by John Norman
“Tela, when captured,” he said, indicating a blonde, “begged to be permitted to be kept in white silk.” He laughed. “After throwing her to a crew, for their pleasure, we put her, as she had asked, in white silk.”
“Amusing,” I said. “She now often begs for red silk.” he said. “Perhaps we will one day permit it to her.”
“I see,” I said. “She is now quick to lick a man’s feet,” he added. “Excellent,” I said.
“Bikkie,” said he, indicating a short, dark-haired girl, “is good. Too, there are Mira and Tala, the matched blondes. They are sisters from Cos.” He indicated two girls, one older than the other, one perhaps nineteen, the other seventeen. They were fastened together by the neck, by a knotted red strap some four feet in length. They were slender, and nude. “You may have both,” he said.
I continued to look about.
“I saw that you were interested in Ulm,” he said, referring to a girl in a diaphanous bit of swirling yellow silk. She was the woman who had been free, whom I had seen enslaved on the wharves of Victoria, only a few nights past. In her own hair she had tied the knot of bondage. “She is trying hard to improve her skills,” he said. “I think she will be ready for sale in another month. Perhaps you could assist in her training.”
“Perhaps some other time,” I said.
“There are others, of course,” said he, “below, in cages.”
“I think I see one in which I might be interested,” I said.
“Which?” asked he.
“That one,” I said.
“Beverly,” said he, “the Earth girl?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Choose another,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“She is raw, and untrained,” he said. “She is a poor slave.”
“I find her, nonetheless, not to be without interest,” I said.
“Very well,” he said. “I will have her sent to your chambers within the Ahn.”
“My thanks, Policrates,” I said. “Oh,” I said. “I may wish, in the privacy of my chambers, to remove this mask.”
“I understand,” said he. “I will send her to you blindfolded.”
“My thanks, Policrates,” I said.
“It is nothing,” he said.
I then bowed graciously to my host, Policrates, and to Kliomenes, his lieutenant and confederate, and then turned about, and made my way to my chambers.
Chapter 24 - WHAT OCCURRED IN MY CHAMBERS, WHEN MISS HENDERSON THOUGHT ME TO BE THE COURIER OF RAGNAR VOSKJARD
“Master?” she asked.
She stood within the door to my chambers. The door had been shut behind her. A guard had conducted her to my chambers. He had opened the door. Timidly, blindfolded, conducted by his hand on her arm, she had entered. The door had then shut behind her. She stood now within my chambers. We were absolutely alone.
“Master?” she asked. “I have come to serve you,” she said.
I did not respond to her, but observed her. She stood timidly, blindfolded, near the door. She wore a tiny, diaphanous bit of brown silk about her body. It was high on her thighs. It was off her right shoulder and held loosely on her by a casually knotted, narrow disrobing loop, fastened over her left shoulder. A single tug would open the garment, dropping it to her ankles.
She carried, folded, several large, colored, soft towels, with two sponges, and oils, for the bath. On the towels, too, were certain other articles. Among them was, opened, the rounded steel loop she had worn about her neck, earlier. It, with its key, lay on the top towel. It had been removed from her for she was to assist me in the bath. It accompanied her, that it might be again, when she had bathed me, replaced on her. Similarly the steel loops from her wrists and ankles had been removed. They, however, had been kept elsewhere. They did not accompany her.
On the towels, however, coiled, there was a whip, and slave cuffs, and anklets, of leather, with snaps. Too, it might be mentioned, there were, as is usual, chains at the foot of the great couch, which might be lengthened or shortened. One chain terminated in a collar, which might be locked about a girl’s neck. The other chain terminated in a smaller loop of steel, an ankle ring, suitable for a girl’s ankle.
I regarded her.
Her hair was still coiffured high upon her head, and held, as before, with the braided yellow cord, stout enough to bind her with. She was barefoot, as is common with slaves.
“Master?” she asked. “Are you in the room?”
I moved, that she might know my presence.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said, “if I have awakened you, or disturbed you.”
I pulled away the mask I wore and discarded it, to one side on the great couch.
I snapped my fingers.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She approached the sound, and knelt before me.
“I am Beverly,” she said. “I have been sent to serve you.”
I did not speak.
“It is a great honor for me, Master,” she said, “that one such as you should select Beverly to serve you.”
I did not respond to her.
“The water will have been readied,” she said. Near the couch was a large, round, sunken tub, with some six inches of water in it. Too, to one side, there were rinsing jars.
She put the objects she carried on the floor, to her right.
“Here, Master,” she said, feeling for it, “is a slave collar. You may place it on me when you wish.” She put it, with its key, at my feet. “Here, too,” she said, putting the objects near the collar, “are slave cuffs, and anklets.” I regarded the objects, with their tiny belts and buckles, with their attached, sewn in, metal snap rings. “And here, Master,” she said, “is your whip.” She kissed it and put it, too, at my feet.
“Beverly is now ready to serve her Master,” she said.
I again snapped my fingers, and the girl stood.
She stood lovely, and straight, her hands now empty, the towels and oils, and other articles on the floor near us.
“Am I to bathe you now, Master?” she asked.
