brand for the Gorean female; incised deeply in her thigh, about an inch and a half in height and a half inch in width, was the initial letter, in cursive script, lovely, of the expression 'Kajira,' the most common expression in Gorean for a female slave. It was indeed a most beautiful brand. More than half of the branded beauties of Gor, I conjecture, wear that brand.

  "Look into the mirror," I said.

  She did so.

  "What do you see?" I asked.

  "A slave," she said. She smiled, shyly, lowering her head. It seemed an uncharacteristic gesture for she who had been Elicia Nevins. I smiled.

  "But a slave who has much to learn," I said.

  She looked at me, questioningly.

  "Do you not hear the step of your master, descending the stairs outside the compartments?" I asked.

  She listened. "Yes," she said.

  "You will learn to listen for that step," I told her.

  She looked at me, frightened.

  "Is that how you will receive your master," I asked, "standing, like a free woman?"

  Swiftly she knelt, in the position of the pleasure slave. "I do not know how to please men," she wept.

  "You will be taught," I assured her. "Lift your head a little higher." She did so.

  I looked upon her.

  I do not know why it is, but the condition of slavery makes a woman very beautiful. It removes inhibitions to the manifestation of her femininity and her deepest needs.

  Bosk entered the room. He stopped for a moment, almost startled, then grinned. He saw a slave knelt at the foot of the couch.

  "All is in readiness," he said to us. "I shall gag and saddle-bind the slave at midnight," he said, looking at Elicia. "Then," said he, "I will take flight from Ar."

  "Master must be wary of the patrols," I said.

  "I have counted from the roof," he said. "They are not randomizing their flights."

  "I see, Master," I said. Bosk was thorough. He left little to chance. Yet there would be risk. Yet I feared little for him. I did not think I would care to pursue him on tarnback, were I a mounted guardsman of Ar.

  He looked down at Elicia. She knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. Her wrists were bound before her body. Her left ankle was chained to the slave ring. "A lovely slave," he said.

  "It is not yet midnight, Master," she said.

  He untied her wrists. "Serve me wine, Slave," he said. I gasped.

  She lifted the vessel of wine I had earlier brought and filled the goblet.

  "No," I whispered to her, and then instructed her how to serve him.

  "Wine, Master?" she asked.

  "Yes, Slave," he said.

  Then she knelt before him, back on her heels, head down, lifting the goblet to him, proffering it to the master with both hands.

  He took the goblet from her and, regarding her, drank. I could see he was well pleased with his new acquisition, the lovely beauty, Elicia.

  "Bring a pan, and pour wine into it," said he to me, "and give it to the animal."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  I found a pan and poured wine into it, shallowly
, and put it on the tiles before Elicia who, frightened, putting her head down, drank from it. She lifted her head. "You have made me drink like a she-sleen," she said.

  "You are a slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. He was teaching her her slavery.

  "Now," said he, "you will serve me the second wine."

  Elicia turned to me, frightened. She knew the second wine which was commanded of her. It was the wine of her slavery. Then she looked to Bosk, terrified.

  "I shall withdraw, Master," I said.

  "I do not know how to please a man, Master," said Elicia.

  I saw this did not please Bosk.

  "I do not know how, really, Master," she wept. "Forgive a slave, please!"

  "Fetch the whip," said Bosk to me.

  I went to fetch the whip.

  "I will try, Master!" cried Elicia. Then she looked wildly at me. "Please, Mistress," she begged, "help me! Please help me, Mistress!"

  "Does a slave wish assistance?" I asked.

  "The slave, Elicia," she said, "begs the aid of Mistress."

  I looked to Bosk of Port Kar. "Instruct her," he smiled, "with the whip."

  I touched her on the neck with the whip. "Put your head down, Slave," I said. She did so. "Although you are only a slave your master is permitting you to serve him," I said. "This is a great honor." She seemed startled. Then it became clear to her that this was, for her, a slave, an honor. "You have a treasured opportunity," I pointed out, "to serve the master." "Yes, Mistress," she said. "A man such as Bosk of Port Kar," I said, "has many women. Will he keep you for himself, or will he throw you to his men, or sell you or discard you?" She trembled. "If you are not pleasing," I said, "you may be slain." She shuddered. "I will try to be pleasing," she stammered. "Do you wish to serve your master?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "yes, Mistress!"

