After The Bighorn, Chapter Sixteen.

Release the Sleen.   

(illustration by TroyDM used by permission)

Patrick Masters's Narrative

“Release the Sleen”, J Augustus Frick IV had commanded, and Zach Frick pulled the lever, the two sleen thrust forward and off we were in full pursuit of the two escaped kajirae.

Well, no. It was not quite that simple. First, we had to saddle a couple of horses, so we could follow the sleen without slowing them down too much. Second, we needed to attach leashes to the collared sleen. But soon we were in full pursuit. Zach and I were on the horses, with walkie-talkies so we could communicate with Augustus Frick at the house. We started in the walled garden, with the two sleen, each on its six short legs, snuffling around for the scent. We started in the garden, of course, because the ballroom opened out into this charming space, and the exit from the dungeon training room, a trapdoor, was the only one that had not been secured when the absence of the two kajirae, Seventeen and Nineteen, had been discovered.

I surmised that the trapdoor in the ballroom to the dungeon had served two purposes. The first, to bring kajirae  up to the ballroom to perform for the guests at Gorean themed events, the delightful curvaceous bodies delighting with their beauty and availability. The second, more sinister, was to remove such Free Women who had fallen afoul of the games of the Fricks and were condemned to a life of slavery, perhaps on Earth, more commonly on Gor.

Zach Frick had described such games to me, games designed for a selected woman to lose, with the forfeit being their freedom. Rigged games of chance, where the cupidity of the woman was enlisted to have her risk her freedom against a prize. They would be allowed to win small prizes, then asked if they cared to risk their small prize against a larger one. The targeted women would have seen other women walk away with the larger prizes and would eagerly agree. Of course, when they lost, they would lose all, the small prizes and their freedom. At some point they would be taken behind the curtains on the dais or orchestra space, and down the trapdoor they would go. The civilian guests would be none the wiser, the Fricks and the other members of the Families of North America, the Families aligned with the traders who were on Voyages of Acquisition, would have a good chuckle.

In their own way, the slavers of Gor, were as cruel as the tawny sleen Zach and I watched casting about for a scent, playing with their quarry before seizing it.

“Are they a breeding pair” I asked Zach as the sleen darted towards an exit from the walled garden.

“They were supposed to be,” but the dealer on Gor cheated Uncle Willard.”

 I had never met the murdered Patriarch of the Fricks, but from all I had heard, he was a cruel and vindictive man, unlikely to overlook an injury.

“The dealer sent us two males. He thought he would be safe, and we foolish Earth people would be unable to tell for years. But Uncle Willard had spent six years on Gor as a young man. He knew as soon as he examined the sleen that we had been swindled. We have contacts on Gor, that dealer died a painful prolonged death. These are juveniles, coming into their full growth, they are prairie sleen, they won’t grow much bigger than the six-foot length you see here.”

Suddenly, the sleen started off. They were clambering at the gate of the walled garden. This was the gate by the hedge maze, where I had been pleasured by the Kajira Nineteen. Zach opened the door; the sleen rushed through, with Zach and I following.

Out into the treed, grassed area behind the mansion, past the stables, then off the Frick property. We traversed a corn field, with the sleen on their stubby legs pulling at their leashes. They wandered through the corn, then for a moment were confused. Apparently the escaped kajirae had not taken a direct path through the corn. Perhaps they had lost their way in the dark?

After some time in the corn, we plunged into the woods. The low-hanging branches forced Zach and I to dismount and lead the horses, the sleen straining at their leashes to follow the trail. We ended up on the edge of some wetlands, nearly a swamp, mosquito infested, where we found some footprints. Naked feet had made these footprints, and they were fresh in the mud. The sleen circled around, then started away from the swamp into the woods. Back through the woods we went, Zach and I panting as we tried to keep up the pace that the hunting sleen set. The animals were enjoying themselves, their strong weasel-like smell increased in pungency.

We re-entered the cornfield, the sleen plunging through with greater confidence this time, ignoring the false trails. Zack and I remounted and followed the hunting beasts again across the corn, then re-entered the wood at a different point. I was sure this was the true trail, we were following a bridle path this time and did not need to dismount. The beasts pressed on, seeming to know no fatigue, pulling at the leashes.

Born hunters, cruel killers; they were enjoying this. Even when domesticated, the sleen is never truly tamed, it is like having a tiger as a house pet. Even when the beast is disposed to be friendly to you, it can turn at any moment. Zach told me these things as we rode along. Like the sleen, he was enjoying the hunt.

This was food for thought. I enjoyed consorting with the Fricks; I expected it to have its rewards. I must never forget though, that the Fricks too, many of them, were ruthless hunters, capable of cruelty, living in a harsh world. If they held their hands against VanRijn, fighting in the courts rather than with violence, it was because it was sound tactically to not to break cover, not from any moral scruples. Riding with them was like riding a tiger, or a sleen. I would have to be careful in this environment.  I thought of Juli in her collar, of owning her completely and legally, and decided it was worth the risks.

At a large dead oak at the far end of the woods, by the bridle path we came out into a meadow. The sleen did not even stop to gather a breath but headed straight across it. It had recently been cut for hay, the smell was captivating and delightful, although it did was not strong enough to cover the stench of the hunting sleen.

