Paga Diaries (34)

 

34.  How To Train A Kajira?

 With her back to the fire and her hands braceleted behind her, Mena knelt on the floor with her knees spread wide.  I had just applied healing salve to her fresh brand, and cut her hair.  She watched me as I went to the couch and sat.  My mind was racing.  I was excited to own a beautiful woman and have her kneeling naked on my floor.  I had put my collar on her!  So many thoughts and training ideas competed for attention in my head.  How to train a kajira?  I was slightly nervous about my ability.  My next steps would be very important, with mistakes having unpleasant consequences.  I knew from my military experience that initial instruction was crucial in accomplishing desired training goals, and that if this initial stage was improperly done, it would be difficult to correct later.  This early opportunity should not be squandered by me.  I needed to be strict, deliberate and focused.  I needed to rein in any concern that I might have for her feelings, discomfort, or opinions regarding me or the training.

 I forced myself to concentrate and remember the training advice that Temus had given me in the slaver house, as well as the advice from Atticus, Mirus and Trem. I went over and over these slave wisdoms, thinking about how I would implement them.  From my first day on Gor I had been very observant watching men master slaves in the numerous paga taverns that I wandered through.  I noticed common behaviors, learned positions and heard repeated phrases spoken to slaves.

 

Temus had recommended and offered that I use the services of the House to formally train my new slave.  I politely said no, that training her was something I was excited to do.  He kindly advised me of some me key things to remember, concepts that were crucial for success.  He also said I could return her to the house if I changed my mind.  I mulled over the concepts and advice, prioritizing which should come first and when:

 

She must understand quickly that from now on that she no longer has the right to say no to any order or wish expressed by her master.

 

Keep her restrained as much as possible, her immobility is a constant reminder of her loss of freedom. 

 

Slaves beg, make her ask permission for everything, especially for the minute trivial things related to normal living like speaking and eating. 

 

Keep her nude as much as possible, reminding her that she possesses nothing and does not control her appearance.

 

Make her learn nadu perfectly, posing it instantly when commanded without any hesitation or thought.  Nadu will become a programmed response.

 

Establish periodic ‘maintenance’ whipping to remind her that she is under discipline and that there is a consequence for disobedience. She must never forget the whip.

 

I didn’t see how she could ever forget the whip after all the times she had felt it during her initial enslavement and  collaring. Her eyes were cast down as I continued to look at her while I sat on the couch and pondered.  She eventually looked up at me and asked, “Master, why do you keep the bracelets on me?  Please take them off, I promise to obey.”

 

I decided that there was no better time than now to apply the advice I had been reviewing in my mind.  I said “Mena, from now until I say, you do not speak until I say you can. Do you understand.”

 

“Yes Master.”

 

“You must ask for to speak, instead of just speaking. Do you understand?” I asked.

 

“Yes Master, I must ask for permission to speak.”

 

“Yes, permission,” I said, remembering how to pronounce the word.  “The bracelets stay on so you no touch brand, for healing.”

 

“Yes Master, I understand. I promise I won’t touch my brand. Can you take them off please?”

 

“No. They also teach you that you are slave now, not free,” I replied.

 

“Yes Master, I know I am kajira. I could never forget, I feel the brand and collar. I don’t need the bracelets to teach me. Can you please take them off?”

 

“No. You still new to collar. Bracelets stay on. Before you ask permission to speak, you kiss my feet first, then ask. Do you understand?” I said.

 

“Yes Master,” she answered quietly and looked down.

 

“Come kiss feet now,” I said.

 

“Yes Master,” she whispered and slowly rose to her feet and walked to the couch.  She lowered herself carefully before me, balancing without her hands as she went to her knees at my feet.  I was happy to see that she spread her knees properly, before she bowed her head.  I felt her lips barely touch my left foot.  In the slaving house, Atticus had commanded her to kiss my feet when she protested being owned by me, a barbarian. The feeling of her lips on my feet then was the same as it was now, hard to describe.  The feeling is pleasurable, a sensual mix of  erotic power,  a physical verification of ownership, intoxicating and arousing.  The sight of her naked, kneeling, head bowed over my feet with her hands secured behind her back was exquisite. Yes, this was something that needed to be repeated, something that would define her role and establish our relationship with her as my property.

 

She started to lift her head away from my feet after the light single kiss.  “Keep kissing until I say,” I said.  She lowered her head and I felt her lips on my right foot.  “Kiss better, use tongue,” I said.  Her lips pressed firmer on the top of my foot, and I felt a faint bit of moisture from the tip of her tongue.  “Yes, good, like that. Kiss like that every time. Do you understand?” I said.

 

“Yes Master,” she whispered, keeping her lips near my feet.  “Keep kissing, both feet.” And she continued to kiss, going from one foot to the other and back again.  I was thoroughly enjoying this, both feeling and watching her kiss.

