Explorers of Gor (29 page)

“Almost,” I told her.

She looked, kneeling, in the mirror. “I do not wish to sound vain,” she said, “but I think that I must be as beautiful as almost any woman upon Earth.”

“You doubtless are,” I said. “But are you as beautiful as a Gorean slave girl?”

“Surely, Master,” she said, “that would depend on the Gorean slave girl.”

“Do you think you are as beautiful as the general run of Gorean slave girls?” I asked.

She put down her head. “No, Master,” she said, “I do not. I did not know such women could exist, until I saw several in Cos, when I was free, and some on the wharves of Port Kar and Schendi, after I myself, sold in a market, became a slave.” She looked at me. “Sometimes,” she said, “it seems almost wrong that a woman should be so beautiful and desirable.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she smiled. “Perhaps it is because I am not so beautiful and desirable. Perhaps it is because men are so fond of them. Perhaps I am jealous of their beauty and desirability, and am envious because they, and not I, are found so attractive by men.”

“It is natural for the ugly to find an error in beauty,” I said.

“I am not ugly, am I?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “you are not. Indeed, you are almost beautiful.”

“I wonder if Gorean men, such as yourself,” she said, “understand how fortunate they are, that there should be such women on their world.”

“Are their not plenitudes of such women on your world,” I asked, “beautiful and desirable who, loving and helpless, beg to serve and please?”

“How you Gorean beasts,” she said, “take naively for granted the glorious riches at your disposal.”

I shrugged.

She looked at me. “How ir it,” she asked, “that on your world things are not as on my world?”

“Gorean men are not weaklings and fools,” I said.

She looked at me.

“They have not chosen to surrender the dominance which is the blood and backbone of their nature.”

She swallowed hard.

“They keep it,” I told her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, what?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“What of me?” asked Sasi. “Am I not beautiful? Are not my earrings lovely?”

“Yes,” I said, “you are beautiful, and your earrings, you little she-sleen, are marvelous upon you.” Sasi’s earrings, too, of gold, were the same as those of the blond-haired barbarian.

“Thank you, Master,” she said. Sasi was in a good mood. After I had had the blond this morning, early, upon returning from the tavern of Pembe, I had slept for several hours. But when I had awakened I had contented her slave appetites. We had then eaten, from foods which she had, during my rest, I having given her a few coins, purchased in Schendi. Some of this food I gave to the blond who, at that time, was still blindfolded. I thrust it, some bread and fruit, in her mouth, while she had knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. This is something done with a girl in her first feeding, or feedings, and may, upon occasion, be repeated. She is fed as an animal, and from the hand of the master, and while in the position of the pleasure slave. This helps to reinforce the centrality of her condition upon her. This helps her to understand what she is.

“At least,” smiled the blond, “I am almost beautiful.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “You will someday become beautiful.”

She looked at me.

“Women grow in beauty, and slavery,” I told her.

She looked in the mirror. “Beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “I think that someday you may find that you have become beautiful even for a Gorean slave girl.”

Her eyes were startled.

“Yes,” I said, “I think that possibly one day you will find that you have become exquisitely beautiful and desirable, and that your least movement, that of even a wrist or hand, or smallest expression, will be tormentingly attractive to a man. You may then tremble in terror, for you will have become a beautiful Gorean slave girl.”

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I am afraid to be beautiful,” she said.

“Naturally,” I said. “But I am afraid you will not be able to help yourself.”

“But as I become more beautiful, and desirable,” she said, “I would become more helpless, more a slave, more than ever at the mercy of these mighty men of Gor.”

“Yes,’ I said, “of course. You would be then only their helpless, beautiful slave.”

“How fearful,” she said.

I said nothing.

“Do you truly think I might become beautiful?” she asked. She lifted her hair over her head, straightening her body, and regarded herself in the mirror.

“Yes,” I said.

