Norman, John - Gor 16 - Guardsman Of Gor v2.txt

by Guardsman of Gor [lit]

  "Crawl to the center of the room, and lie there on your belly," I said.

  Swiftly she did so.

  "It is your bluff which has been called, little slave," I said.

  She lay at my feet, shuddering, prone, her hands at the sides of her head.

  "I will let you kiss me," she said "I will even let you make love to me!"

  I looked down upon her. I was furious. She had been an insolent slave.

  "Let me be your employee," she said. "I am willing, even, to be your love employee! You do not need to pay me much. You do not need to pay me anything at all! I will work for nothing for you! Let me be your love servant! Sometimes I will even serve you as might a slave girl!"

  "What did I ever think I saw in you?" I asked her. "What possible interest could I ever have thought I had in you?" I ran the whip along her side, and she shuddered. "To be sure," I said, "you are rather pretty, in a trivial and servile fashion." I continued to move the whip on her body, and she whimpered, helpless on the tiles before me. "I wonder what I could get for you," I said, "such a petty, stupid, worthless, meaningless, stinking little slave." She was whimpering. "Oh!" she said. "You do have the reflexes of the slave though," I said. "That would surely improve your price." She cried out in shame, putting the side of her head down to the tiles, her fingers scratching at them. "I think I shall put you up for sale, you pretty, meaningless little brute," I said.

  "Oh, oh," she cried.

  "Are you hot in your collar, little brute?" I asked, angrily.

  "Oh!" she cried. Then she began to sob. Her tears fell to the tiles.

  "But before you could be put up for sale," I said, "you must learn certain lessons, which apparently you have earlier failed to master, on the position, and condition, of the Gorean slave girl."

  She shuddered with fear. She saw now, on the tiles before her, gently swinging, the shadows of the five loosened blades of the Gorean slave lash.

  "You will not whip me," she said. "Surely you will not whip me!"

  I then, furious with her, savagely laid the whip to her beauty. She writhed, and screamed, and twisted, and turned beneath the whip, from her belly to her back, and to her sides, and to her back, and to her sides again, and back, trying to fend the blows. She had displeased me. She had dared even to speak my name.

  Then she lay before me, on her back, her legs drawn up, her hands extended. "Please, Master," she wept, "do not beat me further."

  "What did you call me?" I asked.

  "Master," she said. "Master, Master!"

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because you are my Master!" she said. "Because you are my Master!"

  "Are you sure of that?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Have you any doubt of it?" I inquired.

  "No, Master," she said. "No, Master!"

  "What are you?" I asked.

  "A slave!" she cried.

  "Whose slave?" I asked.

  "Yours," she wept, "yours, Master!"

  I then permitted her to scramble to her knees and she knelt before me, kissing at my feet. "You seem not as vain and arrogant as you were before," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Perhaps you have learned a little more of your slavery now," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "What do you wish to do?" I asked.

  "Please my Master," she said.

  "The answer is suitable," I said.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  "Lift your head," I said.

  She did so, fearfully, looking at me.

  "Drop to your hands and knees, to all fours, and turn away from me," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You spoke my name," I said. "It is strange that you, a Gorean slave girl, should have made that mistake."

  "Yes, Master," she said, "but I have been well whipped."

  I then struck her again with the lash. "Oh!" she cried.

  "Perhaps you should have been slain," I said.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said. "Please, no, Master."

  "Oh!" she cried out, in misery, the lash again swiftly falling upon her.

  "And you were lax in your deference," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."

  Again I struck her.

  "Did you think that such things would go unnoticed?" I asked her.

  "No, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."

  Again I struck her.

  "And you were insolent," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!"

  Again I struck her.

  "Did you expect your insolence to be overlooked?" I asked. "No, Master," she said. "Please, please, forgive me, Master!"

  "Oh!" she cried, in pain, once more well lashed.

  Her head was down. Tears were upon the tiles.

  "What shall I do with you?" I asked.

  "I am your slave," she said. "You may do with me whatever you wish."

  "That is known to me," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Why were you insolent?" I asked.

  "It is difficult to speak in this position," she said.

  "Speak," I said.

