Heartless Cruelty

 

Heartless Cruelty

Pauline Anne Armitage

This is brutal!  Heartless in the extreme.  What the poor girl is suffering is cruelty personified.  But then, this is Gor.  Civilised standards, as I grew up with, being an Earth-girl slave, a barbarian by Gorean thinking, are not the same here.  I suppose that it’s a matter of perspective.  

Some things here, can be seen as more civilised than on Earth.  Also, the Gorean concepts of what constitutes ‘civilised’ are totally different.  Even the concept of slavery itself, abhorrent to those on Earth, is much more honest.  I at least know who owns me, who feeds me, who clothes me.  On earth, I worked for a multi-national company.  I was paid barely enough to survive.  I was effectively a slave to the ‘system’.  I had no idea who, ultimately I worked for, who owned me.

My Master here, is Franciscus Gabulus, Ubar of Samnium, a city-state south-east of Brundisium.  I’m lucky to be beautiful enough that a man as powerful as my Master wants me, wanted to own me.  Yes, a slave is property, owned, can be bought and sold as one would an object or an animal.  I am perfect for my Master.  He, for his part, knows how to draw the most wonderful and abject surrenders from my body.  In truth, I love him.  I would not have him significantly different.  Rarely have I upset him enough for him to have me whipped.  That’s not to say that he is soft with me, unable or unwilling to punish me when I get ‘out of line’, when I deserve it.  Anything but!  He does however have a cruel streak in him.  I try in my womanly way to leaven that, but Gorean men don’t take kindly to women, particularly slaves that try to change them, weaken them.

(Illustration: Exotic by Gorean-Art, Deviant Art)

What my Master has done to the new slave is truly cruel.  I’m not sure that my Master, understands that.  He’s a MAN, a Gorean man, at that.  He cannot know what the slave girl is really suffering; nor would he have pity on her.  To a Gorean man, pity demeans both parties to it.  His however is the lesser cruelty.  Given how much my thinking has changed since I was brought to Gor, I can even forgive him for that cruelty.  Who I cannot forgive is the author of the greater cruelty, Cernus, slaver of Ar.  Even if it was not his idea, that he chose to implement it is totally inhumane, infamous, evil even.

That the girl is being raped, even multiply raped, is not the worst of it.  To an awakened slave-girl, one who has learned that at heart she truly is a slut, such as I, a ‘gang-bang’ to use an earth phrase, can be very pleasurable indeed.  But to a ‘white-silk’ girl, such an event can be traumatic, physically abusive as well as mentally so.  This however goes beyond such trauma.  The girl is in danger of suffering what on Earth is called ‘shell-shock’. ‘Post traumatic stress disorder’.  Doubtless she thinks that she is going mad!

I had been there, kneeling in chains at the foot of my Master, when he’d been discussing the purchase of the new slave girl with Al Kobir, the agent of the house of Cernus.  I had been horrified, but it was not my place, nor dare I, comment in the slightest way.  I have enough respect for the effects of the lash, not to court  them.  Nor at the time, did I have any inkling as to the use that my Master would have for the girl.  Not that it was my business, of course.

 

The girl was young.  Barely seventeen or eighteen years old.  Pretty, but not stunning.  However, the aesthetic tastes of the men of Gor are not the same as those of the men of Earth.  Also, it is believed here on Gor, that women become more beautiful, the deeper their slavery.  She is dark haired, her body, as much as can be seen outside the brief silken tunic she wears, is shapely.  She is gently plucking the strings of a czehar, it’s oblong sound box giving off a delightful melody.

“She can’t see us?”

“No, Ubar.  On her side of the room, all she sees is a mirrored wall.”

“Well, she’s pretty enough.  You say that she’s white-silk?”

“Most assuredly, Ubar, More than that.  Much more than that.”

“What can be more than virginal, untouched, pure?  No matter.  What do you want for her?”

“Twenty Gold Tarn disks, Ubar.”

My Master almost chokes.  I have great difficulty in not laughing.

“Are you mad, Al Kobir!?”