  I pointed to the feet of Bosk. "Hold his feet," I said. "Remove his sandals with your teeth."

  She did so.

  "Begin now," I said, "to lick and kiss, very slowly and lovingly, the soft flesh just below the inside of the left ankle."

  She did so. "Desire to please the master as a slave girl," I said.

  "I do," she suddenly said, throatily.

  I laughed, and stepped back. She seemed startled. She looked up. There were tears in her eyes. "No!" she said, suddenly. "I did not mean that!"

  Bosk laughed and slipped to the furs beside her and threw her on her back. She looked up at him, terrified. "I shall have her instructed in long lovings at my leisure," said Bosk to me. "Obviously she is an ignorant slave."

  Elicia squirmed on the furs, the Earth girl in her suddenly fighting to retain her self-image.

  "No," she wept. "I am not a slave! I am not a slave!"

  Bosk kissed her on the throat, and she closed her eyes. I saw her small hands seize at him.

  "I am not a slave," she said to him, her eyes open, sternly.

  "Touch her," laughed Bosk to me. "Feel the helpless oil and heat of her."

  She cried out in misery.

  "Naughty, naughty, Elicia!" I laughed.

  She looked at me, in fury.

  "You are a slave, Elicia!" I laughed delightedly. I was very pleased to have learned this.

  She threw back her head, wildly, twisting it from side to side. Bosk had touched her.

  I saw her eyes, wild, trying to retain the image of the Earth girl. Then, suddenly, I saw that she was becoming sensuous, uncontrollable, appetitious. She was fighting the Gorean slave girl in herself. In the arms of a man such as Bosk of Port Kar I did not think her struggle would be successful. He toyed with her resistance, sometimes permitting it to become stronger, sometimes even letting her think she might be able to withstand him, but then again he would begin to induce in her, subtly, the surrender spasms of the female slave. She well knew he was playing with her. "Beast," she wept, "how long will you sport with me?" Many times he brought her to the verge of surrender, teeth clenched, eyes shut, and then let her subside, retaining yet, to her cruel disappointment, a shred of her Earth-girl dignity. "I do not want to be a slave," she would cry. But I could see that her eyes, and her body, locked in his arms, were begging him to complete her conquest. How small she seemed in his arms. "You squirm as a slave girl, Elicia," I observed. "No!" she would cry, in her collar. She tried to hold herself still, rigid, but, when he chose, could not do so. "At his least touch, Elicia," I pointed out to her, "you leap as a slave." "No," she would cry. "No!" But it was clear to me that she wanted him to make her a slave girl. She wanted to be his slave girl. "I will show you," she said to me, "how a woman can resist a man." Then he had rolled away from her, turning his back to her. "I am weary," he said. "I would sleep." I suddenly saw, to my amusement, fear, and keen disappointment, registered on the countenance of the beautiful Elicia. "Master?" she said. She turned to him. She touched him on the shoulder. "Please, Master," she said. "What is it?" he asked. Elicia swallowed hard. I was present. "Please do not stop touching your slave, Master," she said. I laughed, but Elicia was not deterred. "Why?" he asked. "Because I am your slave," she said, acknowledging herself his. I smiled gently, but Elicia did not notice. I saw that she was truly his slave. I felt great happiness for her. "Does the slave Elicia beg the touch of her master?" he asked. "The slave Elicia," she said, "piteously and humbly begs with all her heart the touch of her master, Bosk of Port Kar." He rolled over and seized her. "You are a slave, Elicia," I said to her. "Yes," she said, "I am a slave." Then she cried out to Bosk of Port Kar, "The slave is yours. Take her, Master!" Quietly I withdrew.

  * * * *

  Gently, with his foot, Bosk of Port Kar awakened me. I had lain asleep at the foot of the curule chair in the outer room.

  "It is nearly midnight," he said to me. "I must be away."

