A Talendar for Shirley (1)

 

A Talendar for Shirley

Peony D Beckside

With acknowledgement and thanks to John Norman for creating the world of Gor, in which this story is set.

Chapter One: Prey Identification.

 

My name is Michalis Dundras.  That’s not quite the name shown on the slim little book in the inside pocket of the jacket I wear; the booklet with the word ‘passport’ on the front cover.  The ‘passport’ says that I’m Michael Donaldson.  The organisation that I work for is fortunate in having someone working in the US Passport Office.  The passport I have, is therefore genuine, the documentation upon which it was issued though, is perhaps less than honest.

I have been on the slave world for nearly ten years now.  My term of service is nearly up.  In a month’s time I am to return home.  I must admit that I will miss many things when I do return, Light that comes on at the flick of a switch, wagons that travel faster and don’t need draft animals to pull them, little boxes that allow one to talk to anyone on this planet instantly, and perhaps most of all the, to use a local phrase, ‘eye-candy’, of the supposedly free women; sluts all of course.  Free?!  That’s a laugh!  Virtually no-one is free on this planet, Earth.  They are, men and women both, slaves to a system that barely grants them enough  wealth to survive, and that at a price of cringing subservience to those set above them, by the owners of that system; the super-rich and the powerful.  The shapers, the puppeteers of this insane society.  That’s why I’ll be very glad to return home to Gor.  One can throw off the pretences necessary to survive here.  At least there the social order is honest.  A slave knows unquestionably who her Master is, who she must serve.  The merchant must be honest in his dealings if he is to prosper.  The warrior knows that he lives or dies by his own prowess.  Enough of this day-dreaming.

This mission is ‘work’, to use the earth phrase, not leisure.  However one can enjoy one’s work.  Me?  I’m a slaver.  It’s the task of myself, as part of the larger organisation to select, and capture, abduct to use the Earth concept, the most beautiful of women to be taken to Gor and sold as slaves.  The concepts of beauty, for men of Gor are not always the same as those for men of Earth.  Many women considered ‘ordinary’ by men of Earth are considered stunning by Gorean men.  Some of those that are stunning to men of Earth, would fetch a very low price in a Gorean slave Market.  I think that it’s the latency in a woman, that attracts Gorean men.  Gorean men, like and expect their slaves to be intelligent.  Intelligent women appreciate fully the realities of their slavery, and often blossom into a rare and exquisite beauty because of that.  Earth girls, because they are starved of the opportunities to express freely their true femininity, limited modalities only normally being desiderated, have a much greater latency than Gorean women.  When  even an ordinary Earth woman is truly tamed by a Gorean Man, she often becomes extraordinary!  Something in her is freed, her inhibitions, perhaps.  She becomes superb.  That’s why ‘Barbarian slaves’, read Earth Women, command good prices.

I can price to the copper tarsk bit[1], the likely price the woman in the florist’s shop would fetch.  She’s really quite beautiful.  Even one as jaded as I, find her desirable.  She should fetch a price high into the silver tarsks, perhaps even being a gold-piece girl.  But first she must be ‘tamed’.

If it were winter, with dark nights, I could simply have her seized and dragged into a van as she walked past it on the way home from work.  At this time of year I have to be a bit more subtle, play it by the dating rules of Earth, at least at the beginning.  Besides, the ‘cat and mouse’ game of capture is so much more delicious.

I enter the florist’s shop.  I have done my ‘homework’, to use an Earth phrase.  The woman has been scouted.  We know a lot about her.  We know her name, where she lives, even her sizes.  We know what collar size she will take, what wrist and ankle rings she will need.  We’ve been following her, even surreptitiously entering her apartment while she’s been at work.

“Morning, Miss.”

“Morning, Sir.  How can I help you?”

“There’s a lady that I find fascinating.  I’d like to let her know that I would like to know her better, meet her socially.  What would you suggest?  What, for example, would you find, would give you that message?”

The girl thinks briefly.

“A bouquet, yes, that I think.  A big one, bright and colourful.  Wouldn’t be cheap, though.”

I shrug.

“The cost doesn’t matter.  Can you give me an example?”

She shows me the kind of thing that she has in mind, and how much it would cost, with delivery included.

“Perfect.”

I put down enough banknotes on the counter to cover such.

“Excellent!  If you’d give me the lady’s name and address, I’ll get the bouquet prepared.”

She pulls out a pre-printed order pad and picks up a pen.

“The name is Shirley Thompson…”

Her mouth drops open in surprise.  Her pen hand comes to a standstill

“The address is Apartment 24c, 365 West 32^nd Street.”

There’s no doubt in her mind now, that I’m talking about her.  She has a very peculiar expression on her face.  She gets her mouth working again.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No!  Definitely not.  I would like to know you better, meet you socially.  I think that you could be a delightful and valuable person to know.”

Perhaps not in the way that she’s likely to take that comment.  She’s flattered, I can see it.  Almost every woman is susceptible to flattery.  She laughs then, a deep-down belly-laugh.  Ruefully she adds,

“I thought I’d heard every kind of ‘come-on’, every chat-up line…”

“Dinner tonight? 7.30PM?”

I sense that she’s ‘won-over’ now.

“Sure!  Where?  How ‘posh’ should I dress?  Hey, I don’t know what they call you!?”

“Michael Donaldson.  Mike, for short.  There’s a rather grand restaurant I know on East 15^th Street.  Dress ‘sophisticated’, make it special, yes?”

“You’re on, Mike!”

“I’ll pick you up outside your apartment at 7PM?”

“7PM.  Got it.”

“Until this evening, then, Shirley…”

I turn to leave.

“Hey, Mike, you’ve left your money!”

I smile

“Not at all.  You have the order.  Your finest bouquet to Shirley Thompson.  As soon as possible, please.”