“Tally-ho,” shouted Zach as we moved quickly across the open grass carpeted meadow.

I grinned. I too was enjoying the chase. A couple of times in England, I had been invited to ride to hounds with ancient packs. This was much better than chasing an inoffensive fox. This was real quarry. Naked, curvy girls, collared already, slaves. So much better than an inedible little creature. They were Man’s natural prey in fact.

The meadow was large, it contained clumps of trees, but the sleen bypassed all of them. I saw we were headed towards an apple orchard. It looked old, as though almost forgotten and abandoned.

We swept into the orchard, through it and ended at a country road. The sleen stopped, circled around then came to a stop under two of the trees in the middle of the orchard. Up in the tree’s branches were fruit more delectable than the ripest apples: two naked women, clinging to the branches out of fright. The sleen were trying to get at them, their two front legs reaching up the trunks of the trees, their four hind legs crouching to leap.

We heard a car coming to a stop. Zach went towards the edge of the orchard. Suddenly the vehicle took off, going back in the direction from which it had come.

“They got away.” I was angry. Who were these bold thieves that tried to steal the property of the Fricks?

“I recognize the car.” Zach got on his walkie-talkie.

“Augustus, we have the girls, and I know who set them free, and who tried to steal them.  It was Chelsea.”

Kajira Nineteen’s Narrative.

If I had not been so scared as to what was to happen next, lying in the sun in the apple orchard, waiting for our savior, the person who had arranged for us to be freed would have been idyllic. Seventeen and I had spotted a stream on the other side of the road, and greatly daring, had dashed across and then laid on the ground, drinking from the cool running water. We were very thirsty. We drank until we were full.

A farm truck drove by. We did not flag it down, instead hiding in the bushes. The two young men did not look the sort to rescue two naked women, they looked like old time folk, unaffected by modern ideas of treating women with respect. That was the feeling about them that I had, and Seventeen agreed. We would wait for our rescuer. Surely after going to the trouble of getting us out of the House of Horrors where we had been confined, they would come and get us.

What horrors we had endured! Stripped of our clothes, of our freedom, then of our identities, finally of our very names; sorted like merchandise for dispatch to an alien world. I now believed in the alien world, I had been forced to start learning its language, and even worse, its ways. Women were slaves there, subject to men and their demands. Their representatives here kept us naked, forced us into submissive positions, took their pleasure with those who were already ‘opened for the use of men’. Those of us who were virgins were destined to have our ‘first use’ auctioned off. How degrading it was!. The worst was that it was beginning to seem natural, as though it were genetically encoded. I had learned to please men on my knees, using mouth and hands. And, well after a while it had seemed not too bad. The man was pleased, and sometimes I was given a piece of candy. Because everyone in our kennel shared in any rewards or punishments earned by any of our group, everyone in our kennel received a candy when I did well.

Punishment. I hoped that the other two who were kenneled with Seventeen and I were not punished because we had been rescued. It was not their fault! Eighteen was not white silk, she had been opened by her fiancé, but they had broken up. Our captors used her often; she claimed to like it. I liked the extra rations and sweets we got because of her.  Twenty had known about Gor from books she read; I think somewhere deep in her heart she had always hoped Gor was real.

I really hoped they were not punished because of our escape. We had drugged them, so our escape was not their fault. I did not mention this to Seventeen, I did not want her to worry.

We took another long drink, then carefully watching the road to make sure no one was coming, we dashed back across it to the orchard where we were to meet our rescuer. We had been late getting to the rendezvous but we hoped they would return.

The sun came filtered by the trees down into the orchard. We lay on the grass, luxuriating in being out of the enclosed dungeon feeling the breezes of freedom on our naked bodies. We were still naked, but it was more like being in the garden of Eden than in the slavery we had known for the past ten days.

“Nineteen, do you really think that they would have branded us. Burned us with white hot irons, marked us on our skin. Like people do with animals.”

“I don’t know for sure. Kailieka and Jade, our trainers, were branded. You could see it on their left thighs. So, they must have been branded, terrible as it is to think about.”

“Do you think it hurt very much, when they were marked as slaves. Marked for life?”

“I think it would hurt very much. I burned myself a bit once, when I accidentally got some hot boiling water poured on my when I was making tea. It really hurt and that was only second-degree burns. I think a hot iron branding would hurt more, and longer.”

“I think the Masters want it to hurt. So the girl remembers it. Remembers that she is marked as a slave.”

“Do you think we would have got used to it, got used to being slaves.”

“Oh no, I think that getting used to it is for natural slaves like Eighteen and Twenty. Eighteen liked it when the men fu.. I mean put her to use. She really liked it. I heard her beg Niles one time for just a quick use. She didn’t use the word use though. I think she was a natural slave.”

“Twenty as well. She had dreamed of it, I know she spoke of it lots of times, that she had had those kinds of dreams. And she read those kinds of books.”

“Nineteen, did you ever have those kinds of dreams?”

“Not really, maybe once or twice, but not really, It was certainly not what I wanted.

“Of course not.”

“What about you, Seventeen, did you ever dream of being ravished by a strong man, under the moon in a strange place?”

