Slave Girl of Gor

by John Norman

  Sometimes, when a mix of slaves is serving, the distinction between white silk and red silk is marked by a ribbon tied about the collar, white for the white-silk girl and red for the red-silk girl. This can be helpful if the guests become careless or rowdy. It is still not unknown, of course, for a white-silk slave, late in the evening, to be seized and dragged down among the feasting cushions, there to be subjected to an abrupt, brutal, unanticipated slave use. It is common, of course, for a master to have virginity rights to his slave, if she is white-silk. After all, he owns her. To be sure, there are few white-silk slaves, and a "white silker" is not likely to long remain such. Virginity is a very uncommon property among Gorean slave girls. Sometimes a stranger can tell a red-silk girl by simply looking at her. She is likely to look away from him in such a way, with a timidity and shyness, that informs him she is well aware of what he can do with her. And, of course, it is only the red-silk girl who has a clear conception of what that is, the ecstasies which he may, if he wishes. enforce upon her, the rapturous yieldings which he may derive, she willing or no, from her lengthily, vulnerably exploited flesh, and such. Gorean slave girls, incidentally, it might be mentioned, though it is perhaps unnecessary to do so, while sexually needful, and often pathetically so, are not sexually aggressive; that would be absurd; they are too feminine, and too vulnerable; too, they do not wish to be beaten; they are the aggressed-upon. They may, of course, plead, and lick and kiss, and beg for attention, and such. I have never seen, incidentally, an example of sexual aggression on the part of a woman on Gor, either slave or free. One supposes, if it were to be encountered, most men would not really understand it; I think they would be puzzled or repulsed. Is the woman trying to be a man? But she is not a man. At the least I suspect that it would be regarded as peculiar and tasteless. The true woman, whether slave or free, carries on her campaigns more subtly and effectively. I do not know if this is because we are stealthier and more cunning, or simply because otherwise we would be an object of ridicule and a laughing stock to Gorean males. The average Gorean male would presumably regard a sexually aggressive woman as mentally deranged, and perhaps in a rather unpleasant way. These strictures, of course, do not deny us our weapons, or our power. Certainly we lure, we display, we entrance, we seduce. The slave does not demand, she begs; the slave is not the possessor but the possessed; she, in her smallness, her softness, her loveliness, is the quarry; she it is who is sought; it is she who surrenders, she who is vulnerably, helplessly ravished; it is she who must submit, she who will be helplessly conquered and owned; she is the slave, not the master. This is as it should be, and, shortly after coming to Gor, this is brought home to her, clearly; on Gor she finds herself restored to the antique rights of her biological heritage, and meaning; she learns complementarity; she learns about dominance and submission, and that she is not dominant; at last, in the order of an ancient and profound nature; she becomes, perhaps for the first time in her life, a woman; she discovers herself, and, discovering herself, she comes to rejoice in the subtleties and depths of her own nature; she comes at last to understand, accept, and love what she is. How precious and glorious it is, she learns, to be a woman! And how joyfully and wondrously different it is from a man! At last she becomes true to herself and in this truth she rids herself of miseries, anxieties, conflicts, and fears; she is no longer a politically engineered social artifact, but a woman, honestly and deeply a woman, a woman in the order of nature; she is thus now enabled for the first time in her life to find happiness, and if fortune and the market be with her, to give and receive love.

  The tunic I wore then was substantially white. It was also, for a slave tunic, rather long, coming to just above the knees. These things, I am certain, were no accident. Indeed, he, my master, had kept me generally in plain colors, usually gray or white rep cloth, and in tunics that were, for such wear, rather modest, rather than blatantly, boastfully exhibitory, as is often the case with Gorean masters who are proud of their girls and wish to show them off. Perhaps he wanted to try to think of me more as a woman's slave than a man's slave, or as more of a tower slave than a pleasure slave, so he would be the less attracted to me. I do not know. But I am sure he was trying, in one way or another, to counter, reduce or diminish my appeal to him, which was apparently excruciating. I am sure he wished, insofar as he could, to distance himself from me, and my attractions, at least to him. I found this sometimes amusing, in its way, but, too, irritating, and keenly frustrating. A girl, after all, wishes to be a dream of pleasure to her master, and will commonly, and usually very subtly, go to great lengths to achieve this object. I, his slave, wore, of course, what he gave me to wear. I was not even permitted to beg alternatives to the somewhat plain, certainly limited, doubtlessly calculated, wardrobe allotted to me. That had been made clear to me some days ago with a cuffing. I was to be silent and wear what I was given. He would not even tunic me himself. He would turn his back when I clothed myself, as I must do, according to his dictates. He would not even position me, kneeling me down, facing away from him, and, with comb and brush, groom me. Masters often enjoy grooming their slaves, much as they do their sleen or kaiila. He did not even sleep me naked at his slave ring, but chained me, tunicked, in an adjoining room. I do not think he would have boasted of that to his fellows in the Towers of Warriors! I think, you see, all in all, he did not trust himself to see me about his compartments, or at his feet, subdued and begging, naked, say, or in a bit of red or yellow slave silk. Indeed, I was not to approach him too closely, save when necessary in my serving. I was to avoid eye contact. He did not permit me to tie his sandals, or to bathe him. I was to stay much of the time out of his sight, kneeling, for example, behind him. But surely he knew I was there. And my presence, unseen, may have been for that very reason more subtly, more insistently, obtrusive. I realized that I was agonizingly attractive to him, despite his hatred of me, as he was to me. His various stratagems, I fear, failed him. Often he would at last cry out in rage and seize me and hurl me to the furs, his, venting all his wildness, his hatred, his lust, his power, his ruthlessness, his desire, on me, his fascinating, helpless, troublesome belonging. And I could be only his helpless, loving, ecstatic slave, writhing in his arms, in the arms of my owner, and rape master.