“She’s very special, Ubar.  Her name is Stora.”

“”What is she, Al Kobir?  The daughter of an Ubar?”

“Much rarer than that, Ubar.  She’s a bred slave, but she doesn’t even know that she is a slave.  The very idea of slavery has been kept from her, and she’s never known men”

“Now you are being stupid, Al Kobir, that’s what being ‘white-silk’ is!  And who in all Gor doesn’t know what slavery is?”

“No, Ubar.  You don’t understand.  Since infancy she’s been raised totally in a female environment.  She’s never seen a man.  She’s had nothing to tell her that men even exist.  She doesn’t know what a man is.  To her, a man is not even a myth.  He simply doesn’t exist in her world.  If we were to walk into that room, she would wonder what kind of animal we were.  She wouldn’t even think that we were human.  The only humans she has ever seen, have been women.”

I am utterly appalled!  Intrigued, but horrified!

“Really?!”

“Yes.  You can see therefore, how expensive it has been to bring her to this stage, ready to be sold.  Why I have to ask so much.”

Master laughs.

“You’re a robber, Al Kobir!…”

There’s no real insult to Master’s comment.

“… Fifteen Tarn disks, then.  And if I find out later that you’ve lied to me about her provenance, then I’ll cut your balls off!”

“Then my balls are safe!  However, if I were to accept less than eighteen, I’d be cutting my own throat!”

“Cut away, then.  Seventeen and no more!  She can be transported to my palace, still in ignorance of men?”

Al Kobir responds rather dolefully.

“You drive a hard bargain, Ubar.  Done!  Yes, Ubar.  If you wish to keep her in ignorance beyond that, then you’ll have to put facilities in place at your end to sequester her totally.”

 

It is a celebration banquet, in honour of some fifteen men who’ve just returned from a reconnaissance mission to Torcadino, bringing back with them, vital intelligence information about that city’s defences.  They’ve been away a month.  They’ve had no use of women during that time.  To a Gorean man, that’s a torment in itself.  The household slaves, whilst serving food, paga, and ka-la-na wine deferentially, have been told categorically that they are not available to these men, until told otherwise.  When grasped, a girl would say to the man.

“Sorry Master, My Master has not authorised my usage at this time.”

Several of the men look puzzled.  Some even, annoyed.  I too am mystified.  I wouldn’t mind being thrown to them, for their use.  Some of them are exciting men!  As it is, I’m chained to my Master’s curule chair.  I really hope that he’ll use me tonight.  It’s been three days since he last took me, and my need is upon me.

The bacchanal is well underway.  The fifteen men glower.  They are getting restive.  The food is finished, and the tables have been pushed back towards the edges of the room.  Master claps his hands to gain attention.

“I want everyone in the room to remain silent.  You fifteen warriors, congratulations, by the way, to form a circle in the centre of the room.”

There is a shuffling as people comply.

“I’m going to give you a girl, for your sport this evening.  She’s white-silk, for now.…”

I’d forgotten about the girl that Master had bought; the one who had no conception of what a man is.  I’m aghast that Master could do this to even a slave-girl.  It’d be like a deaf person suddenly hearing a symphony, a blind person confronted with the sight of a huge city, only worse.  To not only find herself surrounded by what to her were fifteen monsters, but for each of them to manhandle her, fuck her, perhaps several time over.  It’d be terrifying for her.  It could drive her mad!

“She’s never known a man.  Never known that men exist at all.  She is the ultimate innocence personified.  Enjoy!”

