by John Norman
I looked up at him.
"Yes?" he said.
"We are to remain, then, full paga slaves," I said.
"Yes, though now, at least occasionally, silked," he said.
"I understand, Master," I said.
"The only difference," he said, "is that such silk may now be pulled away by the master, or discarded instantly, upon command, by the slave."
"Yes, Master," I smiled. We were still to be hot, and ready, paga slaves, eager to serve, and fully, the silk no more than an invitation to its removal. This was not much different, incidentally, than what was the case in even the most prestigious paga taverns. In such places, as also in the lower paga taverns, incidentally, free women were generally not permitted. In them, usually, the only women to be found would be collared slaves, generally belonging either to the tavern keeper or the guests, who may have brought them in, to avail themselves of the facilities of the alcoves. In such places, the mastery was practiced. Such places, regardless of their cost, their location, their appointments, the excellence of their food and drink, the beauty of their slaves, the quality of their music, existed, as did the tavern of Hendow, for the pleasures of men. That was the purpose of such places, whether they were within lofty towers, reached by graceful bridges, or near the wharves, close enough to hear the tide lapping at the pilings, whether they had a dozen musicians or only a single, dissolute czehar player, alone with his music, whether the girls were richly silked or stark naked, save for brands and collars, whether there were chains of gold and luxurious furs in the alcoves or only wire and straw mats. They were paga taverns.
"But perhaps we should make an exception in your case," he said.
"Master?" I asked.
"Perhaps it is better if we do not let them know that Doreen, the dancer, is such a hot slave."
I looked at him, frightened.
"If she seems more prideful, colder, more haughty and aloof, perhaps it will be better for the tavern, as the fellows may look forward then to commanding her in an alcove, melting her defenses, and then, she now abjectly tamed, turning her into only another moaning, begging, writhing paga slut."
"It will be done with me as masters please," I said. "But am I commanded to attempt to conceal my passion?"
"No," he said. "You are not that kind of dancer. You are too beautiful, and needful. You must be as you are, vulnerable, hot and marvelous."
"Thank you, Master," I said. "Once more you sport with a slave."
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said. As if it mattered what a slave might mind!
He smiled.
"It is only another way in which you toy with me," I said.
"Are you still hot?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said.
"Do you still beg?" he inquired.
"Yes, yes, yes!" I said.
"Then," said he, "I think we may now send you to your kennel, in a belly chain, its lock at your navel, your hands braceleted closely behind you, to the chain."
"Please, no, Master!" I wept.
But he was then crouching before me, and had swept me into his arms. My head was back, my eyes closed. His strength was overwhelming. I felt my softness lost somehow within that embrace. "Unbind me," I begged. "Let me hold you!"
"No," he muttered, his voice thick with the wanting of me.
I must try to keep my hands together behind my back!
Then he put me to my back, and not gently, on the tiles in the passageway, near the beaded curtain. My body leapt to him and closed gratefully about him. I was joyful, held. I was collared. Tomorrow my back would be bruised from the tiles. I cried out, knowing the bliss of bondage.
"It is time you were taught submission," he said.
"I submit!" I said. "I submit!"
"You are unbound," he said.
Swiftly I pulled my hands free and grasped him.
"You are an incredible pleasure slave," he said.
"Master!" I wept.
"You needed only this world, and the collar to bring it out," he said.
"Yes," I whispered to him. "Please, please."
I was enraptured, as a female, and a slave.
"Master!" I cried, softly.
"So the female of Earth now calls men Master," he said.
"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!" I said.
Of course, I would call men "Master"! They were my masters, and not only in the order of nature, but here, too, in the order of law.
I felt overwhelmed in his arms, and could not believe the feelings I felt.
I uttered a tiny, plaintive cry, asking for a little respite, for a moment of mercy.
It was granted to me.
I looked at Mirus. I had always wanted, even on Earth, though I had feared it, too, to be at the mercy of men so powerful, so magnificent and commanding, that in relation to them I could, in all right, justice and propriety, be only a slave. Then I had been brought to Gor, where I had found such men, and, too, had found myself in a collar, theirs.
I moaned softly. Then I said, "Oh," startled.
"Perhaps you are ready, Earth woman," he said, "for a slave orgasm."
"Master?" I asked.
"You have a responsive body," he said. "Thus, even though you have not been a slave long, it is possible you are ready for such an orgasm."
"Yes, Master," I said.
I was trying, wildly, to recollect that feeling, that hint of feeling, which I had just felt.
How could he have done that to me? How could anyone have done that to me?
"Are you listening?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" I said. I tried to pry myself loose from my sensations, but it was not easy, locked as I was in his arms.