“No. Never. Well maybe as with you, if I had seen a movie or read a book. But no, Not really, not like I ever wanted to be a slave.”

I wondered as we lay on the grass in the orchard if Seventeen was lying as much as I was. Sometimes, when I was near sleep, waking or just going to sleep, when I was not in control of my thoughts, I had had those kinds of dreams. But those were just dreams. Not an indication of something my subconscious wanted. Indeed, the whole idea of the subconscious has been rather debunked these days anyway. I was free now and I intended to remain free.

We heard a vehicle coming. We crawled on our bellies to the edge of the orchard. It was that same farm truck going back the other way. There were a couple more men in it now. They were sitting in the back, in the truck bed and they were drinking beer and singing. For sure we were not going to hail them now. I was glad we had not revealed ourselves to them earlier.

We returned to the center of the orchard. It was a lovely day to be free. Even our nakedness did not bother us, it seemed normal somehow to be naked in nature.

“You will crawl on your belly, begging to be used.”

Where had that come from? Obviously, I had remembered something that one of the trainers had said. Yes, it was Jade. She was telling us that once we were trained, once we were opened, once our slave fires had been lit, we would crawl on our bellies to men, begging for use. Just a memory triggered by crawling to observe the truck go by. It meant nothing.

“She is too pretty to be freed.”

One of the trainers had said that about me. Were pretty women destined to be prey to men? Were we destined for the collar?

I had come into a room when Jimmy Klein, Amanda Sloan’s boyfriend had been talking. I had heard him say ‘Janey Anstruther is to pretty to…’ Janey Anstruther had been my name. I mean it is my name, it will be by name again when I am free. I think Jimmy was one of the people who gave my name to the Gorean slavers. I have to escape so I can warn Amanda about him.

I looked at Seventeen, as she lay in the grass, collared and naked, gently dozing. Was she too pretty to be freed? Objectively, if pretty women were destined for the collar, she would remain as she was right now, a collared naked girl. She was my friend; I could admit her beauty. Not quite as good looking as I am, but definitely pretty enough.

I shook my head to rid it of such thoughts. I was free, and Seventeen was my friend, and soon we both would be free for real. As soon as the car with our savior came.

“Tally ho.”

What was that?

“Tally ho.”

The sound of hoofs. I recognized them from movies I had seen. And some other sound of animals running.

“Quick. Up in the trees, we have to hide up in the trees, maybe they will miss us.”

Seventeen was up on her feet. She was alarmed but had a plan to hide. Clearly, we could not run to escape the men on horses. I was sure it was men.

I am short, Seventeen held me up so I could catch a bough and climb into a tree. She is a good friend. She climbed into the tree adjoining mine. Two men on horses rode into our orchard. It was no longer our haven, our Eden. One was the cruel young Slavemaster who had ‘processed’ us on the first day we spent in the dungeon. The other was the older one, the first man I ever pleasured. I remembered him in my mouth. I hoped that if he remembered that; he might treat me with some kindness.

With them were two tawny beasts. Beast with six legs and a foul stench. They circled our trees. They tried to climb up at us. I was very afraid.

“Protect us. Protect us from the beasts!  I beg you. I beg you.”

“Why should we protect you? You are runaway slaves. You can be whipped, or have your feet cut off, or thrown to sleen to devour.”

“You have to protect us. We are women; men are supposed to protect women.”

“You are beasts, slaves. Men protect free women.”

Seventeen was desperate.

“If we are slaves, we must have some value. Surely you want to protect your property?”

“But you claim to be free women.” It was the older man, the one in his thirties. He seemed to enjoy arguing; like a lawyer.

Seventeen would not give up. She was very afraid of the beasts. I was too.

“We are slaves, see our collars. We are slaves. Protect your property.”

The Slavemaster spoke to the older man, the one I called The Lawyer.

“Hold the sleen back, please.”

The older man, The Lawyer dismounted. He took the leashes of the beasts, the sleen. They seemed very reluctant to obey as he pulled them away.

“Come down from the trees, slaves. Come down if you would live.”

Seventeen came down from her tree. How beautiful she looked standing there naked and collared..

“You too, down out of the tree.”

I came out of shock and climbed down until I fell out of the tree.

“Nadu.”

Automatically Seventeen and I assumed the slaves’ position. Kneeling, hands on our thighs, back on our heels, legs and thighs widespread.

“Do you confess yourselves to be slaves, truly slaves, slaves forever, without any appeal?”

“Yes, yes Master.”

“La kajira?”

La kajira, Master.” We both confessed to being slaves forever. We had tried to escape but just ended up more enslaved than before.

La Kajira.

After The Bighorn, Chapter Fifteen

 

After the Bighorn Chapter 15

Juli’s Narrative.

It was Friday now, and I was just leaving the exercise studio where I still worked part-time. Patrick had insisted that I not quit without any notice, so After the Bighorn when I was enslaved, he had me return to work. Now I still work there on a contract basis, because my Master wanted me to scout the instructors and students for suitable candidates for the collar.

