Explorers of Gor (28 page)

“The man who truly understands us,” she laughed, “is the first to put us on our knees and make us kiss the whip.”

‘Take off my sandals,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She looked up. “Never until I was a slave,” she said, “did I feel so helpless, alive and vulnerable.”

I said nothing.

“I must untie your sandals,” she said. “I must crawl to you, if you wish. I must do anything you want. I am happy.”

“Attend to your work,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said. Then she had removed the san-dais. She kissed them, and looked up at me.

“Tonight,” I said, “before I leave the room, I will pierce your ears.”

‘Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You will then be,” I said, “for all practical purposes, irrevocably a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. She looked up. “You do understand us, don’t you?” she asked.

“It will improve your price,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she smiled.

“I think also,” I said, “I will pierce her ears, too.” I indicated the sleeping blond girl. She had been an agent of Kurii. I decided that I would guarantee, for all practical purposes, that she would remain in a collar on Gor. I would pierce her ears.

I looked over to the sleeping girl, so worn and exhausted. I went over to her and, with one hand, lifted the blanket away from her. She stirred, troubled, sensing the difference in the temperature, the air, upon her skin. “No,” she whimpered, softly, in English. “I do not want to get up.” How beautiful she was, lying soft and helpless in the straw. She stirred again, and lifted her knee, shifting the position of her shackled ankle. “No, I do not want to get up,” she whimpered, in English. She reached down, searching for the blanket. I then held her by the upper arms. “Oh!” she said, half awakening, twisting. But I held her. “Oh,” she said, “oh,” suddenly, rudely, returning to a slave’s reality, then understanding that she lay in straw, her back on a wooden floor, held in the arms of a man. She moved her ankle, frightened, and felt the shackle and chain.

“Who is it?” she asked. I did not speak to her.

“Is it my Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Who is my Master, please,” she begged. I said nothing to her.

“Who is my Master!” she cried out, miserably.

“I am,” I told her.

“Who owns me?” she begged.

“I do,” I told her.

She turned her head to the side, and moaned. Then she again turned her face toward me, its upper portions obscured by the black, knotted blindfold.

“Why are you holding me like this?” she asked.

I said nothing to her.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

I did not speak to her.

“What do you want of me?” she asked. “Oh, no, please,” she said. “I am a virgin!” Her lip trembled. “No, please!” she said. She tensed. “No,” she said, “please, no, please do not take my virginity like this, not like this. I am blindfolded! I cannot see you! I cannot even see you. I want to see who takes my virginity from me!” Then she cried out, softly, and wept.

“It was your Master, Slave,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

I held her very still.

“How sweet and strong it is,” she breathed. “And how helplessly I am held. I could not escape now, unless you were to release me.”

I did not speak.

“Would Master deign to kiss a slave?” she asked.

I put my lips, gently, to hers, and she lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, and kissed me, and then she put her head back to the straw and the floor.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“This first time,” I said, “doubtless it is difficult and painful for you.”

“It does not hurt,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I have never been had before,” she said. “I did not know what it was like, to lie like this.”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “yes, Master.” She then held my arms. “Master,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said.

“I begin to feel like I want to respond to you,” she whispered. “May I move, Master?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh,” she. said, softly, moving, “I did not know it could be like this. Never before have I been locked in a man’s arms in this fashion. How sweet it is. How helpless I feel. I am beginning to become excited, Master. I am beginning to become terribly excited, Master!”

She lifted her lips, suddenly, to me, and kissed me, and then she put her head back, and turned it from side to side, lost in her pleasure and in the darkness of the blindfold.

Suddenly she clutched my arms. “Master!” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“We are completely alone, are we not?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Oh!” she cried out in misery. “Oh, no!” Then she asked, “who else is present?”

“Another woman,” I told her;

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” she wept “No, not”

“Do not fear,” I said. “It is only another slave.”

“Behold how the brute abuses me!” she called out “What we women suffer at the hands of such beasts!”

I was startled. Sasi looked at me, puzzled.

“Rape me as a slave,” she called out “You will get no pleasure from me!”

That seemed to me highly unlikely.

Then the chained girl lay back, pressing her hands against me, her head turned to the side.

“Have your will with me,” she said. “I am inert. I can endure. It means nothing to me.”

“Are you being troublesome?” I asked her.

“No, Master,” she said.

“Have you felt the whip?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you wish to feel it again?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“You, then,” I said, “have my permission to again respond.”

“Surely,” she said, “you did not think I was earlier responsive to you?”

“You now have my permission to again respond,” I said.

“I cannot possibly respond with another woman in the room,” she whispered to me. “Surely you must understand that, Master.”

“Respond,” I told her.

“I am commanded?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes,” I said.

“How can you command such a thing?” she asked.

“As I have done,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“And, further,” I said, “you will respond as a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, miserably. She began to move, timidly, slightly, about me.

“I will try to forget that there is another woman in the room,” she said.

“No,” I said, “keep it clearly in mind.”

“Master?” she said.

“Show her your slave heat,” I said.

“But should one not be ashamed of one’s passion?” she asked.

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said.

“Is there any rational reason?” I asked. “I do not doubt there may be many irrational reasons, or causes.”

“Perhaps because, in a man’s arms, it makes a woman a slave,” she said.

‘That,” I said, “is doubtless true, but it is a reservation which, if pertinent at all, is pertinent only, surely, to free women.”

“Yes,” she said, uncertainly.

“You are already a slave,” I said.

“Yes,” she said..