There is much cheering and laughter from all of the guests.  Master again calls for silence and indicates that the girl be brought into the room.  The girl is blindfolded.  She wears the skimpiest of tunics.  Doubtless it will be ripped from her in short order.  She is led to the centre of the circle; one of the men stepping aside to allow her and her attendant to pass.  The attendant rips the blindfold from the girl and steps back.  The man who’d stepped back resumes his place.  The girl looks round and screams in terror.  It’s not just the fifteen men surrounding her, its the dozens of others in the room.  What are these strange animals that surround her.  It’s as if she finds herself among what earth folk might call ‘space aliens’.  The fifteen men close in, grasping the girl, carrying her to the floor.  They slake their lust on the screaming, wriggling, girl, openly and for quite a long time.  Gorean men are not bashful about having sex publicly.  They do not need privacy, though they do prefer such if it is available.  The men are not gentle with the girl.  I see some of them slap her, spank her, thrust their manhood into her, have her take their fleshy ‘swords’ in her hands and mouth, warning her not to bite, upon pain of death.  For all that, I see glimpses of the girl writhing her hips to the beat set by the man then riding her.  Her experience then, while shocking, is not without some measure of pleasure.  Finally the men are satiated with the girl.  She’s lying on the floor curled into a foetal ball crying and moaning.  I can stand it no more.

“Permission to speak, Master?”

“Yes, Sela?”

From the corner of my eye, I see two guards pick the girl up and drag her away.

“The new slave Stora, is shocked, distraught, even hurt.  There is a risk that she may become insane.  Would you allow this slave to tend her, befriend her, teach her what she needs to know, in order to survive this ordeal and those to come.  If she were to be destroyed because she was to be unable to function, then Master’s financial loss would be great.”

I hoped that by appealing to the practicality of helping her, rather than the emotional, that he might more readily permit me to help the girl.  Master considers for a moment.

“Granted!  Do a good job, Sela!  I’ll want to fuck her myself as soon as she’s got herself sorted out.”

Of course I’ll do a good job.  I’m a slave.  If I should fail to do so, in anything, I know that the lash awaits.  As for Master wishing to enjoy the pleasures of the new girl, I’m not jealous.  Whilst I know that Master enjoys and even perhaps cherishes me, I’m under no illusions that I have any more right to share Master’s furs, than any other, slave or free.  Master Releases the clip attached to my collar, the one attaching me to his chair.  He unfastens the slave bracelets from behind my back and refastens them at the front.  He leaves my ankle chains as they are.  There’s enough play on them, for me to be able to move, albeit slowly.

“Go.  Do what you have to.”

I bow in obeisance before shuffling backwards from his presence.

 

I find Stora in the communal slave cage.  There is no one else there.  The rest of the slaves are doubtless involved in the preparation and serving of the banquet, serving the pleasures of the guests, or whatever else they are needed for.  Stora is sat against the wall, hugging her knees.  She has a haunted look in her eyes.  There are the marks of fresh tears on her cheeks, and the stain of her virginal blood on the inside of her thighs.  I go down onto my hands and knees.  I push forward at the ‘slave-door’, an apparatus rather like what I remember as a ‘cat-flap’, only larger.  The slave-door, unless a special switch on the outside, is pushed, only allows a slave to enter the cage, not to leave it.  I approach the girl.  She croaks out a half-hearted threat.

“Leave me alone!”

“Peace, Stora!  I’m here to help you.”

“You know my name!?”

“Yes, Stora.”

“I’m Sela.”

I sit down next to Stora, close enough to reach over her head pulling her towards me in a loving hug.  I wait a couple of ehn^[1] before reaching over her head and shoulders, doing just that.  Stora dissolves into a fresh flood of tears.  I hold her tightly for what seems to be quite a while.  I know, or at least hope, that Stora will talk when she’s ready.  Her voice is soft, hesitant.

“What are they?  I’ve never seen animals like that, not even on the farm where we would sometimes secretly be taken.”

Yes, men, particularly Gorean men, can be animals, brutes, but they do have their compensations.  To a girl, so brutally dragged from effective childhood, into opened womanhood, such consolations have barely begun to be apparent to her.  She continues.

“They’re so big!  They have arms like mine, legs like mine, but so much stronger!  Some of them have hair on their faces!  They have something between their legs!  Their chests are flat!  What are they,  What kind of animal are they?”

“They are called man, in plural, men.  As I understand it, you’ve never seen one of them until today.”

“No, none was never brought into the garden.  Occasionally the aunt’s…”

Aunts?  Wardresses? Teachers, perhaps?  Probably slaves, trusted ones; one’s that have been warned about what they must and mustn’t say to the girls.