I felt so two-faced about that, but he is my Master, so what can I do? Besides, I am happy and content in my collar, so who is to say that the women Master Patrick selects will not feel the same. The whip, and the constant reminder that they are slaves will help make them accept and be happy in their roles. Master Woodrow Frick from the Lazy F ranch assures me that tens of thousands of years of evolution have imprinted on us our roles as man and woman, and Mr John Norman’s tales tell us the same. Master Woodrow lived on Gor for years and even became a Warrior so he has lived out these stories.

I had showered after teaching a class when Geena, one of the other instructors, came into our change room. I was just putting on a skirt that went down to my knees, although it had a slit up to the thigh, when she said hello.  I stopped to talk to her; we have been friends for two or three years.

“You have certainly changed how you dress since you moved in with Patrick after your May vacation in Montana. Is it worth landing a man and living with him if you must dress so, so, so provocatively all the time.”

“I love to dress this way for Patrick. I feel like a real woman.”  It was hard to say Master Patrick’s name without the Master in front, but I am still not allowed to openly proclaim myself his slave.

“You used to have such lovely clothes, Juliet. Such lovely material, and a good respectable cut. I just worry about you, that is all. Your rectitude was an example to us all.”

“I am satisfied with my life now, Geena. It is all good. I am very happy.”

“Okay darling. You know you can come and talk at any time, if you need to.”

I put on a halter top and leaned in and hugged Geena.

“I know you are concerned, but really Geena, I am very happy.”

Geena hugged me and as she straightened up, she fingered my collar.

“Does it have anything to do with this, is it some kinky thing you and Patrick are into?”

“Nothing kinky at all, what I have with Patrick is the most natural thing in the world.”

“Well, okay. Call me sometime, we will go out for drinks.”

Geena is a dear. I wonder what Master Patrick will decide about her.

It was noon when I took the cable car from the studio to Master Patrick’s office in the Hathaway Building. Despite being built in the 1870s it is a lovely old place, all up to date without being obtrusively so. There were only female security guards at the desk when I arrived. I assumed the male guards had seniority and were off for lunch. They pretended not to see me for quite a while before one agreed to escort me up the stairs to Master Patrick’s office on the top, the fifth floor. She was in good shape; she did not huff and puff as we climbed. She was young, younger than the one who usually worked the desk. I did not think that Master Patrick would have her seized; he told me once that he would not grab too many from his immediate vicinity: it would be suspicious.

In a change, I was immediately escorted to my Master’s office. Even though he is away in Pittsburgh, the office is being used. Gerry Reiss, my Master’s great friend, is using it while he coordinates the San Francisco end of the Frick-VanRijn patent lawsuit.  Master Gerry knows I am a slave, my Master displayed me as such before him. It was a revelation to him how exciting a woman, naked and collared can be. I was that woman. Master Patrick told him that while he is away, I am his to use. On Tuesday, he had me chained up naked while he worked. I was put to slave use. But it has now been three days, my slave fires are excited, yet Master Gerry has not touched me since that day. I suspect he may be ashamed of his natural instincts, and his societal conditioning has overcome them. Perhaps I will need to beg for slave use, but maybe I can wait as my Master will be home for the weekend. Men are so cruel to the needs of a slave girl.

The receptionist knocked on the door and waited until Master Gerry gave permission to enter. I was then escorted in. Master Gerry Reiss handed me the mail that had come for Master Patrick, and I began sorting it into the usual three piles: business, personal, and junk. I worked at my task, while Master Gerry worked away at Master Patrick’s desk. He did not look at me, he seemed to look everywhere else but at me. When I was done, I knelt beside the coffee table in the office.

For an hour, Master Gerry did not say anything. There was a quick knock at the door, then Ms Jane Bennet breezed in. She had not waited for permission to enter, which was bad manners. I knew that even when I was free. She looked at me and smiled. There was some chat with Master Gerry, then she left. I found the courage to speak without permission.

“May I get you some coffee, Master.”

“Yes, Juliet.”

Juliet was my Free Woman name. He knew I was Juli the slave now. I made fresh coffee and prepared it the way he liked it. I knew how he liked his coffee from when I was free and was friends with Master Gerry and his wife.

I knelt by the desk, holding up the coffee cup.

“Your coffee, Master.”

“Thank you, Juliet, you don’t need to call me that you know.”

“I am sorry Master, but I am Juli now, and Master Patrick has instructed me that I must.”

“Very well, just go sit over there and be quiet.”

I could see he was torn between his instincts and his conditioning. He did not strip and use me, but he did not send me away either.

Twice that afternoon Ms Bennet entered the office interrupting Master Gerry. The last time she did not knock at all, just barged in.

“Ms Bennet, you do not enter an office without knocking AND waiting for a response. Do you do that when Mr Masters is here”

“No, but I figured that you and I were friends, Gerry and I…”

“That’s Mr Reiss, we are not friends, we work at the same place. I am your boss on this project. You are not acting in a professional manner. I shall recommend to Mr Masters that you be removed from this project.”

“No, Mr Reiss, please no. I don’t want to be off the project. I will do anything to make up for it.”

Even then the sly minx was eyeing him and licking her lips.

“No Miss Bennet, there have to be consequences. Your behavior was right over the line.”

“Maybe I could do something?”

“No.”

She was almost crying now. It was then I figured out two things. The first was that she had hoped to find Master Gerry and I ‘doing something’ that she thought she could use for blackmail. The second was that Master Gerry had been suppressing his instincts and that Ms Bennet was about to find out it is unwise to push a man too far when his Masterly instincts are being aroused.