"I think you might be ready for your first slave orgasm," he said.
"I do not understand, Master," I said.
"It is time, I think, that you made a beginning in such things."
"Yes, Master," I whispered. "Ai!" I suddenly said. "Oh!"
It had been done again to me.
I looked at him, wildly.
"No," he said. "You will not be shown mercy."
I moaned.
"It is pleasant to hold you in my arms," he said.
"Find me pleasing," I begged. "Please, find me pleasing!" I did not want him to stop, for anything.
"You are not without interest," he said.
I cried out, softly. I began to whimper.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked.
"No, no!" I said.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.
"No!" I said.
"No, what?" he inquired, politely.
"No, Master, Master, Master!" I sobbed. "Forgive me, Master!"
I cried out, startled. I began to make soft, helpless noises.
As I had noted before, as early as the house of my training, women of diverse backgrounds, for example, those of Earth and Gor, made much the same noises while being ravished. These noises are to be distinguished from conventionalized exclamations, which do tend to be culture bound. I had discovered, too, that I made such noises.
"Oh!" I said, softly.
Suddenly I clutched him. I had again felt the sensation. Then I was afraid.
"Master!" I said.
"Do not be afraid," he said. "Your body is being honed, and trained."
I clutched him again, and gasped.
"Yes," he said, "you will give masters much pleasure."
Masters, I thought! Does he not know what he is doing to me! Can he be ignorant of the things I myself was feeling?
"You will do well," he said. "You are a deliciously meaningless, servile little beast."
"It is my hope that I will be pleasing to masters," I said. Did he not know what he was making me feel!
"I think you are now ready for the first of your slave orgasms," he said.
"Master?" I asked.
"Inducing them in a slave is one of the pleasures of the mastery," he said.
"Forgive me, Master," I said. "You are giving me great pleasu
re. But I do not even know what you are talking about."
"At first," he said, "you will be capable of only small ones, but do not fear, you will grow in such things."
"I do not understand," I said.
"You are very beautiful, and soft, and are in my arms," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I was grateful that he should speak in so kindly a fashion to me.
"And you are naked, and collared, and owned," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"What are you?" he asked.
"I am a slave, Master," I said, puzzled.
"And do you surrender wholly to your masters, and yield totally to them?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I whispered. I knew that I could not lie in things of this sort. Gorean masters, or many of them, were skilled in reading women. My master, Hendow, was frighteningly adept at this. Too, I did not think that I could fool Mirus either in such matters. When a girl's most secret thoughts can be read as easily as slave numbers written on her breast her only viable option is total honesty, and as complete submission was required of Gorean slave girls her only practical recourse under such stringent circumstances is either to choose death or become in true reality a full slave, in her heart, in her mind and in her behavior. In short, as deception is impossible, the girl must either choose death or the reality of true bondage.
"You will now prepare to yield," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, suddenly, startled, then beginning to understand the orgasm in the natural matrix of male dominance, and intensified by the fixing, enhancement and intensification of this within the institution of total female slavery. When I yielded it would be not only as a female to a male, but as slave to a master!
No longer then could I even hear the noises of the tavern beyond the curtain. There was now only myself and Mirus.
I had been brought here, and branded and made a slave!
"Let me yield!" I begged.
"Wait," he said.
I was collared!
"Please!" I wept.
I was naked, and in the arms of a man whose sandals I was not fit to lick.
"Master!" I begged.
Must not what might remain in me of the proud Earth woman attempt to resist this?
"Master!" I cried.
"No," he said, sternly.
But what might remain in me of the Earth woman was utterly powerless!
"Please, please!" I whispered.
"No," he said.
Then what might have remained in me of the Earth woman was gone and in her place there was now only a terrified Gorean slave on the brink of she knew not what.
I was not simply going to be fondled or kissed, with attentions appropriate to the bland etiquettes of Earth. I was to be conquered!
"Please!" I wept.
"No," he said.
I would not be permitted to retain a shred of dignity or pride. My yielding would not be of the sort of yieldings approved of on Earth, those mild, meaningless ripples of sensation, indicative of acceptable congenialities, the most that many of Earth, it seems, could manage, but would be rather the result of his will and power, of his enforcements and determination, the exercise over me of his strength, making me helpless, having me as he wanted me, owning me. It would not be a compromised act. It would be a complete act, a fulfillment, for him and also for me. It would manifest his power, and my weakness, his triumph and my shattering, and overwhelming. It would be an act of his uncompromising power, imposed upon me, which I, the female could not resist.
"Let me yield!" I begged.
"Wait," he said.