“...would bring in an animal, a couple of urts^[2], a jard^[3], a hith^[4] even once, a small sleen^[5], but never one of those, what was it? Men?”

“This garden?  It was where you grew up?  Did you never wonder what was outside the garden?”

“Outside?  I don’t understand…”

This is going to be hard going!

“The opposite of ‘inside’ the garden.  Be assured, you are most definitely outside the garden.  This is not part of the garden.  This is the real world.  The garden is just a tiny part of that world.  In the garden, you were sheltered from that outside world.”

I pause before the next question, knowing as I do that Stora does not know what the word means.

“Do you know what the word ‘slave’ means?”

“No.”

They’ve not even told the girl that she’s a slave, but then Al Kobir had said as much.

“Servant?”

“Ah, yes.  On a rota basis, we had to be servants to the aunts.  Fetch them food, drink, rearrange their cushions. Kneel behind them, in case they wanted anything else.”

“Well, a slave is a kind of servant, but much more.  You and I are both slaves.  We are both owned by a man…”

“Owned?…”

Oh dear...

“Yes.  We are property, like a cushion, a vase, an ornament.  We can be bought, sold, given away, traded, entirely at the whim of our owner.”

“Ah…  Like in the garden, when Livia had a pastry, I’d give her the use of my blanket, and she’d let me have half the pastry?”

“Yes!  But on a much bigger scale.”

“I think that I understand.  We are like that pastry.  The owner can swap us for something else that she wants”

“You’ve got it!  But the term for a man is ‘he’, not ‘she’.”

Stora thinks briefly, trying to file away in her mind, the ramifications of this.  I must move on with her lessons.

“What did they tell you, you were, biologically speaking?  You are not a sleen.  You are not water, you are not air, you are not an abstract concept.  What did they call you?”

“I think that I understand.  They said that I was a girl, until a year and a half ago.  At that time, I started bleeding between my legs.  After that, they called me a woman.  They said that I would bleed similarly every month or so, and they were right.”

I have to ask, given that she’s just been ‘gang-raped’.

“Were you given a very bitter tasting drink recently?”

“Yes, it was putrid.  Horrible.  The taste lingered in my mouth for almost a day.  Why?”

She’s had her slave-wine^[6].  At least she won’t become pregnant.

“We’ll save that question for later.  More important is the concept of you as as woman, and that of men.”

I can almost see her thinking.  She has a wistful look.

“Wo-man?  Man?”

She’s nearly got it…

“Yes, Stora, Man and woman are simply two variants of the same species; the same kind of animal, human beings.  You mentioned that men had bigger and stronger arms.  Apart from hair on the faces of some of them, they had two eyes as you do, one nose, one mouth  In the bigger view, you and they are one and the same.”

“But the differences…”

She’s struggling to find the words.

“Their chests are so flat!  And what were those things between their legs?”

I really do need to go back to the basics of human reproduction with Stora.

“Do you know what babies are?”

“Yes.  Every so often one would be brought into the garden.  They would stay and grow into girls.  I suppose that eventually they would become women…”

“Precisely.  Though some such babies become boys.  That’s what a younger version of a man is  called.  You would never have seen one of these ‘boys’.”

I pause.

“Do you know how babies are formed?  Where they come from, before being brought into you garden?”

“No…”

“A man and a woman are put together.  Those parts of a man that dangle down between his legs, excite.  He pushes the long stiff part into the slit that a woman has, moving it forward and back.  Eventually a substance, a bodily excretion shoots from this stiff rod, deep into the belly of the woman.  This mixes with a special tiny egg-like thing inside the woman’s body.  That egg grows inside the woman’s body for several months until it’s ready to come out of the woman’s slit as a baby.  The first part of this, is what happened to you.  You won’t have a baby though.  That was the purpose of that horrible drink you were given.  It stops the mixture of the man’s excretion and the woman’s egg.”

She looks at me agog, as though she doesn’t believe me.

“But why then. would they want to do that, if not to make babies?”