She laughs again as I leave.

 

I’m not quite sure about this Mike Donaldson.  There’s something odd about him.  Something ‘feral’, I think.  I need to be on my guard with him.  I suspect that deep down, he’s a bit of a ‘wolf’.  Sure a smooth one, but still a wolf.  I have to seriously ask myself, what it is that causes my hesitancy.  What was it about him that didn’t quite seem right?  His masculinity is very strong.  I’d be a liar if I said that I wasn’t affected by it.  He didn’t seem to ‘sit right’ in his clothes.  It was as if he was more used to a very different style of garment.  I could imagine him as a Gladiator in Ancient Rome, or a hoplite at Thermopylae.  I giggle at my ridiculousness.  It’s just me being imaginative.  Don’t be silly, girl!  Enjoy the evening.  Let it take you where it will.  Besides, I’ve agreed to have dinner with him.  Old-fashioned, it might be, but I was brought up to the belief that when you make a commitment, you are honour-bound to keep it.  You don’t have to ‘put-out’ on a first date, if you don’t want.  Best keep all options open.  Sexy underwear?  Yes.  Heavy spicy perfume?  Yes.  Long evening gown?  He said ‘sophisticated’, didn’t he?

I’m ready a full five minutes before 7PM.  I take a glass, fill it with milk, and down it quickly.  I remember my mother telling me that if you are going to be drinking, it helps by lining the stomach.  I don’t intend to be drinking enough to be either incapacitated or anaesthetised, but I do like my wine.  The telephone rings.  I pick it up

“Shirley?  Your carriage awaits, my Lady!”

“Be right down.”

As I descend in the elevator, a stray thought strikes me.  How did he know my telephone number?  For that matter, how did he find out my name and my address?  It’s a bit late to be getting paranoid now.  I exit the apartment building.  He’s standing there holding open the door of a seriously expensive limousine.  Clearly this Mike is not short of money.  He’s hardly likely to be a con-man trying to ‘take me’ in some kind of scam. He’s richer than I.  My elevator thoughts fade into a mere background niggle.

This Shirley is not just business, she’s pleasure too.  Or should I say, she’s personal business.  I want her.  I’ve wanted her since the first scouting reports came in about her.  I’ve put in my request.  She’s mine when taken.  I recall my supervisor taking me to one side a month ago.

“Michalis. I shall be sorry when you leave to go home.  You’ve been a good worker, efficient, honest, loyal.  For those who’ve earned such accolades, on termination of service, we grant you the opportunity to take a slave of your own home with you; free gratis.  A kind of reward for honourable service.  It can be anyone already scouted or you can use your remaining time to capture someone that takes your fancy.”

“That’s appreciated, sir.  I rather like the look of that Shirley Thompson, the newly selected one at the flower shop.”

“Good choice, she does look delectable merchandise.  I’ll mark her for you on the acquisition list. Do you want to take her yourself; for the sport of it?”

“Yes, boss.  It will be fun!”

The truth is that this Shirley excites me, excites my manhood more than any of the earth sluts, captured or otherwise.  I don’t know what it is about her that makes her appeal to me so much, but I will have her.  I will train her to be the utter, loving, lascivious, perfection that a man can own.  Sure she’ll hate me at first, but she will in time come to adore me.  It’s not as if I have a lack of experience in such matters.  Girls straight from the pens, after a short time have crawled to my feet begging my slightest touch.  It’s not even that I have not had sex for some time.  That’s an earth-man affliction.  No we operatives of the slaver’s cartel have the right to use any red-silk[2] girl brought in.  I take full use of that privilege.  So what is it about Shirley Thompson, that makes me want to own her, body, mind and soul?

They do say that for every man there is the perfect and most abject (even loving) slave.  Is this Shirley, the one?  Only time will tell.  One thing that I do know is that she fascinates me like no other.  Of course she’ll be effectively untrained, even if she is red-silk.  I have to assume she’s that.  Given what sluts the Earth woman are, it’s rare for our captures to be white-silk[3].  For the buyers back on Gor, it’s simply a matter of preference.  Some Masters wish to ‘open’ a girl for the first time, awakening them into their full womanhood.  Others instead prefer someone who at least knows what her body is for.  The price differences between white and red silk girls fluctuates according to market forces.  We have not yet been able to ascertain if Shirley Thompson is red or white silk.

Technically, since Shirley hasn’t yet been enslaved, the terms should be ‘Metaglana’ or ‘Glana’. Glana being the state of virginity, Metaglana the status beyond virginity.  Sometimes the terms are ‘Falarina’ and ‘Profalarina’.  Falarina being the state of having been ‘opened’ for use by men, Profalarina being the status before the woman becomes Falarina.

It doesn’t really matter, since Shirley is destined for slavery, for MY chains.  The thought of capturing Shirley rouses my blood and my manhood.  I try desperately to control my libido.  It’s something that Gorean men find particularly difficult to do.  The last thing that I want tonight is to ‘spook the game’. As in all hunts, if one is too precipitate, the prey can pick up on this and flee.  Of course, I have back-up in case of this.  Miss Thompson is not going to escape, but I have my professional pride.  She is MINE, it’s for me to take her.

The limousine is one of a fleet that the group owns.  The passenger compartment can be sealed and anaesthetic gas introduced.  Given that I too will be in the passenger compartment, that is not the plan.  The driver of course is one of ours also.  He’s most likely a relative newcomer in his first year.  Learning to drive being a skill taught early on.  I remember that in my first and second year on Earth, I too had this duty as I watched more skilled and experienced operatives work at subduing and capturing all-too trusting women.

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[1]     The lowest coin generally in circulation in most Gorean cities

[2]     Not a virgin.

[3]     A virgin