I regarded her blindfold. It was efficient, and Gorean. Most blindfolds, of a sort used on Earth, are inefficient, for one may see under them. This is not the case with the common Gorean blindfold. It consists, commonly, of three pieces, usually two rounded pieces of soft felt, three to four inches in diameter, and the binding, which usually consists of two or more turns of a dark, thick, folded cloth, or scarf, knotted behind the head. The pieces of rounded, face-hugging felt, the eye coverings, in the girl’s blindfold were about three and a half inches in diameter. They were yellow. The binding, some three turns of folded, opaque, thick black cloth, knotted tightly behind her head, held the eye coverings securely in place.
The blindfold, of course, is seldom used in the transportation of a slave. Slave hoods are much more common in such a role. Some of these are fitted with gags. Also, they may be, or some of them, locked upon the I girl. The blindfold, of course, as will be recalled by those who have seen a girl in one, has its own advantages. It permits, for example, something of the beauty of her face, such as her trembling lips, to be seen. Also it permits you to place your teeth upon hers, to test her tongue for responsiveness with yours and, if one wishes, to run the tip of one’s finger lightly inside her mouth, between her teeth and the interior of her cheek.
“May I bathe Master now?” she asked.
I jerked loose the disrobing loop at her left shoulder. Beverly Henderson was stripped before me.
I walked around, behind her. She lifted up her chin. She trembled, slightly. She was extremely aware of my presence. I bent forward, slightly. She had been subtly perfumed. She shuddered. She had felt my breath at the left side of her neck, and on her left shoulder.
I then walked about her and stood before her.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She reached out and, gently, first touching my chest, her hands lingering there for a moment, found the knot in the belt of soft cloth with which I had closed the casual tu
nic I had donned. She undid the knot and parted the tunic, kissing me at the belly. She then went behind me and, gently, removed the tunic, kissing me beneath the left shoulder blade. She then stood again before me. She folded the tunic and belt, kissing them, and then knelt down, placing them to one side. She then stood again, before me, her head down.
I smiled. The girl had been taught how to disrobe a master for the bath.
I then placed the articles for the bath in her hands, and conducted her to the side of the tub. She placed the articles where she might find them. She then took a vial of oil and one of the sponges in her hands. I then helped her step within the tub.
I looked at her.
She stood in the water, blindfolded, waiting for me. Miss Beverly Henderson, once a proud girl of Earth, now only a Gorean slave girl, waited to bathe a free male, one whom she must address as master and serve as he pleased.
I stepped down within the tub.
Then, kneeling or standing, as was fit, humbly, Miss Beverly Henderson, with the oils and sponges, and rinsing waters, bathed me.
Then, after a few Ehn, she toweled my body dry and then knelt before me, head down.
I snapped my fingers, and she stood.
I then looked at her, carefully. I assessed the nature of her breathing. I touched my fingers to her side, and noted her sudden, involuntary movement. I smiled. The Gorean bath, of such a sort, has many purposes. The cleansing of the body, of course, is only one such purpose.
It has two major purposes with respect to its effect on the girl. The first is that she is performing a lowly and humble task for a man. This helps to remind her that she is a slave. Also, of course, serving a man, particularly in small and humble ways, probably for biological reasons, tends to be sexually arousing for a woman.
Many men, I think, fail to understand that. When a girl brings a man his sandals and ties them on his feet, she is having a sexual experience. Many men, I think, fail to understand the pervasiveness and radiance, the depth, and contextual richness, of female sexuality. It is such a wondrous, deep and marvelous thing. He who denies a woman her right to serve man, and particularly in such small ways, denies to her a portion of herself; that man is not only a fool, for he is the natural recipient of such attentions, but he is cruel; such a denial, too, can make a woman ashamed to seek sexual gratification for such small services, usually unbeknownst to the boorish male, are intimately connected with such gratification; this is one reason, incidentally, that those who secretly fear sexuality, and would repudiate it, will be among the first to denounce such homely services of love.
In the case of the slave girl, of course, such services are commanded of her. She must perform them. This tells her then, on some deep level, that it is all right, truly, to be a woman. Indeed, she is given no choice but to be a woman. Thusly is her love unqualifiedly liberated. This type of thing, I think, accounts for something of the joy which is experienced by many slave girls, a joy which, otherwise, would seem inexplicable.
The second major purpose with respect to the effect on the girl, of course, is that she is touching and, in effect, in the bathing, caressing a man’s body. She is intimately close to the male, even to the extent of sensual tactuality. Being alive and hormonally active, of course, this is arousing to her. And it is, of course, particularly arousing to a slave female, for she knows she is fit meat for the lust of men. Does her very condition not tell her that? Too, of course, she herself, though touching, is not touched. This is frustrating to her, naturally, and intensifies her desire, usually near the surface in a slave, to be taken in the arms of the master.
From the point of the man, too, of course, there are several purposes of the bath. Some of these are related to those pertinent to the girl. First, he is served, as the master. He is master. Second, it is not unpleasant to be washed humbly by a beautiful woman. Third, such service tends to arouse the girl. It is not uncommon, when such a bath has been finished, and he has been toweled by the beauty, that she kneels before him and begs to be raped.