I moaned. I did not want polite love. I wanted to know that I was in the hands of a man who was capable of being excited, and whom I excited, who found me truly marvelous, to whose fury of power I appealed, whose fierce and voracious appetites I triggered. I wanted to be in the arms of a true man. I did not want to be possibly mistaken about whether I had been had or not. I did not want to be touched as though I might break. I did not wish to be in danger of drowsing off during the making of love. I wanted him to own and master me, and whip me if I was not pleasing.
"I am ready!" I said. "I beg to submit, and as a slave!"
"Not yet," he said.
I began to weep with wanting to yield.
He was not simply going to enjoy me, or pleasure himself with me. He was asserting the mastery upon me. I was not merely to be used, even used as a mere slave, as it sometimes amuses Gorean masters to do with us. I was going to yield, and fully. I was not simply having love made to me. The experience was far more meaningful and devastating than simply that. I was being dominated, and mastered. I was to yield, and I had to, as a slave, totally!
"Please!" I wept.
"No," he said.
I was to be vanquished, utterly.
"Please!" I said.
"Will it be necessary to gag you?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, Master!" I wept.
"You may then yield," he said, "—as a slave."
I then yielded to him, and wholly, and without compromises, as slave girl to a master.
I then looked up at him, wildly, disbelievingly.
"Master," I whispered, acknowledging that it was right that I belonged to men. I then lay in his arms, an incredulous, frightened slave girl. The experience had been a whole, the context conditioned by my abject surrender, by our relationship, that of master and slave.
Gently he kissed me.
I had not known on Earth that such men could exist. I had only dreamed of them, men to whom I could be rightfully only an abject slave. But now on Gor I was subject to such men. And now, naked and collared, I lay in the arms of one.
"What was it?" I begged. "What was it you did to me?"
"Nothing," he said.
"Master!" I protested.
"It was a slave orgasm," he said.
I trembled in his arms.
"Surely such would be appropriate enough for you," he said.
"Yes, Master!" I said.
I have had a slave orgasm, I thought, wonderingly.
"It was a small one," he said, "to be sure."
"'Small'!" I said. "Take pity, I beg you, Master, on a poor slave. Do not mock her so."
I had never experienced anything of that power, of that nature, before. I was still shaken from it. In its grip I had been overwhelmed, utterly helpless.
"You will grow in such things," he said. "They are small in the beginning."
"There can be more?" I asked.
"You are only at the beginning of what men can make you feel, Doreen, slave girl," he said.
I shuddered. I had never hitherto guessed that the power of men over me could be so great.
"Do you wish to feel such things again, and more?" he asked.
"Yes!" I whispered. "Yes!" How much we were at their mercy! They held over us not only the power of pain but also that of pleasure. They had now, in the person of Mirus, let me have a taste of incredible pleasure, perhaps that I might then have some inkling as to what such things could be. Now they could either grant me such pleasures, or withhold them from me, as they wished. I would obey with perfection, trying to please them!
"What is it that you would wish to have again?" he asked.
"Please do not make me say it, Master," I begged.
"What is going on here?" asked a voice.
Swiftly Mirus and I drew apart. I knelt, my head to the tiles. He stood.
"You took her here, in the passageway?" asked Hendow, my master.
"Yes," said Mirus.
I could not see the face of Hendow, but I sensed that he was not pleased. Mirus seemed uneasy before him. I was frightened.
"You are training her?" asked Hendow.
"Yes," said Mirus.
"Here?" asked Hendow.
"I also enjoyed her," said Mirus, angrily.
"How is she?" asked Hendow.
I reddened.
"She
is good, for a new slave," said Mirus.
The performance, responses, and such, of slaves, may be discussed openly, as those of other animals.
"Did she yield?" asked Hendow.
"Yes," said Mirus.
"Wholly?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mirus.
"To you," said Hendow.
"Yes," said Mirus, angrily.
"Look up, slave," said Hendow.
I obeyed, instantly.
"Did you yield?" asked Hendow.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Wholly?" asked Hendow.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"To him?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.
"Did she attain slave orgasm?" asked Hendow.
"Yes," said Mirus.
"Slave?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"That is your first, is it not?" asked Hendow.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Perhaps you would have preferred to have brought her to this point yourself," said Mirus. "If so, I did not know. In such a case, had you made your wishes known to me, I would surely have respected them."
"What difference does it make," asked Hendow, "who induces the first slave orgasm in a slave?"
"No difference, of course," said Mirus. He shrugged.
"Did you like it, slave?" asked Hendow. I had never seen him like this.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"I loved it," I whispered, terrified.
"What was it you loved?" asked Hendow, angrily.