Ms Bennet was not acting coy now. She was in real fear of losing her position on the case or even her job.

“Don’t tell Mr Masters, do anything, spank me, punish me yourself.”

“Mr Masters shall be informed, it will be as he decides.”

Ms Bennet left the room crying. Master Gerry then put me to use. I was pleased; I also knew that I had made a bad enemy in Ms Bennet by witnessing her humiliation.

Kajira Nineteen’s Narrative

Seventeen and I were lost. It was very dark in the country and we had missed our landmarks. We were alone at night in the countryside trying to escape and we were very lost.

Yesterday, the Free Lady had come up to Seventeen when she was working emptying the waste buckets from our kennel, and whispered that our escape must be tonight.

“The hounds are being sent away tonight for a hunt tomorrow. If I am to help you leave this place and avoid being sent to Gor, then it must be tonight. This vial of powder must be mixed with the gruel of you kennel mates tonight, then you must use this key to escape the kennel. Go up the stairs and into the ballroom. There will be instructions there for a rendezvous.” Then she walked away before anyone could notice her talking to a slave.

Seventeen talked to me in a quiet corner. She hid the vial in her person, as drug smugglers do, while I hid the key in the same way. That night, Seventeen volunteered to collect the bowls of gruel for our kennel. It was Eighteen’s turn, but she had been worn out by the trainers Bruno and Niles. She was becoming quite a favorite of theirs. Twenty made some nasty comment about Eighteen being a slut, but we knew it was just because she was jealous. Twenty, like Seventeen and I was white silk, she had not been opened for the use of men, and her virginity would be auctioned off by her owner on Gor. Or so we were assured. Twenty, who had known of Gor before our kidnapping, was becoming impatient to be a real kajira, a Gorean Slavegirl. It was ironic then, that she was the slowest in her Gorean lessons. She had to stay with the slow group, learning words, while the rest of us, were giving lessons in pleasing men.

Seventeen and I crouched by the oak tree. At least we thought it was an oak tree. We were lost. Somehow, we had missed our way. We heard an owl hoot. We heard noises in the woods. We did not know if the animal would hurt us or was afraid of us. What if it were pursuit from our captors? We had to get away! We went over again the instructions for our escape and rendezvous. We needed to be at the apple orchard on the old back road by 6. But we had become lost crossing the cornfield and missed the landmark which would set us on the right path through the wood. Once through the wood, there was an old dead tree, still standing, that would put us on the right path through the meadow to the apple orchard where the Free Lady would pick us up. But we had to be there by six.

We crouched at the edge of the woods. There was no old tree. No real meadow either, more of a swamp. So we had lost our way in the woods and taken the wrong path. Light was beginning to show in the east. At least we knew which direction east was.

I was comforted by one thing, Seventeen and I had not given in to blaming each other for getting lost. That is easy when things go wrong. I felt very close to her, even though she was from The Ohio State University, while I was from the University of Michigan. That was unimportant now. We needed to escape. Over the past few days, I had felt myself slipping into thinking that being a slave would not be that bad. I had been happy to get compliments for my skills in pleasing men with my mouth and hands. I was becoming comfortable on my knees; feeling it was my natural place. I had to get out. I knew that Seventeen felt the same.

“Seventeen?”

“Yes/”

“What is your real name. We are almost out of here. We can share our real names.”

“We are not out yet, it would be bad luck to act as though we are free, when we are not.”

“I guess you are right. Once we are free though.”

“Once our collars are off, and we have clothes on.”

“Deal”

“Deal.”

By the increasing light we made our way back through the woods to the cornfield. Seventeen found out that we had veered too far from the path in the dark. We searched along the edge, until we found our proper path through the woods. Our feet hurt and even so our progress was slow. Bare feet and the woods do not go together. The path was overgrown and branches scrapped and scratched our naked bodies. Why could not the Free Lady have left us clothes if she was helping us to escape. Why just us? Why just the two of us, not the whole twenty? What was she getting out of this?

We pushed forward. She was the only one who had offered to help us, it was trust her or stay and be shipped off to slavery on another planet. It was the Gorean language that we were being taught that had made me accept the existence of Gor. It had earth roots, I was sure, but it was not an Earth language.

I giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“We worked so hard to learn Gorean, now we won’t even get to use it?”

Seventeen just looked at me for a moment, then she too began to laugh. We were a little hysterical.

Seventeen was leading when we came out at the meadow. This time we were right by an old dead oak tree. There was a blaze cut into the wood, pointing across a meadow. It was full light now. Neither of us took the first step into the open.

“We’re naked.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, we are. But we have been naked for over ten days. Across the meadow, out in the open, naked, is the only way to the meeting place.”

Seventeen took my hand and we set out into the open, naked under the sun.

The sun was well up by now, I was very afraid of being late to the meeting place. Eventually we reached the apple orchard. We went through it and reached the road.

There was no one there.

“I think we are late. The sun is really well up. We may have missed her.”

I was more positive.

“She will wait; I am sure of it. Look at all the trouble she went to for us to escape.”