“It is permissible, I suppose,” she said, “for a slave to be passionate.”

“It is not only permissible for a slave to be passionate,” I said.

“Master?” she asked.

I held her very tightly.

“Yes Master,” she whispered.

“A slave,” I said, “must be passionate.”

“Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, ‘the slave girl has no choice. She must be passionate.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Moreover,” I said, “she is to be proud of her passion. It is one of the most splendid, and beautiful and joyful things about her.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Begin,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She began to move, and try to kiss me.

“Oh, no,”’ she said. “I am too miserable. It is too embarrassing.”

“Continue,” I told her.

“But if I continue I may become excited,” she said.

“You will become excited,” I told her.

“But there is another woman present,” she said.

“Move,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she sobbed.

“Be proud of your slave heat,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Show her your slave heat,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she sobbed. Then, in a few moments, despite her intent, I heard a moan of pleasure escape her. “Oh, no,” she added.

“It is not wrong to experience sexual pleasure,” I told her.

“But there is another woman present,” she said.

“Show her your slave heat,” I said.

“Forgive me,” she cried out, calling to whoever might be in the room, “I cannot help myself. The Master is exciting me!”

“Master,” said Sasi, unable to restrain herself. “Withdraw from her! Let me serve your pleasure!”

“No, no!” said the blond-haired barbarian, clutching me. “He is with me now!” Her lip trembled. “Do not withdraw from me,” she begged.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I want to serve your pleasure,” she whispered.

“What do you know of serving a man’s pleasure,” said Sasi. “Beg his forgiveness for disappointing him, and let him seize me in his arms.”

“No!” said the blond-haired barbarian. Then she said to me, “I am sorry if I disappoint you, Master.”

“You have not yet disappointed me,” I said.

“I will try not to disappoint you, Master,” she said.

“Let me serve your pleasure, Master,” begged Sasi.

“It is now I who am serving his pleasure!” said the blond girl.

“If you call that serving his pleasure,” said Sasi.

“Help me,” begged the blond girl.

“Lift your body against his,” said Sasi, “squirm, kiss!”

The blond moaned with misery. “That is like a slave,” she whispered.

“Obey!” said Sasi.

“Is she first girl?” asked the blond.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the blond, miserably. Then she obeyed, for she was a slave. From time to time Sasi and I made simple suggestions to the blond who, for the first time, was being ravished. We forced her to cooperate in her rape. I began to grit my teeth.

“Stop moving,” I told her.

She stopped moving. But she did not want to stop moving. She clutched my arms.

“My passion is making me a slave,” she whispered.

“You are already a slave,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Passion, technically,” I said, “has nothing to do with the imposition of the yoke of slavery. It is, of course, afterwards required of the enslaved woman. Passion is commanded of her.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“The sense in which passion makes you a slave,” I said, “is that it puts you in what is in effect a slave’s position, helpless, yielding, submitting to the master.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“But you will not even begin to know what true passion is, ignorant girl,” I said, “until you have been longer a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“You may begin again to respond now, Slave,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said. Then she began again to move and, soon, was crying out, softly.

“I think she will be a hot slave,” I said to Sasi.

“Yes,” said Sasi, “I think so, Master.”

“Please do not use those words of me,” she begged.

“Say,” I told her, “ ‘I am proud to be a hot slave.’”

“I am proud to be a hot slave,” she cried out, miserably.

“And you are proud of it, you know,” I told her.

She clutched me, startled. Her lip trembled. “Yes,” she said, suddenly, “it is true. How incredible! I am proud! I am proud to be a hot slave!”

“Of course,” I told her, “Slave.”

“No, no!” she said. “I am ashamed to be a hot slave!”

“Whether you are proud or ashamed,” I told her, “in any event, you are a hot slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. That could not be denied.

“I come from a far world,” she said. “The girl from that world is ashamed. The girl on this world, the slave, is not ashamed. She is proud.” She put her head to the side. “How shamelessly proud she is,” she said.

“The girl from the far world,” I told her, “no longer exists. What exists now, in her place, is herself transformed, herself become a beautiful slave at the mercy of a master.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“What is the name of your former world?” I asked.

“It is called Earth,” she said. “Have you heard of it, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Her women are not unknown in our markets.”

“Oh,” she said.

“They make excellent slaves,” I said.

She said nothing.

“Do you find that hard to believe?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said. Then she lifted her lips, and kissed me. “Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You took my virginity,” she said. “Now, I beg you, consummate your will upon me.”

“Do you beg as a slave?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “I beg as a slave.”

“Beg,” I told her.

“Take me,” she begged. “Make me yours. Have me, as your slave.”

“Do you yield,” I asked her, “fully and completely, and as a slave?”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “I yield, fully and completely, and as a slave.”

I then took her.

“I thought it might be you, Master,” she said, lifting her lips from my feet.

I had removed her blindfold.

It was now the sixteenth Ahn, several Ahn after I had taken the slave’s virginity.

“From the first instant I saw you,” she said, “I dreamed of being your slave. Now it is true.”

“Help Sasi clean the dishes,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She put her fingers to her ears, and turned her head, from side to side, looking at the rings in her ears.

“They are very beautiful,” she said, regarding herself in the mirror.

They were of gold, about an inch in diameter. I had pierced her ears, and put her in them.

“How glorious it is to again see,” she said. The blindfold lay discarded, to one side. She was no longer shackled to the slave ring.

Seeing my eyes upon her, she knelt. “Am I beautiful, Master?” she asked.