I laugh.  Her naivety is so charming.

“For the man, he gets great pleasure from doing this, especially at the point of release, when he spurts.  That’s why he likes to do this.”

I see her trying to take this in.  I continue.

“For the woman too, once she’s used to engaging in such acts, and if the man is skilled, then this act can be indescribably pleasurable too.  Woman, and particularly slave women, find that life without this kind of pleasure can be seriously frustrating.”

“But how can it be pleasant when it hurt?”

“Ah yes.  The first time it can hurt.  Afterwards it shouldn’t unless the man is being rough and uncaring.  Be honest with yourself, the first time one of the men pushed his penis (that’s what this probe of his, is called) into you, may have hurt, but later as more and more did the same, you were beginning to enjoy it.  I saw the way your hips moved.”

Stora looks at me quite sheepishly, as if not wanting to admit that the feelings were not unpleasant.

“I don’t know what I was feeling.  It was a strange experience.  I’m not sure that I’d call it pleasant, but I felt that I was in a strange dream world, only it wasn’t a dream.”

“Yes, I understand.  I too have been there many times, and hope to many more times in the future.”

She looks at me curiously

“In the future, mostly, you will be used in this manner by one man at a time, not the fifteen or so that used you earlier.  You will find hopefully that he won’t be so brutal as what you’ve just experienced.  A good man will try to give you as much pleasure as he gets, if not more.”

She’s trying to grasp so many new concepts.

“You, for your part, and as a woman must never be afraid of such feelings, and indeed must embrace them, if your life is to not be truly awful.  Never be afraid that a man can instil such feelings in you, but as a slave, always be a little fearful of men, and particularly your Master, your owner.  Women, and particularly slaves, are weaker than men.  Men therefore are more dominant.  A man that owns a slave has absolute rights over her.  He can demand anything of her.  She must be totally obedient to his will.  He can punish us, chain us, even kill us, if he wishes.  Your first duty to your Master, is to be absolutely pleasing to him, in every way.  Particularly when he wishes to use your slit with his penis, for his pleasure, and hopefully yours too. When he’s not using you in this manner, you can expect to spend time in useful chores.  Do everything you do to the best of your ability, and hopefully your Master will be kind to you.  Your first few months will be difficult, but as you begin to grasp what and how your Master wants you to be, you should begin to see his better qualities.”

“I think that I understand…  Thank you.”

“Sela…?”

“Why do you have metal bands round your wrists and ankles?  Why are they connected by chains?  Don’t they restrict you, limit what you can do?”

I smile.

“Yes, Stora, they really are irritating in how much they restrict me.  They are locked on me.  I can’t take them off.  But I’m mostly used to them by now.  There’s oh-so many ways that we as slave-girls can be restricted.  You will wear chains like this often, and in some cases for long periods.  You too will know that restriction.” 

“Your er… Master locked these on you?  You didn’t put them on yourself?”

“Yes, Stora,  My Master locked them on my limbs.  Just as I cannot remove them, I would not put them on myself unless ordered to by our Master.

Time to start getting her used to the idea that we are both owned by the same Master.

“But why”

“Because he can?  Because he wanted to?  Because he wants to remind me that I am his slave, subject to his will?  Because it pleases him?  Because he feels that I am more helplessly beautiful locked in them?  Choose any one, or more of these and a myriad of other reasons.  It is his decision.  We, as slaves, must accept it, and the chains.  Remember, we must do and be whatever he wishes us to do and be.  We must enjoy or endure whatever he wishes to impose upon us.  We have no say in the matter.”

I pause.

“You will learn to be graceful within the bounds that the chains allow.  You will in time, even come to adore wearing the chains of your Master.  Perhaps not the actual wearing of such, but that your Master is strong and powerful enough to put you into them.  Slave-steel can come to ignite our passion, making us desire and need him to push his penis into our slit.  The helplessness and vulnerability that they impose can be very arousing.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by arousing, Sela”

“You will find that your heartbeat pounds, your nipples become more prominent, the slit between your legs becomes damp,  You get a strange feeling throughout your body.  This is natures way of telling you that you want and are ready for him to stick his penis into your slit.  You will come to adore that arousal, that need.