“Not so much trouble. Just some sleeping powder for the gruel, and the key. We had all the trouble, stumbling through the corn field and the woods in the night. We were the ones who had to shove the vial and the key up ourselves to hide them.”

“Maybe she can only be away for a short time before she is missed.”

“You’re right. I think we should wait here to see if she can come back later. It is our best bet, at least for a short time.”

“We could try to flag down a car.”

“There hasn’t been a lot of traffic down the road. And they might not stop.”

“Why wouldn’t they stop?”

Seventeen was relentlessly practical.

“They might be afraid of a couple of naked women jumping out at them.”

“A woman might stop to help another woman.”

“Unless she thinks it is a trap. Someone with bad intent hiding and waiting to leap out once she stops.”

“True, and the same might go for a man. Or the man might have bad intent. I am not as trusting of men as I was ten days ago.”

“Or the neighbors or law enforcement might be under the influence of the people at the mansion.”

“We’ll wait then. Wait for the Free Lady to rescue us.”

We waited in the Apple Orchard. Two naked Eves. Who would come, our rescuer, or a snake?

Patrick Masters’s Narrative.

Saturday morning and I came down late for breakfast. I had not returned to San Francisco this weekend. I had asked Gerry Weiss to make sure that Juli’s food hopper was refilled. His report on Jane Bennet had confirmed that I was right to bring Dana Winter to Pittsburgh. She is much more reliable than Bennet.

I was eating breakfast with Zach Frick. J Augustus Frick had come over for a quick consultation. Wyandotte Frick had gone with Woodrow Frick to a country fair meeting taking the dogs with them. He was trying to repair some relations with the neighbors of the Frick estate. In the days of the Frick power, those relationships had fallen into disrepair, but Willard Frick was dead, and Wyandotte was of a more conciliatory disposition. Mrs Crandell, the housekeeper, informed us that Chelsea Frick had been out earlier and was now breakfasting in her room.

There was a knock at the door.  Bruno, the head of the employees came in. He looked upset.

“Two of the kajirae in the cellar have escaped.”

Zack interjected, “How is that possible?”

“We don’t know. Their kennel was locked. The doors were locked. The trapdoor to the ballroom was not secured. The other two in the kennel were questioned. They claim they were asleep. We used the whip, but their story didn’t change. I believe them. They may have been drugged.”

“Get the dogs from the kennel, we still have their clothes?”

“We do. But Mr Wyandotte has taken the dogs to the County Fair. There is another complication. Niles just received notification that the Silver Ship will be landing at the embarkation point tonight. The truck will have to leave in the next half hour to make the connection to Gor.”

J. Augustus began issuing orders.

“Have Niles load the remaining eighteen on the truck. Talk to Mrs Crandell, there are a couple of house slaves I am sure she can spare. I hate sending fully trained girls to Gor, our consignees will only pay us for untrained girls, we are going to take a loss. Don’t send the girls who were training the captives. I don’t see why their failure to detect this escape should be rewarded by a trip to Gor.”

Bruno turned to follow orders. The shipment must not miss the rendezvous with the Silver Ship. August Frick told Zach and I to follow him. We descended to the cellars and went through the holding area. Girls were being loaded on the truck. Some were crying, some were excited. Kailieka and Jade, the slaves training the captives were secured to the wall with chains; they would be dealt with later. We went into a room with labelled bags of clothes.

Zack grabbed two bags then we followed after Augustus.

We descended a tunnel that I found led to the kennels where the dogs slept. Augustus opened a door.

“The dogs have all been taken to the County Fair,” reminded Zach.

There was a musky, feral smell coming from the darkened cages.

“There are other trackers than dogs.” Augustus was grim.

I could not see into the cages; I knew it was not to dogs that Augustus held forth the two bundles of clothes.

“Find”

“Capture”

There were whines from the cages. Whatever was in there was in a hurry to be on the hunt.

Augustus turned to Zach, and pointed to a lever beside the cages.

“Release the sleen.”

After the Bighorn, Chapter Fourteen The Case advances while slaves serve.

 After The Bighorn, Chapter Fourteen

Patrick Masters’ Narrative.