  I slipped the tunic over my head and, hastily, cast it aside. I now faced Bran Loort clad only in the collar of my master and my brand.

  "You are beautiful, Dina!" he cried.

  "Please do not hurt me," I begged.

  Joyfully he seized my ankles and dragged me to him, and then, with a peasant's roughness, thrust them widely apart.

  "Please, Master," I begged.

  "I am so happy," he cried. "And you, Dina, pretty little slave, are so beautiful!"

  "Oh!" I cried. "Oh!" And I seized him. I threw my head back. I think that Bran Loort, overcome in his joy, had little time or patience for either his own pleasure or mine.

  "Oh!" I cried.

  Then he was finished with me and I was shaking. He covered me with kisses.

  "I am so happy!" he cried. He then crouched beside me, and kissed me again. "The Sa-Tarna must be harvested," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "I wish you well, Dina," he said.

  "I wish you well, Master," I said.

  He then leapt from the alcove to find Thurnus. They left the tavern together. I was left lying on the furs. After a few minutes, I pulled my garment over my head, buttoned it and retied the sash. I went to kneel behind Clitus Vitellius. He was drinking with Thandar of Ti, and his four men. They were being served by Slave Beads.

  "The Salerian Confederation," Clitus Vitellius was saying, "is a threat to the security of Ar."

  "Correct," said Thandar of Ti.

  "You seem distracted," said Clitus Vitellius, who apparently wished to discuss politics.

  Thandar of Ti was watching Slave Beads who, head down, was pouring him drink.

  "A pretty little slave," said Clitus Vitellius.

  "Yes,"
said Thandar of Ti. He reached forth and, gently, touched Slave Beads about the throat, as she poured the drink. She blushed, and trembled, head down. "Kneel before the table, Slave," he said to her. She did so, putting the paga vessel to one side. She knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. She was briefly silked, perfumed, collared and belled. I had learned earlier, in speaking with the girls, that Thandar of Ti, when in Ar, came often to the Belled Collar. I had little doubt that the small beauty, Slave Beads, was the reason. "Do you think I should buy her?" asked Thandar of Ti of Clitus Vitellius, as he regarded the lineaments and beauty of the girl. Slave Beads shook with emotion. She almost broke the position of the pleasure slave. "She is a beauty," said Clitus Vitellius. "If she pleases you, make an offer to Busebius."

  "Busebius!" called Thandar of Ti.

  I thought Slave Beads might faint.

  "I have taken a fancy," said Thandar of Ti to Busebius, who had hurried to the table, "to this little slut of a slave," indicating Slave Beads. "I will give you a silver tarsk for her."

  "Master is generous," said Busebius, "to offer so much for so miserable a girl."

  "Then it is done?" asked Thandar of Ti.

  "Five tarsks," said Busebius.

  "'Scoundrel!" said Thandar of Ti. "I will give you two."

  "Now done!" laughed Busebius. He was pleased. He had made a profit on Slave Beads whom he had had, I understood, for less than one silver tarsk in the market, and had yet retained the good will of Thandar of Ti, a valued customer.

  Slave Beads slipped to the floor in a faint. She was still unconscious when Busebius removed his bells, and collar and silk from her, leaving her naked, save for her brand, lying on the tiles beside the table. She had not yet regained consciousness when Thandar of Ti placed his slave bracelets on her, braceleting her small wrists before her body.

  In a few moments she regained consciousness, opening her eyes, discovering herself nude beside the table, in his bracelets. "Am I yours, Master?" she asked, lifting her braceleted wrists to him. "Yes, Slave," he said. She knelt before him, reaching out to him, weeping with joy. She looked to me once, that I might not reveal what had once been her identity. She had once been the Lady Sabina of Fortress of Saphronicus, the daughter of Kleomenes, of Fortress of Saphronicus, promised in Companion Contract, in a proposed political alliance intended to further the fortunes of Fortress of Saphronicus and the Salerian Confederation, to the fifth son of the warrior, Ebullius Gaius Cassius, the Administrator of Ti, Thandar of Ti, also of the warriors.