  "When I saw that it was you, and remembering you from before, I sought to exploit your weakness, and conquer you. There is some gratification in this for a woman, for she is then a little bit like a man, a master, which she knows in her heart she is not. Too, it pleases her to torture weak men, men too weak to put her in the chains she longs to wear. But these gratifications, ultimately, are shallow and empty, and we, in our hearts, know that. Each sex has its place, and neither will be happy until it occupies that place. The place of man is master; the place of woman is slave. Gorean men, of course, do not see fit to tolerate our nonsense. They put us promptly in our places. They make us slaves. Had you not been from Earth, I would not have dared to behave as I did. Seeing you, remembering you from before, it did not even occur to me that I might be kneeling before one who had become, truly, a Gorean male. I wish that I had understood that, clearly. I could have saved myself much pain. Women engage in battles which they yearn to lose. We wish to be overwhelmed and conquered. That is why we fight. If we do not protest and fight, of what value to a man, we ask ourselves, will be our conquest? But, of course, I should not have fought you. I am only a slave girl, a girl already collared and conquered. I am not a free woman. It was presumptuous of me to indulge myself in the vanities of a free woman. I am a slave. I should have submitted myself to you, immediately and fully. Forgive me, Master. It is my hope that you will permit me to live."

  I regarded her. She was pretty, in my collar, and on all fours.

  "May I explain my behavior further, Master?" she asked. "It may make you regard me less harshly."

  "Do so," I said.

  "I want to be a slave," she said. "I feared you would free me. It was thus that I challenged you. It was thus that I tried to incite you to my conquest. It was thus that I tried to make you angry, that you might make me your slave, and keep me as such, uncompromisingly."

  "That was not necessary," I said.

  "I am now well aware of that, Master," she said. "I did not know it at the time, however."

  I said nothing.

  "My behavior, however foolish it might have been, was motivated by a desire to be kept in bondage," she whispered. "Perhaps now you will think more understandingly, more pityingly, of your girl."

  "So you desire to be a slave?" I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "fervently."

  "And you are a slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "completely."

  "Do you think that you are free, or that you have any rights whatsoever?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "I know that such delusions are not permitted to a Gorean slave girl."

  "Do you not fear your bondage?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "and sometimes we fear it terribly, the uncertainty and the terrors of it
, knowing that men can do with us what they please, but these things heighten our experience, adding zest and spice to it, making it more meaningful, and, too, without them, we know that we would not truly be in bondage, which is the condition for which we yearn."

  "So you accept the miseries and terrors of bondage?" I asked.

  "Willingly, and gladly, Master," she said, "and did we not do so then unwillingly and tremblingly must we accept them, for we are slaves."

  "Do you like being a slave?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You are worthless, aren't you?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "except in so far as I might have some small value as a man's slave. I do not know my current market value."

  I, too, did not know her current market value. Such things can shift from day to day. They are subject to considerable variance, being functions of many factors, such as the girl herself, her intelligence, and training and beauty, the money in the economy, the conditions of supply and demand, and even the market in which she is sold and the time of year that she is put upon the block. A girl who is sold in a prestige market and, in the afternoon before her sale, placed with other lovely inmates within the chromed, ornate bars of an exhibition cage, has moved and posed upon the instructions of prospective bidders, is almost certain to bring a higher price than another girl, who by the hair, is pulled from a crowded, wooden, bolted cage and thrown upon a sales platform, or who, say, is sold from one of the cement, public viewing shelves of a common street market.

  Too, generally girls bring higher prices in the spring. I have little doubt that there is some intensification of the slaving done on Earth at a certain time of year, that the captured girls may be brought to the spring markets. Many Earth-girl slaves, on Gor, comparing notes, discover that they were sold in the spring. The more intelligent among them realize that this is not likely to have been a coincidence. They then have a deeper and more active appreciation of the intelligence, methodicality and organization of the men who saw fit to bring them to Gor.

  Suddenly, angrily, I lashed her with the whip. She shuddered, struck. "Do you like that?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said, "but I love it that you can do it to me, and will, if I am not pleasing to you."

  I walked around, before her. "Worthless little trollop," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Are you conquered?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "I am conquered."

  "Totally?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "totally."

  "Can a man respect such a conquered woman?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "But perhaps I might have the interest of the conquered slave for him."

  I crouched down before her. She was still on all fours.