  "Yes, Master," I said, rubbing my eyes.

  Elicia knelt behind him. Her hands were tied behind her back.

  He would take her to the roof and tie her over the saddle of his tarn, carrying her away to Port Kar.

  I looked at her.

  Her dark hair was loose about her shoulders. I could see the gold of the earrings almost hidden in the hair, the steel collar on her throat. There is something vulnerable, sensuous and soft about a female slave. She was beautiful in her bondage.

  "May a slave speak?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  She looked up at him, his slave. "I know," she said, "that I am to be taken to Port Kar and will there be assiduously interrogated."

  "Yes," he said.

  "I will speak all I know," she said.

  "That is true, Slave," he said.

  "But then?" she begged. "What then, when I am emptied of information and can be of no further use to you in your strategies? What then will be done with me? Will I then be bound and thrown to the urts in your canals?"

  "Perhaps," he said.

  "Is there no hope for my life?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said. "You are beautiful," he said to her, in explanation.

  "I will try to be pleasing," she said. She pressed her lips to his thigh. She had been well conquered.

  I had little doubt the beautiful Elicia, even when rendered valueless in the conflicts of worlds, would be kept for the pleasures of men; again I looked upon her; no longer was she a high agent of a mysterious power of interplanetary proportions; she was now only a lovely, bound Gorean slave girl.

  "On your feet, Slave," said Bosk of Port Kar to Elicia.

  She rose lightly to her feet.

  In his hand he had the gag he would fix upon her before taking her to the roof.

  "Please, Master," she begged. "A moment, please, Master."

  He stepped back.

  Elicia approached me, her hands tied behind her, the collar on her throat. "We are both now slaves," she said, "Judy."

  "Yes," I said, "Elicia."

  "The college seems far away now," she said.

  "Yes," I smiled.

  "I love you, Judy," she said, suddenly.

&nb
sp; "I love you, too, Elicia," I said. I embraced her, holding her, her arms bound behind her. We kissed.

  "I wish you well," she said, "Slave."

  "I wish you well, too, Slave," I said.

  Then, from behind, Bosk of Port Kar thrust the wadding in her mouth and secured it in place. She faced me, gagged.

  Bosk of Port Kar then tied my wrists behind my back. He then gagged me, as he had Elicia. "Your throat," he said, "is for the collar of another." I could not question him, for I had been gagged. He then said to me, "Kneel," and I knelt. "Cross your ankles," he said. I did so. Then, with the loose end of the fiber which bound my wrists, he tied my crossed ankles together, fastening them, thus, to my wrists. Some six inches of strap separated my bound wrists and bound ankles. He then, not speaking further, freed the door of its control chain, slung his gear about his shoulder and, taking Elicia by the arm, conducted her through the portal. I heard them climbing the stairs to the roof.

  I knelt alone on the tiles before the opened door. It was after midnight. I was a gagged and bound slave.

  In time I heard steps approaching, climbing stairs to the level of the compartments.

  My heart leaped. I knew the step.

  Clitus Vitellius stepped into the threshold. He looked at me, troubled. I wanted to cry out my love for him, the helpless, vulnerable love of a female slave.

  He looked down at me, angrily. I did not understand his anger.

  He untied my ankles and I lay before him on the tiles. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I could not do so. I was gagged. Angrily he crouched down and, by an ankle, drew me to him, half under him. With his hands he thrust up the brief skirting I had been permitted as a female slave, and, ruthlessly, used me. I threw back my head, reveling in his touch. Swiftly he finished with me and, cutting a length from the loose end of the strap which bound my wrists, rebound my ankles. My wrists and ankles were no longer bound to one another. I looked at him. There were tears in my eyes. I loved him. I wanted to tell him of my love. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. He did not remove the gag. He did not permit me to speak. He threw me to his shoulder and carried me from the compartments.

  27

  I Kneel in the Yellow Circle

  I lay at his feet, like a pet she-sleen, he, Clitus Vitellius, in his compartments, sitting in a curule chair. His hands were on the arms of the chair. He stared moodily out the window, at the towers of Ar.