 

After a few ehn I had her stop.  She lifted her head up away from my feet but did not look at me on the couch.  I was insatiable with her naked body before me and her compliant obedience.  I noticed that her nipples were stiff and I wondered if she was aroused like I was. 

 

“Mena, does this make you aroused?” I asked.

 

“No Master, not at all. I don’t want to kneel and kiss your feet, it is revolting to me. But you are making me, I don’t have a choice,” she said, now looking up at me.  I got off the couch and stepped behind her and she followed me with her gaze.

 

“Move forward and put your head on couch,” I said.  She hesitated briefly and shuffled her knees forward, placing her head on the couch.  I got behind her backside and put my left hand on her hip.  I cupped my right hand under her red haired mound and probed her gently with my finger.  I heard her moan slightly.

 

“You may be revolted, but your body is oiled for use,” I said, wiping my wet finger on her ass cheek.  I knelt behind her and put a hand on each hip, steadying her.

 

“Please no Master. I beg you, not now, I am very sore,” she cried.  I entered her slowly and she did not move.  I stopped at my full depth and enjoyed the sensation.  “Please Master!” she begged.  I reached out and grabbed the end of the damp braid of  hair that I had cut earlier, pulling it slightly, lifting her head off of the couch.  I was very excited now and started to move within her, in and out.  She moaned again, encouraging me to continue and increase my pace.  I was surprised how quickly her body responded,  building up and yielding release.  I let go of the braid and let her head rest on the couch, her face lying flat on her cheek.  I found release soon after, and when I pulled out, I was sore too.

 

***

 

I woke from a nap after a couple ahn, Mena lying with her back to me, sleeping.  I had removed the bracelets from her wrists so that she could rest easier.  I got off the couch and used the chamber pot.  I was hungry and there was little food in the apartment.  I sure missed not having a refrigerator and microwave.  I got dressed to go out and find something to eat.

 

I looked at Mena and she was asleep, stirring slightly. The fingers on her right hand were curled around her collar.  I was ready to go out but didn’t want to leave her unsecured in the apartment.  It was way too early to think that she could be trusted, and her hands still needed to be secured so that she wouldn’t touch her fresh brand site. Getting in the habit of keeping her hands secure for a few days while the brand healed was a great way to make me practice and refine slave security routines.

 

She woke when I snapped a slave bracelet on her left hand.  “Master?” she said, startled and slipped her right hand away from the collar. “Put hands on slave ring,” I said, pointing to the ring above her head on the edge of the couch.  I put the other cuff through the ring and snapped it around her right wrist, securing her to the couch.  “I go out,” I said and turned for the door.

 

When I came back with food and paga, she was lying on the couch as expected; she was secured to it.  She turned to look at me.  I unlocked one cuff and told her to kneel on the floor, and then I refastened the cuff, securing her hands behind her back.

 

“Master, I have to pee.”  I picked up the slave switch and struck her thigh with it. She yelped, and then said, “Master why? Please don’t hurt me.” She began to cry.

 

“You already forget?” I asked.

 

“Forget what Master? I don’t know.” 

 

I struck her again on the thigh and said, “You kiss feet, then ask to speak. Remember?”

 

“Yes Master!” She hobbled over to me on her knees and began to kiss my feet.   Her kisses were more enthusiastic this time and I felt her tongue. Without looking up, she asked, “May I speak Master?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Master, I have to pee!” she said.

 

“Use pot.” I said.  The chamber pot was near the drain by the curtain.

 

“My hands Master, can you free them?”

 

“No, you not need them,” I replied.

 

She stood up and went to the curtain, and with her bound hands behind her, began to pull the curtain closed to create privacy. “No. You not need curtain,” I said.

 

“Pee while you watch Master?”

 

“Yes.”  Temus had mentioned that denying privacy was a powerful training tool.  She straddled over the chamber pot and crouched down.  I watched her.  When she was finished she returned to my feet and kissed them again.

 

“May I speak Master?”

 

“Yes,” I replied. 

 

“I am thirsty Master, and hungry. Can I please have some water, and something to eat?”

I poured some water in a bowl and put it before her.  “Drink,” I said. 

 

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “From the ground Master, like a beast?”

 

“Yes, Mena. You are slave beast now,” I said.  She hesitated again, like she wanted to say something else, but then she lowered her face to the bowl.  I heard her suck in water.  As she drank, I poured myself a paga and sat on the couch.  While I sipped, I thought of how I would have her learn to serve paga like the kajira do in the taverns.  Probably the best way would be to have her learn in a tavern.

 

“May I have some more Master?” she asked with her face near the bowl.

 

“No.”  It was important for her to learn that I now controlled when and how often she ate and drank.  With me on the couch was some of the food I bought.  I had eaten when I was out and was no longer hungry.  She must be starving.  “Kneel at my feet,” I said, and she shuffled over to me.