  He rose to his feet. She looked up at him. Thandar of Ti, her master, regarded her. She had once been promised to him in Companion Contract, as a Free Companion; now he had purchased her as a slave.

  "I love you, Master," she said.

  "Let us return to the inn," said one of the men. "I think we have a slave here who is eager to serve her master."

  "Rise, Slave," said Thandar of Ti.

  She did so, standing before him, her wrists braceleted before her body.

  "Lovely," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  He examined her thigh. "A fine brand," he said. He brushed back her hair and turned her head from side to side, holding her chin in his hand. "Pierced ears," he said. "Excellent." He stepped back, admiring her as superb slave flesh.

  "A good buy," said one of his men.

  "Yes," he said.

  He looked down into her eyes. "I think I shall call you 'Sabina,'" he said.

  She started. "Master?" she asked. She looked at me. But I was confused. I had not spoken her secret to anyone.

  "Is it not a lovely name for a slave?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "It is a lovely name for a slave."

  "You little she-sleen," he laughed, seizing her by the arms, "do you not think I know who you once were?"

  "Master?" she asked.

  "You were once Sabina, the daughter of Kleomenes," he laughed, "once promised to me in Companion Contract."

  She looked at him, wildly.

  "Now, of course, you are only a slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "When the Companionship was under consideration by the Council of the Confederation," he said, "I slipped away, on tarn, to Fortress of Saphronicus. I spied on you, to see if you pleased me."

  "Pleased!" she cried. It is beneath the dignity of a free woman to please a man. Slave girls please men.

  "Yes," he said.

  "It must have been difficult," she said, "for you to tell, I clothed in the robes of concealment, if I pleased you."

  "You recall your quarters," he asked, "and the window, high in the wall."

  "Yes," she said.

  "It may be reached by a rope, from the roof," he said.

  She gasped.

  "You were quite beautiful in your bath," he said.

  She looked down, confused, blushing.

  "Is a slave modest?" he asked.

  "No, Master," she said. Then she looked up at him, shyly. "Did you find me pleasing, truly?" she asked.

  "Yes, quite," he said. "The girl, Marla, too, and the others," he said, "were also quite beautiful."

  "Yes," she said. "My serving slaves were beautiful." She looked up at him. "Were they more beautiful than I?" she asked.

  "Not to me," he said.

  "I am pleased," she said.

  "You can well understand my dilemma," he said. "Seeing you I wanted you. You were one of those women who is so feminine and attractive that a man finds it difficult to think of you in terms other than jealous ownership. I wanted to own you. I wanted you at my feet naked, in my collar. Yet you were intended to be my companion. How could one relate to a girl as feminine and beautiful as you, I ask you, other than as a master to a slave?"

  "I do not know," she said.

  "Besides," he said, "you were only of the merchants. It is unseemly for a Warrior to take as a companion the daughter of a merchant. I detest the politics which seemed to make such a match expedient. Surely I was not consulted in the negotiations."

  "No, Master," she said. "Nor was I," she added, pointing this out.

  "But you are a woman," he said.

  "That is true," she said.

  "The daughters of merchants," he said, "are fit only to be the slaves of Warriors."

  "Oh, Master?" she asked, archly.

  "Yes," he said, evenly, regarding her.

  "Yes, Master," she said, dropping her eyes.

  "Besides," he said, "you, free, were an arrogant she-sleen. You needed enslaving, collaring and whipping."

  "Yes, Master," she said, frightened.

  "I resolved to refuse the companionship," said Thandar of Ti. "I resolved to flee the city." He grinned. "As it turned out," he said, "that was not necessary."

  "How did master find me?" she asked.

  "There is a fellowship among Warriors," he said. Clitus Vitellius smiled.

  "Thank you, Master," said Slave Beads, now Sabina, to Clitus Vitellius.

  He nodded, accepting her thanks.

  Sabina, the slave, turned again to face Thandar of Ti, looking up at him. "You have found me," she said. "You own me." There were tears in her eyes. "I had hoped," she said, "that my identity might have remained unknown to you."

  "Why?" he asked, puzzled.

  She looked down, confused. She shook her head.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Must I speak?" she asked.

  "You are a slave," he said angrily. "Speak."

  She looked up at him, boldly, tears in her eyes. "Because," she said, "I wanted you to keep me as a slave!" She looked down again, confused. "I sense," she said, "that you are my true master, and I am your true slave."

  The men looked at one another, cognizing well the confession of the small, beautiful slave.

  "Too," she said, "I did not wish my fate, known, to dishonor you."

  "That the flank of a merchant's daughter has met the iron cannot dishonor me," said Thandar of Ti.