It had been a productive day in our preparation for the patent trial in Frick Steel vs VanRijn Patent Aggregators. We had worked at the Frick Steel office throughout the morning, with Richard Thornton and Dana Winter setting an example of hard work without bickering. Their rivalry seemed to have settled down into one of co-operative competition which spurred the other two associates to do the same. J Augustus Frick IV, and young Zach Frick led the Frick Steel internal team and working together seemed to be the theme of the day. Zach Frick quelled a couple of mutinies by some of the older Frick Company lawyers who objected to the prominence given to the younger, energetic group. He seemed to have a particular trouble with Dana Winter, but she avoided trouble by not blowing up at him.
In the mid-afternoon, Augustus and Zach Frick and Richard Thornton and I met with the VanRjjn team at a neutral site. Their working together did not seem to be as harmonious as ours, which I was glad to see. I gathered that they did not share a common space and communication between the groups was poor. Vansittart and his younger associate seemed less on top of things than the local lawyer Barbara Quigley and her team. Quigley was accompanied by the male associate I had encountered in court on Monday. From her attitude, I gathered that his role was to listen and carry her briefcase. There was the same class divide with Vansittart and his minion.  J Augustus Frick was able to get Vansittart and Quigley snarling at each other; I gathered she thought he should do more preparation and review of materials; he thought she should work the local levers of power more to their advantage. We came away with some advantages gained, because the two principals on the other side could not coordinate.
After returning to the Art Deco Frick Building, we quickly briefed the rest of the team. Dana Winter suggested that Richard Thornton and I accompany her to the bar at the Marriot across the street for further briefing.
In the bar it was over air-conditioned. The clothes of the waitresses, designed to elicit tips were thin and somewhat skimpy. Service however was slow. I suggested that someone go and fetch our drinks from the bar. After a quick look around, Dana sighed and rose to do this service.
As Dana collected the tray of drinks from the bar, Zach observed that she looked quite natural in a serving role, “though she would have to lose that jacket. Her silk blouse would be enough to get her some good tips.”
Richard looked a little uncomfortable.
“She is a colleague, a respectable woman, a lady.”
“Don’t tell me you would not like to see her in a shorter skirt, without the jacket, in a nice thin piece of silk. You are a man after all; she is a desirable woman.”
Thornton looked uncomfortable but said nothing as Dana returned with our drinks. As she distributed our orders, she had to dip into a type of curtsey beside the table. She was very graceful. Even a professional woman knows how to be attractive and serve men. It is instinctual, I think.
We reviewed our progress, then Richard Thornton and Dana Winter left for dinner.
“But I will pay for myself, it is not a date,” she informed him. Thornton looked disappointed.
Zach drove Augustus Frick and me back to the Frick Mansion. He garaged the car, while Augustus and I went directly in throug the front door.
There were two kneeling kajirae inside the foyer; we gave them our briefcases.
“Let me show you the walled gardens before dinner, it is a quiet sheltered place within the grounds.”
I assented and we entered the gardens by a locked gate. Inside we encountered Chelsea Frick. She was calmer than I would have expected after Wyandotte Frick, the new head of the Family had deprived her of her handmaids. She seemed more docile than I thought she would be.
She greeted us with a smile and welcomed us to the garden.
“There is a group of the new slaves being exercised, Kailieka and Jade have charge of them. Mrs Crandall is here in the gardens too.”
The presence of Mrs Crandall, the new housekeeper brought in by Wyandotte Frick when he had replaced Chelsea’s murdered father, went a long way to explain Chelsea’s docile demeanor. Mrs Crandall tolerated no nonsense.
“If you will excuse me, I have to go and dress of dinner.”
Chelsea smiled and walked towards the house. The presence of Mrs Crandall explained Chelsea’s desire to be elsewhere, I thought.
We walked through the treed garden, Augustus Frick pointing out flowers and shrubs of interest.
“And that is the maze, full of little private spaces and nooks, very convenient that it is just off the ballroom.”
Walking further down the path, we came to a lawned space where the girls were being led in stretching and flexibility exercises. They seemed happy to be outdoors after nearly a week in the kennels in the cellar. There were four of them, of different sizes and shapes, all lovely. I recognized two, the one who had been whipped for refusing to remove her clothing, and the short mouthy one, the one who was half yappy mouth and half boob. Frick cleared his throat.
The girls all dropped to their knees. Frick spoke to Jade.
“Why are these girls outside?”
“Master, it is because they are ahead in the Gorean Language lessons. Because they were ahead, we put them to the post with the phalluses for some training?”
“How did they do in that training?”
“Reasonably well, for beginners, Master.”
“How did that one do?”, asked Frick, pointing to the tallest girl; she had 10 inscribed on her breast.
“Very well, Master, or at least adequately.”
He crooked his finger.
“Come, into the maze, demonstrate what you have learned.”
The girl, who wore a white collar, looked terrified, but rose and followed the distinguished lawyer.
I looked over the rest. I remembered Nineteen. She had been mouthy before she learned the imprudence of such behavior. Short, but full of hip and breast, she looked like an ancient fertility figure from the prehistoric middle east. I pointed at her.
“Heel the master to the maze, Nineteen, and be attentive to your lessons.”
Once we entered the maze, I put her before me, so I could watch her as we found a little nook, complete with a stone bench and small statue.
I sat on the bench, “pleasure me, Nineteen.”
She was adequate, growing more enthusiastic as she proceeded. I decided she need not be punished for her performance, although she would need improvement.
As I made to return to the house, I returned her to Jade.
“She was not bad, she needs more training.”
“Yes master.”

Slave Juli’s narrative.