 

She watched me break a piece of bread from the small loaf  I had.  Her stomach growled. I brought the small piece to her mouth and she leaned toward my hand eagerly.  “No, keep back straight. Wait,” I said.

 

“Yes Master,” she said straightening her back.  I brought the bread to her open mouth and made her wait an ihn, before placing the piece between her lips.  I took a sip of paga.  I had eaten some delicious skewered tarsk strips while I was out, but I didn’t want her to enjoy tasty food yet.  I had fed her a sugary pastry previously, which I now realized was a mistake.  Everything about her needed to be controlled for a while.

 

I took my time feeding her by hand, pausing to sip my paga, making her wait. I fed her half the loaf, thinking she probably could have eaten the whole thing.  When I stopped, she looked at me with want, as I put the bread down.  I got up and put more water in her bowl and placed it before her.  “Drink,” I said, and she did.  She then bent over and kissed my feet and asked to speak.

 

“Good slave. Yes, you may speak,” I said.

 

“Thank you Master. Can I have some more bread? Did you get anymore pastries?”

 

“Not now.”

 

“Yes Master. Master, if, if I gave you two silver tarsks, would you free me?” she asked with pleading eyes, looking up at me.  The question took me by surprise and I didn’t know how to answer it.

 

“What?”

 

“Master, if I were to give you two silver tarsks, and pay you any other money you have spent on me, would you free me? Can I buy my freedom?” she asked. 

 

I understood what she had asked the first time, but I had to think about the answer.  Things were complicated now, or where they?  I suppose I could set her free.  Was her freedom solely my decision?  Could I legally grant it to her?  She had been judicially enslaved and auctioned.  Did it matter what happened to her next?  When she read her slave papers, there was nothing about restrictions on freeing her.  Atticus nor anyone at the slaving house mentioned not being able to free her.  Could a cousin or some other family member have bought her at the auction and then set her free?  As Goreans, the thought of anyone freeing her never entered their mind.  She had been enslaved and branded, crossing a line that most men and women thought was impossible to come back across. How many Free Women in this city were former kajira?  Any?  Gorean men continuously say that all women belong in a collar and this woman was placed in one by the magistrate.   

 

“Master, I don’t deserve this. This isn’t right, I shouldn’t be a slave. Please let me buy my freedom,” she begged.

 

“You were convicted. Treason. You were sentenced to death. You submitted as kajira,” I stammered, struggling with my response to her.

 

“I didn’t commit any crime, my Companion did. I was set up to take the blame. Please help me!”

 

There was a lot that was said during the trial that I did not understand, especially by the prosecutor, but I was fairly sure I grasped the overall issue of the case.  Filomena was a partner in a business arrangement and defrauded the government.  Somehow this was seen as treason and a capital offence.  If  Julian, Atticus and others found out I freed a traitor, commuting her sentence by freeing her, things would probably not go well for me.

 

I didn’t want to free her.  I wanted to own her.  As much as she hated being sold to me, I was enjoying the arrangement very much.  She was attractive, intelligent and a Scribe.  A Scribe to help me become proficient with the language, both reading and writing.  I did not want to sell her.  I didn’t feel like I had to justify this to her, my purchase at the auction was sanctioned by law and the concept was a significant part of the culture.

 

“Julian said you sign contract. Then did not make good,” I said.

 

“Julian? Who is Julian?” she asked.

 

“Julian Lepidus, the Magistrate.”

 

“The Magistrate? You know him?” she said, her voice becoming accusatory.  She had stopped addressing  me as Master.

 

“Yes, Julian is friend, and Magistrate.”  She pondered what I said for an ehn.

 

“Did you know Marden, my Free Companion?” she questioned.

 

“No.”  I had been invited to the auction by Atticus, and  there was nothing wrong with it.  I did not know the hearing would have an auction or that on impulse, I would place bids.  I didn’t like the way she was questioning me and was no longer addressing me properly.  She watched as I went and took the slave switch off the counter.

 

“I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me!” she cried.

 

“I did nothing wrong. I did not know about auction.”

 

“No, of course you didn’t do anything wrong.  But there was a mistake, and you can make it right,” she pleaded.

 

“No mistake. Julian said you did treason; that is why you are slave.”

 

“Okay, you don’t understand how it happened. That doesn’t matter. Will you let me buy my freedom?” she said boldly.  I was insulted that she assumed that I didn’t know what happened.  It seemed that my kajira training was diminishing rapidly with every ihn.  She wasn’t accepting her enslavement.

 

“You have no silver,” I said, trying to direct the freedom decision away from me for a moment.

 

“I can get it,” she said.