She then removed her hands from her hair. Behind her, her hair came, falling, to the sweetness of her shoulder blades. This was a bit short for the hair of a Gorean slave girl. Their hair, as is required by most masters, is usually somewhat long. There is more that can be done with long hair, both with respect to adding variety to the girl’s appearance and in the furs, than with short hair. Sometimes the girl is even tied in her own hair. Most importantly, perhaps, long hair is beautiful on a girl, or surely, at least, on many girls. Too, many masters enjoy unbinding it, before ordering a girl to the furs. Unbinding a girl’s hair, on Gor, incidentally, is culturally understood as being the act of one who owns her. A free woman, captured, whose hair her captor unbinds, usually the first time by the stroke of a knife, a precaution against poison pins and other devices, knows full well by this act that she will soon be made his slave. Many Gorean masters, incidentally, shape and trim the hair of their own girls. This is less expensive than having it done in a pen. Too, it is pleasant to cut the hair of a girl one owns. She generally kneels, a wrap of rep-cloth about her shoulders, while this is done. Beneath the wrap of rep-cloth, of course, she is naked and in the position of the pleasure slave. When one is through with the cutting it is then convenient to have her.

She looked at herself, kneeling, in the mirror.

“The earrings are beautiful,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She brushed her hair back with her two hands and, turning her head from side to side, her finger tips at her ears, again regarded herself.

She had the vanity of a lovely slave.

“What do you see in the mirror?” I asked.

“A slave girl,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“A girl to be bought and sold, and abused for a master’s pleasure.

“Of course,” I said.

“I may not be beautiful,” she said, “but I am delicate and lovely, am I not?”

“Yes,” I said, “you are.”

“Could you truly bring yourself to put me beneath your heavy and uncompromising will?” she asked.

“Certainly,” I said.

“You could, and you will, won’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Could you whip me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“It is a strange feeling, being a slave,” she said.

“You will grow used to it, Slave Girl,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I went to her, behind her, standing there, before the mirror.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“A slave girl,” she said, “at the feet of her master.”

I put my hand in her hair, and turned her head, from side to side. Then I stopped.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“A slave girl, at the feet of her master,” she said, “his hand in her hair, commanding her, making her do what he wishes.”

I then, with my hand in her hair, turned her to the side and bent back her body, exposing, as she knelt there, helpless, the lovely slave bow of her beauty.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“A displayed slave,” she said. I did not release her. Suddenly she said, “No! Oh, no!”

I waited for a full moment, holding her helplessly there, letting her see well whatever it might be that she saw. And then I released her. She knelt there, terrified, shuddering, before the mirror.

“What did you see?” I asked.

“It is hard to explain,” she said, shuddering. “Suddenly, for a fearful moment, I saw myself as incredibly beautiful, as beautiful as I might someday be, but the beauty was not the cool and formal beauty of a free woman, something I can understand, but the hot, sensuous, helpless beauty of an owned slave, and I was the slave! And, too, for a moment I thought I understood how such a woman might look to a man. It was so frightening! How we must fear that they might simply seize us and tear us to pieces in their lust! Then suddenly I understood the brand and collar, the whip, the chain! Of course they would brand us, marking us as their own. Of course they would put us in steel collars, which we could not remove! Of course they could chain us to their walls and slave rings! Of course they would use the whip unhesitantly upon us if we were in the least displeasing!”

She knelt before the mirror, shuddering. “Perhaps now,” I said, “you understand, in some small particular, what it is for a woman to be attractive to a man.”

“They want us,” she whispered, frightened, “literally.”

“Yes,” I said.

“They want to own us,” she said, “own us!”

“Of course,” I said.

“I did not know such desire, such lust, could exist,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And I could be owned by such a man,” she said. Then she looked up at me, and then, suddenly, put down her head. “And I am owned by such a man,” she said, trembling.

“And what do you feel of this?” I asked.

“Nothing on my own world has prepared me for this, Master,” she said.

“There is a stain of blood on your thigh,” I said.