  "You are a poor slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Yet," I said, lifting her chin with the whip, "you are pretty."

  "In a trivial and servile way," she smiled.

  "Yes," I said. "And, too," I said, "you have good slave reflexes."

  "Which you have not seen fit to exploit, my Master," she whispered.

  "I wonder if I should sell you," I said.

  "Please do not sell me, Master," she said.

  "I will if it pleases me," I said.

  "Of course, my Master," she said.

  I lowered the whip, and, crouching before her, continued to regard her.

  "Is Master truly thinking of selling me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. She had displeased me this evening. Too, I thought I saw her this evening more objectively than ever before I had seen her. I saw her now as little more than a pretty triviality.

  "I would bring so low a price," she whispered, "that perhaps Master might keep me."

  I stood up, whip in hand. I looked down upon her, on all fours before me. There was something in what she said. She would probably not bring a high price. Perhaps she might as well be kept, at least for the time. There did not seem much point, at least at the moment, in sending her to a market. Too, she was pretty, if only in a trivial, servile way. Too, she had good slave reflexes. Surely I could find uses for her around the house.

  "Master?" she asked.

  I walked around, behind her.

  "Master?" she asked, frightened. She knew she might now be unexpectedly lashed.

  "I shall keep you, at least for the time," I said, "to see if you work out."

  "I shall endeavor to work out, Master," she cried, joyfully.

  "Am I to be kept in full slavery?" she asked, not daring to look around.

  "Yes," I said.

  "In what slavery, or slaveries, will Master place me?" she asked.

  I looked at her position. "Perhaps in the slavery of the she-quadruped," I said.

  "Master may do so, if he wishes," she said, "if it pleases him, or amuses him."

  In this form of slavery, which is commonly used for disciplinary purposes, or for the amusement of the master, the woman is not permitted to arise from all fours; similarly she is not permitted human speech, though she may signify needs and desires by such means as cringing, and moaning and whimpering. Not permitted the use of her hands, save as a means of locomotion, she must also eat and drink from pans set on the floor, or, sometimes, to satisfy her thirst, she must lap the water permitted to her from puddles or lick spillages from the tiles; too, it is not uncommon to chain her near her master's feet, while he dines, that he may, if he wishes, throw her scraps of food. She will also be taught tricks, through which paces she may be put for the entertainment of her master's guests, such things as begging, lying down, rolling over, and fetching his sandals in her teeth. And, needless to say, when her master wishes to use her sexually, it will be in a position common to the she-quadruped.

  This form of slavery, incidentally, is often imposed on captured Ubaras. After a time, it is not unusual for the Ubara, on her belly before her master, given an Ehn in which to speak, to beg, in lieu of the slavery of the she-quadruped, that she be taught the salacious arts and lascivious dances of the female slave, that she may then be less a more amusement for her master than a feast of slave pleasure for him. Her plea is usually granted. Such women tend to become superb slaves. They know, of course, that they may be, at any moment the master pleases, returned to the slavery of the she-quadruped.

  I walked around, before the girl. "You may kneel," I said.

  "Thank you, Master," she cried, joyfully. She was not then, at least, to be put into the slavery of the she-quadruped. She looked up at me. "I love you. I love you, my Master," she said.

  "Kiss the whip," I told her.

  "Yes, Master!" she said. She kissed it, fervently, again and again. The former Miss Henderson, of Earth, kneeling naked before me, now knowingly my collared slave, kissed my whip.

  She looked up at me, happily.

  "Do you think that you are much of a slave?" I asked.

  "No. Master," she said.

  "You need a bath," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Your body smells," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "It stinks," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." To be sure, her pretty little body stank. This was little wonder, considering what her experiences had been, and the beatings I had put her through. Too, it was covered with dirt and sweat, much of the dirt in small, fine rolls on the fairly complexioned, exposed flesh.

  There were tears in her eyes.

  I heard then a sound at the door.

  "On your belly," I told her.

  Swiftly she fell to her belly on the tiles before me, her hands at the sides of her head.

  "Master!" she said, then hearing someone at the door.

  "Lie quietly, Slave," I said, "or you will be whipped."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Who is it?" I called.

  "It is I, Lola," I heard. "I have brought your things." She had followed me, dallying according to my
instructions, to give me time to introduce the new girl into my house.