She looks at me dubiously.  The memory of her first ‘taking’ will be with her for a long time, and not pleasurably either.

“It is vitally important that you do not try to protect yourself, try to deny, try to hold back from such arousal, and the pleasures of future incursions into your slit, Stora.  For one, our Master will not accept this.  Try it, and he will probably have you whipped.  If that doesn’t work, he’ll probably either sell you or have you killed.  More though, than the displeasure of our Master, is that in trying to insulate yourself from such sex acts, you will only stunt your own pleasure.  Life will then be truly awful for you, rather than the joy it can be.  No.  You must embrace any caresses you are given.  Squeeze every morsel of sensual pleasure that such touches can give you.  Do not hold yourself back from those pleasures.  Take them, own them, adore them, revel in them.  It is said that ‘a slave can own nothing’.  This is true, in a physical sense.  A slave is owned, not owning.  There is one thing that a slave can own.  She can own the pleasures she is given.  She can hold on to the memory of it and seek to repeat and increase such pleasures.  Be proud of the sexual surrenders that a Master forces you to, not ashamed of such.”

I take a breath.

“I think that I have bombarded you with far too many new concepts for you to take on board.  Now, let’s get you tidied up and ready, in case our Master wishes to have you pleasure him later tonight.”

I lift Stora up and ease her towards the barred wall of the cage.  She’s wobbly on her legs, but that’s hardly surprising given the shock and the brutal screwing she’s received this evening.  I call out to the guards.

One of the two on duty, turns his head away from some kind of dice game he’s playing with the other.

“You want something, slave Sela?”

He’s called Cardasius.  He’s a skilled lover!  On those rare occasions when I’ve been given to him for his use, he’s driven me to some wonderful orgasms.  He’s not as good at that as my owner, my permanent Master, but then, as I’ve said, I love my Master.  That extra aspect does make the difference, at least for me.  It wouldn’t matter if I hated my Master.  I’d still have to surrender absolutely and abjectly, but loving him, makes it easier for me to capitulate and yield myself utterly.

“Master, I am charged to prepare this new slave, Stora, in case my Master wishes her use.  Would it be possible for us to be let out of the cage, so that I can carry out this command?”

“Be careful, Sela, you wouldn’t want me to think you were being impertinent, would you?”

“No, Master!  I apologise profusely.”

“Very well, but since she’s new, she will wear ankle chains.  It would be more than my life’s worth if she were to try and escape.”

“Yes, Master.  I understand.”

He strolls over to the cage.  Stora turns to me, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Sela, you call him Master.  Is it he that owns us…?”

I laugh.

“No Stora.  We must call all free men ‘Master’, and all free woman as ‘Mistress’, but only one will be your real Master, your owner.  That will be the one who locks a metal collar round your throat, and orders that you be branded.”

“Branded? What’s that?”

I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, with Stora.

“Later, Stora.”

Cardasius presses the button that unlocks the ‘cat-flap’ door.  I kneel and crawl out, indicating to Stora that she should follow me.  I kneel up to the side, knees spread wide, as soon as I clear the hatch.  As Stora exits, she is stopped.  Cardasius clips the ankle chain to Stora’s limbs, locking them securely.

“Stand, slave Stora.”

“Yes, Master.”

She’s learning.  Just how quickly, and hence how difficult it will be for her, I can’t yet tell.  Stora moves her  right foot forward bringing the sole flat to the floor to thrust herself upwards.  She utters a quiet cry of surprise.  Clearly the chain is only just long enough for her to do this.  She is feeling this physical restraint check her movement.  Perhaps it’s the first time in her life that she’s ever experienced any form of bodily limitation.  She’ll get used to it.  She won’t have a choice.  She pushes herself up onto her feet. I interject.

“With your permission, Master?  She’s new.  She doesn’t know what to do, how to hold herself.”

Cardasius understands and simply nods his acquiescence.