“The bath is finished, Master,” said the girl, standing before me.
I jerked loose the yellow cord from her hair. I then, with the cord, tied her wrists behind her back. I thought it well that she should feel herself tied.
I then threw thick love furs at the foot of the couch. She heard them. I lifted the chains there and put them on top of the furs.
I then conducted her to a place at the foot of the couch. She stood there on the furs. Often slave girls are not permitted on the couch. They are used at its foot. I took the steel collar, the rounded, narrow metal loop, with its lock, which she had brought with her into the room. I snapped it about her throat. It fitted closely.
“I am now a collared female,” she said. I walked away from her, and placed the key among my things.
I returned to her, then, and looked at her. Gorean men truly look at women, and they know themselves looked at, truly.
“My brand,” she said, “is the common Kajira mark. I hope it pleases Master.” I regarded it, the staff and fronds, delicate and-incisive, beauty subject to discipline.
Quickly I snapped my fingers, sharply. She knelt immediately on the furs, among the chains. She knew well where she knelt. She knelt back on her heels, spreading her knees.
I then sat on the edge of the couch, at its bottom, the palms of my hands resting on its furs, and looked upon her.
I wanted to howl with pleasure.
Beverly Henderson, naked and bound, knelt before me, in the position of the pleasure slave.
“Master?” she asked.
I noted that she had assumed the position spontaneously. That interested me.
“Master?” she inquired.
I knew that come what may I must have her, and have her well. If she were not sent forth in the morning, perhaps bruised and sobbing, as a well-ravished slave, the men of the holding of Policrates, and its master himself, would grow thoughtful. My failure to subject her uncompromisingly to the predations of my mastery would be certain to generate suspicion. The true courier of Ragnar Voskjard, I knew, would be expected to handle women well.
She pulled at the loops of braided yellow cord which held her well.
“Master has not deigned to speak to me,” she said. “Am I to be whipped? Am I not pleasing?”
I did not, of course, as was my intent, respond to her.
“Is Master not going to rape me?” she asked. “Did Master not select me out from the other girls for his pleasure?”
She squirmed, miserably, before me.
“Perhaps I am not pretty enough now for Master,” she said, “now that he has seen me closely. I know that I am not as beautiful as many of the girls. I know that they say that I am not a good slave, and that I am not well broken as yet to my collar, but I will try to please you well.”
It interested me to hear her speak. She spoke as might have a slave. Did she not know she was from Earth?
“I cannot dance,” she said. “And I do not know the love songs of slaves.”
I said nothing.
“They have not taught me to dance,” she whimpered, “nor have I been permitted to learn the desire songs of heated slaves.”
I said nothing.
“What does Master want of me?” she asked, piteously.
I did not respond to her.
“I acknowledge you as the courier of Ragnar Voskjard,” she said. “I acknowledge you as a great and important man. And I acknowledge myself as only a miserable slave. It is a great honor for me that you have selected me out, from the others, to be sent to your chambers this night, to serve you.” She looked toward me, piteously, though she could see nothing in the dark confines of the blindfold. “I will try to be worthy of your choice,” she said. “I will try to please you.”
Again I did not respond to her.
“I am frightened!” she said. “Obviously I must not be pleasing to you. Then whip me, and call for another girl.”
I did not move.
“B
ut you are not at this, moment whipping me,” she said, “nor calling for another girl. Now I am truly frightened, for I know that, somehow, now, you must find me pleasing, or of interest. But I am terrified that a man such as you might find me pleasing, or of interest. What will he do to me? Oh, please, Master, speak to me! Let me tell, if only by the tone of your voice, what are your intentions with respect to me! Oh, I am so helpless! I am so helpless!”
I regarded her, and the steel collar on her throat, placed there by my own hand.
“I am so helpless,” she wept.
Then she tossed her head, and smiled. “You have me at something of a disadvantage, Master,” she laughed, “for whereas you may see. I am blindfolded, and whereas you are free, I am kneeling collared, nude and bound.” Her lower lip suddenly trembled. “Please, speak to me, Master,” she begged.
She was very beautiful.
She squirmed in the loops of yellow cord holding her wrists behind her back.
“I understand,” she said, “why I must be blindfolded, that you have doubtless here, in the privacy of your own chambers, removed your mask. I am not to be permitted to see the face of the courier or Ragnar Voskjard, no more than others, even though I am only a lowly slave. Who knows through what sales or changings of hands a girl who is mere property such as I might pass? You cannot risk that I might, someday, somewhere, if only by inadvertence, perhaps by a startled cry or gesture, or a too-eager licking at your feet, compromise your secret.”
I was interested that she had spoken, and naturally, of the licking of feet. That sort of thing is common in a slave girl. Did she not know she was from Earth?
“But you cannot even speak to me, Master?” she begged. “Ah!” she said. “That you do not speak to me must also be intended to conceal your identity! You would not wish me to be able to recognize even your voice!” She trembled. “Or is it, rather,” she asked, “that I am so low a slave that you do not concern yourself even to speak to me?”