Blood Brothers of Gor (31 page)

OIPUTAKE

"Master! Master!" cried the blond-haired girl, delightedly, seizing me by the hand.

She drew me happily behind a lodge. She was naked, save for her beaded collar. It was the morning of the day of the great dance. Behind the lodge she knelt down before me. I as a man. "I am so happy, Master," she said. "I am so happy!"

"Why are you not in the herd?" I asked, fearful for her. "You have not run away, have you?" I asked. The penalties for a girl straying from her herd, or running away, were not light. The first offense involved being turned over to the women of the red savages for days of torment and torture. The second offense was to be punished by hamstringing and abandonment.

"No," she laughed, on her knees before me. "I have been taken out of the herd! I am no longer in it!"

"Your collar is different," I observed. This was an attractive collar, with red and yellow beading.

"I have a new master," she said, proudly, happily.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Last night," she said, "I, with others, was exchanged in the giveaways. My former master, I think, thought he was ridding himself of a poor girl, but I, as soon as I found myself within the skins of my new master's lodge, began to serve him, delicously, and as a subdued slave. He was elated. I think he was much pleased with me. He said I was a marvelous gift. He even gave my old master an additional kaiila. My old master was furious then, at having let me go. But he cannot do anything about it now. I now belong to my new master."

"Wonderful," I said.

"I now have a name!" she said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oiputake," she said.

"That s the word for a kiss," I said.

"Yes," she smiled. "And sometimes," she laughed, "I do not know when my master is merely calling me or ordering me to please him!"

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"As you are a slave," I said, "I do not think I would take chances in the matter."

"I cannot," she laughed. "If I am in the least doubt, I kiss him."

I smiled.

"And he, the marvelous monster, in my control, takes liberal advantage of that ambiguity!"

"Oiputake," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, leaning forward, kissing me on he thigh.

"I see there are some advantages," I said, "in giving a girl such a name."

"You men are all alike, in owning us, in mastering us," she laughed.

"Perhaps," I said.

"My Master informs me," she said, "that if I continue to please him he might even permit me clothing."

"Splendid," I said.

"And he might braid my hair," she said.

"He must beware," I said, "lest he become weak."

"I think there is little danger of that," she laughed. "He is a red savage."

"Would you like him to become weak," I asked, "so that you might wind him about your little finger?"

"No," she said. "I want only, in all things, to be his perfect slave."

"He is a red savage," I said. "I think there is little danger that you would be permitted to be anything else."

"No, Master," she laughed.

"You seem happy," I said.

"I am," she said, "unspeakable happy. And I owe it all to you."

"To me," I shrugged, "or to some other man."

"It was you," she said. "And I shall never forget it." Her eyes clouded. "There is only one thing." she said.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I am so helpless now," she said. "My needs--"

"Yes," I said.

"MY appetites have been ignited," she said. "My needs have been so aroused. It puts me so much, now, at the mercy of men." She squirmed, on her knees. She rubbed her thighs together.

"That is common in a female slave." I said.

"I can hardly look at an attractive man now," she said,

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"without feeling warm, and receptive, let alone being in a collar, and naked on my knees before one."

"I understand," I said.

"At one time," she said, "I would never have dreamed that I might one day beg a man for his touch, but last night, in the arms of my master, I did so."

"I understand," I said.

"Tearfully," she said, "I, once a proud free woman of Ar, now only a slave, pleaded for his caresses."

"And was he kind?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I love him!"

"You might have been whipped instead," I said.

"I know," she said, "for I am only a slave. I love him! I love him!"

"I am happy for you," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"Did you yield well to him?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I yielded to him from he bottom of my belly."

"Superb," I said.

She squirmed on her knees, before me.

"Are you in distress?" I asked.

"But these feelings," she said, "which you first induced in me--"

"Yes?" I said.

"They make me helpless before almost any man," she said.

"What feelings?" I asked.

"Sometimes my heart palpitates and my breath quickens," she said. "Sometimes my entire skin seems suddenly suffused with warmth. It seems my breasts and thighs want to be touched. I want to be held. I want to be caressed. My belly grows hot and receptive. I feel desire. I am open, and wet. The smell of my needs is upon me."

"Kiss my feet," I told her.

She bent down and kissed my feet. She then lifted her head and looked at me, tears in her eyes.

"Do such feelings disturb you?" I asked.

"Sometimes," she said, "I am so ashamed of these changes in my body."

"They are nothing to be ashamed of," I said. "Be pleased, rather, that your body, at last, freed of inhibitions, consructions and rigidities, is in perfect working order."