“Stora.  Hands crossed behind your back.  Head up.  Eyes forward. Feet apart; a little wider.”

She obeys.  Her legs are now wide enough, in case Master Cardasius wishes to caress her vulva.  The man examines Stora’s features in the light of a nearby lamp.  He takes her chin, and moving it to left and then right.

“Yes, you are a pretty one!  I shall enjoy playing with you, if and when Gabulus allows.”

I see puzzlement in her face.  This mutates into a kind of fearfulness, as she begins to realise that ‘playing with her’ might just be something similar to what she had experienced earlier this evening.  She keeps her mouth shut.  She’s not yet confident enough to respond with a phrase indicating welcome of such.

Cardasius’ stands behind the girl.  I can see that she’s disconcerted by his closeness, his invasion of her ‘personal space’.  She is not yet aware that as a slave, she is not entitled to such, that it can be and will be entered into by a Master or Mistress at their will.  Cardasius reaches round and cups her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples.  Stora tenses up.

“Do not freeze up, Stora!  Accept whatever a Master wishes to do to you.  He has deigned to touch you.  Allow yourself to feel his caresses.  Enjoy them.  Be grateful for them.  Own them!  Feelings are the only thing that a slave may own.”

Cardasius grins at that, at the truth of that.  How can a Master stop the girl feeling his touch?  Why would he want to, even if he could?  Most Masters want and enjoy having their slaves squirming in need and desire under the play of fingers on her skin!  I see Stora relax her body.  She presses her breasts into the kneading hands encircling and supporting her orbs.  She moves gently under his working of her breasts.

Cardasius drops his right hand between Stora’s thigh.

“Oh!”

Cardasius rubs her pubis gently.  I see that his middle finger is not to be seen, buried doubtless into Stora’s pussy.  No woman, not even the most inert free-woman can withstand this kind of caressing for long without getting aroused.  I remind myself that I’d better not make such a comment verbally, especially not in the hearing of free-women.  A lashing would be the least of my punishments.  I could be killed, and in the most painful way possible.

Stora is responding to the man’s hands on her breast and deep in her cavern.  Her breathing has increased.  Her skin is flushed.  She rolls her hips to the beat he is setting her.  The odour of her excitement is becoming palpable.

Suddenly Cardasius stops.  The look of disappointment on Stora’s face is clear.  I think that she’s beginning to understand that her body is capable of giving her great pleasures; the kind of pleasures that she previously had no conception of.  Stora’s experiences earlier have not frightened her body into a kind of ‘muscular catatonia’.  This is a good thing for her future.  A slave that cannot be aroused would have a grim, and probably short future.  I am pleased that Stora is now partly ‘warmed-up’.  I just  hope that this mild arousal continues until Stora is ready to be presented to our Master, our owner, Franciscus Gabulus.  We depart the holding area for the slave preparation rooms.

“Why did he stop, Sela?  I felt like a storm building.  Like it was ready to break into thunder and lightening…  I’m sorry, but I can’t think of any other way to describe how my body, even my mind, felt.”

“Because he chose to.  Because he could.  The world is run by the men.  They will do as they wish, and we simply have to adjust to that.  We are owed no explanations, and will receive none, unless it pleases the Masters to give us one.”

I pause.

“Such pleasures are all we can hope for.  When they come our way, grab them, hold them, embrace them.  They are the only things that make being a slave bearable, the only things that keep us sane.  Now, let’s get you prepared.  There might still be time for you to be presented to our Master, this evening.”

 

Stora is as beautiful as I can make her.  Of course, true beauty comes from within.  Only in total surrender to our femininity, surrender of our souls can the richness of our beauty emerge.  I think that there is a latency for such, in her.

“Remember, be honest, truthful, respectful, and giving of your very self to him, at all times.  Accept gladly whatever he does to you.”

There is only one door to pass through, to the chamber where I understand Master is at present.

“Kneel when I do.  Forehead to the floor, arms forward in obeisance.  If he orders you to kneel up, do so as we’ve practised.”