 

“Where?” I asked.  She went on to tell me about two women friends who owed her some copper tarsks, and a business account with at least a silver tarsk worth of credit.  I doubted anyone would give her any money now that she wore a collar.  She said she would wear a robe to conceal the collar and brand while she collected the money.  I asked her if these people knew she had been sentenced, as I suspected they did.

 

“I could at least try to get the money. There is no harm in letting me try. But you never answered my original question. If I gave you enough money, would it buy my freedom?”

 

“No. You are not for sale. You are fun to own. Very much pleasures from you. I need Scribe, you are Scribe. Buying you is cheaper than lesson. You are kajira now. I want own kajira. I want own you. It is too late for you to get money,” I said with a steady voice, taking my time to put the sentences together.

 

She had mixed emotions on her face, shock at first, and then anger.

 

“If you free me, I promise to teach you Gorean.”

 

“I have decided. Answer is no. Slaves do not argue,” I said with authority.

“No! You stupid barbarian, there was a mistake and you can fix it!  You can buy another slave. Some slut who is a natural slave and is already trained.”

 

I slapped her in the face hard and she fell to the floor on her left side.  She couldn’t break the fall as her hands were still secured behind her back.  I inwardly cringed briefly at the realization that I had never hit a woman like that, and one that was tied and helpless.  She had wound me up, my anger escalating to where I lost my temper, something that rarely happened.  I lost control and I was uncomfortable about it.

 

As uncomfortable as I was with losing my temper, I strangely did not regret slapping her.

There is something personal about using your hand to slap a woman’s face.  A lot more personal than a switch or a whip.  I felt like she deserved it.  I also felt like she needed to be punished more.  The slap shut her up, the whip would correct her behavior.

 

I reached down and grabbed her hair braid at the base of her neck, pulling her up back to her knees.  There were tears in her wide eyes as she looked at me in shock.  She stared ahead as I went and traded the switch in my hand for a whip.  I came back and stood behind her.  The first blow struck the top of her right shoulder, making a loud slap.  She screamed.  She bent forward trying to avoid another blow, but I waited.  The second strike hit the center between the shoulder blades above her cuffed hands in the small of her back.  She screamed again.

 

After the fourth strike, she screamed out, “Please stop Master! I am sorry! I beg for mercy!”

 

“Do you know why you being whipped?”

 

“Because I called you a stupid barbarian.” she cried.

 

“No. You stopped calling me Master.”

 

“I’m sorry Master! I was trying to convince you, I forgot,” she said.

 

“You forgot you are slave?”

 

“I know I am a slave,” she said.

 

“Submit.”

 

“La kajira Master. I submit to you. You own me, I am yours, please have mercy. I am trying,” she begged.

 

“You also said no to me. You not allowed to say no. You not deny me. Slaves do not argue. You will obey.”

 

“Yes Master, I will obey. I will not say no to you. I won’t argue. I am sorry. I will please you,” she said quickly.

 

“You have not obey me. I am not pleased. You must be punished.”

 

“Yes Master, I have been punished. I am a whipped slave. Please, no more,” she begged.

 

“You must learn and whip will help teach. How many lashes do you deserve for not address me properly as your Master?”

 

She paused and then said, “Four Master.”

 

“Clever. I have given four. You deserve at least five. How many lashes for saying no to me?”

 

“I don’t know Master! Please, I will do anything!” she cried.

“How many lashes for displeasing me?”

 

“I don’t know Master. I have learned. I will be pleasing, I won’t argue, I won’t say no to you,” she said.

 

I went to the countertop and came back to her. “Open mouth,” I said. I pushed the leather gag between her open teeth and buckled it in place behind her head. “Five for each, so eleven more lashes.”

 

She said something into the gag, it sounded like ‘please’.

 

I traded the whip for the switch for the remaining strikes.  I did not switch her in anger, I had regained my composure and temper.  I took my time with every stroke, with the intent of delivering administrative stripes to correct her displeasing behavior.  I did not mean to be cruel, even though beating a restrained woman with a switch sure seemed to be.  Discipline had to be established.  She must not forget her place and she must strive to please me, or my arm would continue to swing with resolved determination.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

For this chapter I used the Grok AI app on my phone.  I have been trying other apps with supposedly restriction free generations.  Grok was the best at interpreting my prompt and nudity did not seem to be an issue. Grok renders nine images initially for each prompt and then offers to make a six second video from a selected image result.  While the image escaped moderation censorship, most of the video creation requests did not.  According to Grok, beginning in January 2026, censorship has had to become more stringent on the app due to warning threats from the UK regime. The threats were fines and removal of X and Grok from users there. Maybe X will allow less stringent standards for users in freer parts of the world.

 

This was the prompt I used, without editing the prompt or re-prompting after the image was created: “Side view of a kneeling nude woman with braided auburn hair, wearing a steel collar on her neck, hands handcuffed behind her back, bent over, kissing the  feet of a nude man standing in front of her in a room with firelight.”