“My Master took my virginity,” she said.

“You are now a red-silk girl,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, “I am now a red-silk girl.”

“Whose red-silk girl?” I asked.

“Your red-silk girl, Master,” she said.

I walked back to the center of the room and turned, facing her. She knelt before the mirror.

“Stand up,” I told her. She did so.

“Turn and approach me,” I said. “But I am naked,” she said.

“Do you wish for me to repeat a command?” I asked.

She turned white. “No, Master,” she said. She then approached me, and stood quite closely before me. She had not been taught to stand this closely before me. She knew, instinctively, in the circumstances, where she would stand. This pleased me for it indicated, whether she knew it or not, that she was a natural slave. This distance, of course, was not cultural for her. She came from a culture which requires a significant distance, usually a yard or more, between male speakers and as much, or more, between speakers of the opposite sex. Yet she knew readily, or instinctively, or intuitively, or naturally, or somehow, that she should be, in these circumstances, standing as she was before me, at a distance where I might, if I wished, without inconvenience, simply take her in my arms.

She looked up at me. “Master?” she asked.

The Gorean slave girl, incidentally, will space herself from her master quite differently in different situations. For example, if she is somewhat farther away, it is easier for her to display herself in all her beauty; if she wishes to wheedle for his caress she may approach quite closely; if she is receiving instructions she may kneel a few feet away; if she is begging to serve his pleasure she may kneel at his feet, perhaps kissing them, and holding his ankles; obviously, too, a girl who fears she is to be disciplined will commonly hang back; sometimes, too, a girl will fear to approach too closely until the master, by an expression or small sign, indicates that she is not in obvious disfavor and may do so.

I took the head of the blond-haired barbarian in my hands and looked at her. She lowered her eyes. How magnificent it is to own a woman! What can compare with it?

I turned her head, from side to side. How exciting were the earrings, penetrating the soft flesh of her ear lobes. I looked at the tiny wires vanishing in the minute punctures and then emerging, looping her ears, as though in a slave bond, making them the mounting places from which, thus fastened upon her, by my will, dangled two golden rings, barbaric ornaments enhancing the beauty of a slave. I smiled to myself. On Earth I had thought little of earrings. Yet now, in the Gorean setting, how exquisite and exciting they suddenly seemed. Perhaps then, for the first time, I truly began to sense how the Gorean views such things. Surely these things are symbolic as well as beautiful. The girl’s lovely ears have been literally pierced; the penetrability of her sweet flesh is thus brazenly advertised upon her very body, a proclamation of her ready vulnerability, in incitement to male rapine. And when she wears the earrings, he can see the metal disappearing in the softness of her ear, literally fixed within it. Her flesh is doubly penetrated, her softness about the intruding metal, before his very eyes. The wire loop, too, or rod, when it emerges from the ear and, by one device or another, fastens the ring upon her, may suggest her bondage. Too, if the ring itself is closed, perhaps it suggests her susceptibility to the locked shackle, say, a wrist ring or slave bracelet; would there not, in the two rings, be one, so to speak, for each wrist? It is little wonder that Gorean free women never pierce their ears; it is little wonder that, in the beginning, it was only the lowest and most exciting of pleasure slaves who had their ears pierced; now, however, it is not uncommon on Gor for almost any pleasure slave to have her ears pierced; the custom of piercing the ears of a slave has now become relatively widespread: it has been done in Turia, of course, for generations. Too, of course, the ring is an obvious ornament. The girl placed in it has thus been ornamented. Ornamentation is not inappropriate in a slave. Lastly, the ring is beautiful. Thus it makes the slave more beautiful.

I held her head still, and lifted it, that it might face me. She opened her eyes, looking up at me. “Master?” she asked.

I looked down at her.

“You are a legal slave,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“But what you do not yet know,” I said, “is that you are also a true slave, a natural slave.”

“I come from a world,” she said, “where women are not slaves.”