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"Perfect working order?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "The feelings you describe, and many others, like them, are the natural and spontaneous reactions of healthy and passionate woman in the presence of an attractive male. Rather than feel shame at experiencing them you should feel concern if you did not. The failure to feel such feelings, in situations in which it would be natural to feel them, would presumably be a clue as to the presence of some unfortunate barrier or blockage, either physical or, more likely psychological."

"But do good women have such feelings?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said. "But sick women do not."

She looked at me.

"What is a 'good woman,' " I asked, "one who is natural, spontatneous, feminine and loving, or one who conforms to certain cultural stereotypes, the results, usually, of attempts on the part of aggressive mental cases to impose their maladies, from which they seem unable to escape, on others?"

She did not speak.

"Some virtues," I said, "require a cure."

"But such feelings," she said, "could make a woman a slave."

"Yes," I said.

"I see why some women fear them," she said.

"So do I," I said. "But you are a slave, so you need not be concerned about such matters. Enslaved, you are free, interestingly and paradoxically, to be free."

"You make me feel free," she said.

"Beware you are not whipped," I said.

She contritely kissed my feet.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I do feel distress," she sid.

"I know," I said.

"Real distress," she said.

"You are a female of strong, though once rigidly suppressed, drives, who has been enslaved," I said.

"Master?" she said.

"Too," I said, "the feelings of the normal woman, under the conditions of forthright and explicit slavery, are often multiplied a hundred fold, and, in some women, it seems, a thousand fold."

"I cannot stand it, Master," she said.

"Grovel," I told her.

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"Surely you would not make me do that?" she said.

I pointed to the ground at my feet, uncompromisingly. She slipped to her belly before me. I felt her lips and tongue on my feet.

"The important thing," I said, "is to be what you are. If you are a slave, be a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What are you?" I asked.

"A slave," she whimpered, kissing at my feet.

"Then be a slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

The collar looked well on her neck, under her hair.

"You treat me," she said, "like I was--like I was--"

"A slave," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"You are a slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"So expect to be treated as one," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I let her please me for a time in this fashion, bellying before me, kissing, and licking and suckling at my feet.

"You grovel well, Slave," I said.

"Thank you , Master," she said.

"You would not begrudge a fellow the enjoyment of his sovereignty, would you?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"You look well at a man's feet," I said.

She moaned in humiliation, and in severe sexual destress.

"You may thank me," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"You're welcome," I said.

"You enjoy my debasement," she said. "You enjoy it!"

"Yes," I said. "So do you."

Her small shoulders shook. I saw that what I had said was true.

"You may kneel before me," I said.

She rose to a kneeling position before me. "You have not touched me," she said, "and yet you have much aroused me."

I did not respond to her. Human females are such rich and wonderful creatures. Their sexual life, and feelings, are subtle, complex and deep. How naive is the man who believes that having sex with a woman is so little or brief a thing as to fall within the parameters of a horizontal plane, the simple stimulations of a skin, the results attendant upon a simplistic manual

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dexterity. How woefully ignorant are he engineers of sexuality. How much to learn have even her artists and poets! Women are so inordinately precious. They are so sensitive, so beautiful, so intelligent and needful. No man has yet counted the dimentions of a woman's love. Who can measure the horizons of her heart? Few things, I suspect, are more real than those which seem most intangible.

"Without even touching me," she said, "you have much aroused me. And now I kneel helplessly before you."

Her distress was obviousl. She was a slave, and needed desperately to be taken. And yet I had done little but treat her as a woman, and impress, categorically, male domination upon her. I did not think she was now in doubt as to her sex.

"When I led you behind the lodge," she said, "I was grateful and happy. It was my intention to make you a gift, of my own free will, of my pleasures. But now you ahve made me needful. Now you have put me at your mercy!"

"It is suitable, Slave," I said.

"Will you not be kind?" she asked.

I did not speak to her.

"You see me helpless and needful," she said, "begging."

"It beifts you," I said, "Slave."

"Men do this to us," she said. "They make us this way, and then they decide whether or not they will even touch us!"

"Sometimes, too, as I understand it," I said, "a girl is made to perform."

"Perform?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "she is made, so to speak, to earn her havings."

"Yes, Master," she said. "That is not uncommon."

"Are you prepared to work for your havings," I asked, "to earn them?"

"Yes, Master," she said. "I will do anything."

"But you must do anything anyway," I said, "for you are a slave."

"Yes, Master," she moaned. "Yes, Master."

I looked down upon her.

She squirmed, and clenched her small fists. There were tears in her eyes.

"I am in need," she said.

I crouched next to her, and felt her, gently. She pressed her small, hot, wet, rounded belly into my hand, her eyes closed.