“I understand, Sela, but it’s so indecent…”

“You’re a slave Stora, decency is irrelevant to you.”

As we approach the door, Portillus, another of Master’s guards grins at me.  I’ve been given to him, for his pleasure, before now.  He’s not too shabby a lover either.  With ‘new meat’ to chew, I wonder if Master will want me too?  Will I be given to someone else for the night?  Worst of all, will I be secured, un-fucked, tonight?  My need has been building.  I desperately need a man’s touch, his cock in me.  Unlikely my Mater’s touch tonight.  I’ll gladly take any cock that I’m given right now.  Slut, you say?  For a slave, one is as far beyond slutdom, as sainthood is above it.  We are not permitted to be anything but the ultimate tramp, whore (in its derogatory sense rather than professional one), and harlot.

Portillus opens the door for us.  We approach our Master.  I stop Stora some thee or four paces short of Master.  I hiss to her to kneel.  We both sink to our knees.  Stora going further into obeisance position.

I await an opening in the conversation that is preceding.

“Permission to speak, Master?”

Yes, in most households, a slave must seek such permission before making unsolicited comments.

“Granted, Sela.”

“Thank you Master.  This slave…,”

I indicate Stora

“… is your new slave Stora.  You may recall she entertained your guests earlier this evening?”

“Kneel up Stora.”

Stora is fighting her fear, her fear of uncertainty, her fear of the future.  She remembers, as she rises.

“Thank you, Master!”

“You are over your experiences of early evening?”

“It was terrifying, Master, but I think that I am recovered.”

“And are you zealous to please me, your owner, and anyone whose use I give you to?”

“Oh, yes, Master!”

There’s a far-away look in her eyes.  Perhaps she’s remembering the caresses of Cardasius.  Maybe she’s hoping that Master, someone, will rekindle that spark, taking her to the thunder and lightning of that kind of storm.

Master rises from the cushion he sits on.  There’s something in his hand.  It’s a slave collar.  He stands in front of the kneeling girl.

“Can you read, girl?”

“A little, Master…”

He presents the front of the collar to the eyes of Stora.

“Read out loud, what’s written on the metal.”

“I am the property of Franciscus Gabulus.”

“Don’t you forget it!”

“No, Master.”

Our Master feeds the collar round Stora’s neck.  The click of the lock seems so very loud, and familiar.  I wonder if there’s any slave girl who does ever forget that sound; the same sound as when she too lost her freedom?

Master calls to the steward of his household.

“Tordello, will you have this new slave chained to my furs.  Tomorrow have her branded.  Common Kajira mark, I think.”

“Certainly, Ubar.”

“May I speak again, Master?”

“Sela?”

“Master perhaps shouldn’t expect too much of the new slave.  She is totally inexperienced, has no skill in pleasing a man, indeed barely knows what one is…  I would recommend that she be given formal slave-training at the earliest opportunity.”

I remember my own training in the slave pens.  It was not an easy time at all!  I shouldn’t wish such on anyone, but I fear for Stora’s life if she doesn’t improve rapidly.  Slave training does that!  We are not given the option to fail in our lessons.

“I’ll make allowances.  And yes, Tordello, please arrange slave lessons for Stora.”

“Thank you, Master.  On another matter, Master.  The slave Sela is in desperate need, Master.  She begs slave-rape.  Would Master deign to give her use this night, to one of his men?”

Yes, sluttish, but as I said before, we are not permitted to hide our need.  Master laughs.

“Tordello, please give this importunate slut, Sela, a good…”

I have a moment of fear, that I might be whipped.

“fucking!”

My lips seek out Master’s sandals.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Master.”

“My pleasure, Ubar!”

There is much laughter in the room.

---

[1]     Slightly more than three minutes

[2]     One horned, rat-like rodent.

[3]     A small scavenging bird, the size of a starling, perhaps related to a crow or rook.

[4]     A large Gorean python

[5]     Six legged sinuous mammalian, predator.  Can be tamed, and is valued as a hunting and tracking animal.  Used to track runaway slaves.

[6]     A bitter tasting drink that prevents conception.