Off to Master Patrick’s office again. I do not know what Master Gerry Reiss will demand of me today. He has become less and less reluctant to look upon me as a slave and not the Juliet Chen he knew when I was a respectable Free Woman. Last night my Master, Patrick, sent me instructions from Pittsburgh as to how I should dress today. I am his; I dress as he instructs. I am wearing a yellow tube-top type thing, it leaves my midriff and shoulders exposed; of course it has no arms at all. The material is light, not silk, but something like it. It is gathered by elastics at the top and bottom and I surely jiggle when I walk.
I remember Master Woodrow Frick speaking of silk when we were on the Frick ranch, the Lazy F out in Montana.
“Silk is appropriate for a slave woman. It drapes her body nicely, clinging to her curves. It follows her movements; it does not catch on her body. It slides along her; it falls into a graceful pile when it slides off her. It is proper for dancers, for pleasure slaves. It is soft as she is soft, yielding as she is yielding. Women dressed in silk know that they are women, and they are designed to be soft and yielding. It is the proper clothing for slaves. Many free women in their delusions wear it, denying what it means. They are suitable for the collar.”
The rest of my outfit is comprised of a bright red wraparound skirt, short of course; and silver strapped sandals, the footbed is cork, rising to quite a high heel at the rear. High heels enhance a woman’s look, it tightens the bum and leg muscles. Of course, besides these advantages for men, it is hard or impossible to run in them. Of course, men put women in high heels. On Gor I am told, Free Women wear flat slippers. I bet some of them wear heels when they can get away with it!
In the lobby of Patrick’s building, I saw a group of women getting ready to go up the elevator. They did not seem to be dressed as lawyers but seemed respectable. I remember when I was a respectable woman. Now I am a slave. Would I change back now I have worn the collar for a time. I can honestly say I would not.
I wait until the guards at the security desk are not busy. I am a slave; I have to wait for free folk. As before, the female guard ignores more. However, the male guard does not. He leads me to the door to the stairs. I am not allowed to use the elevator. He follows me up the stairs. He is a few steps behind. He can look up my skirt as I climb. I am sure he enjoys the view.
When we emerge into the reception area of Patrick’s firm, the women whom I saw downstairs are waiting. Indignantly, Mrs Hernandez pointed to an alcove where extra stationery was kept. I knew what was expected. In the alcove, I knelt beneath the shelves out of sight until she had time to take me back to Patrick’s office, where I was to sort his mail.
It took some time for the reception area to clear. I could hear the gaggle of women in the area for some while. When it was quiet, Mrs Hernandez led me back to Patrick’s office. She knocked on the door, and Master Gerry Weiss bid her enter.
“It is Juli, Mister Weiss, come to sort the mail.” From her tone, she might as well have said, ‘that slut Juli”.
“Thank you, Mrs Hernandez. I will let you know when it is time to escort her out.”
He pointed to a spot on the floor.  “You will kneel there.”
So I was not to sort the mail immediately. He was enjoying see me kneel. I knelt in the middle of the floor. Master Gerry Weiss made a telephone call. I knelt and waited. He finished his call, walked over to the credenza, poured himself a cup of coffee, and regarded me.
“Straighten your back and put back your shoulders.” He regarded me for a moment, then went back to making phone calls. He did not offer me any coffee of course. The delicious smell filled my nostrils. It had been a while since I was given coffee. I knelt there.
There came a tap on the door. After a moment the door opened and Miss Jane Bennet, one of the lawyers, came in. When I was respectable and free and Patrick’s girlfriend, she sucked up to me. Recently she has treated me with disdain. She looked at me, confused. Master Gerry continued his call. Miss Jane Bennet just looked at me, barely dressed and with my collar clearly visible.
When he finished his call, Master Gerry motioned her over. They began discussing the temporary data clerks that the Temporary Employment Service sent to work on my Master’s big case. Miss Bennet agreed that most of them were suitable and could be set to work cataloging exhibits immediately.
“And they know how to dress for an office too. Not like some.” She sniffed.
Master Gerry looked at her. “Juli belongs to Patrick, he can dress he as he wills.”
She did not say anything.
“Some women look well on their knees, do they not? Patrick believes so and I am coming around to his way of thinking.”
Miss Bennet did not say anything. I am sure that Patrick had sex with her when we were still courting and I was free. Some women do that to get ahead. I am sure that I am not the only woman that Patrick has bent over that desk, and that Miss Bennet was another. But she is free.
Miss Bennet looked at me. Although what I look like would be a juicy piece of gossip, I think she will keep it to herself until she sees a moment when it will be to her advantage to use it.
Master Gerry dismissed her and had me stand, with my hands behind my head.
“You look lovely today, Juli. Even lovelier without that top.”
I removed the top and he connected the chain to my collar, the other end to a concealed ring near the credenza. Patrick must have told him where it is. The chain hung down my body. Master Gerry moved it to the right and the left pressing it into my breasts, The feeling of the chain on my body, the weight hanging from my collar reminds me I am a slave, to be used as Masters wish.
Master Gerry had used the heavier of the chains Patrick keeps in the office. Master Gerry looped the chain around the outside of my breast, then underneath, raising it up. He did the same with the other. He let the chain fall, it made a soft clinking sound as it fell, a noise I now associate with excitement. He unwrapped the red skirt. His finger followed the chain down my body ending up in the hair near my sex.
“Patrick lets you retain your hair?”
“Master Patrick prefers it Master. Nicely trimmed of course.”
“If I owned you I would have you shaved, so you could hide nothing from your owner.”
“Yes, Master.”
“My wife, Myrna, used to show pedigreed dogs. On your hands and knees, Patrick tells me that slaves are regarded as beasts.”
“Yes Master.”
I was posed in a show dog position. The girls on the Lazy F are sometimes posed thusly. Master Weiss returned to his work, looking at me from time to time as he made notations on his legal pad. Finally, he took Master Patrick’s mail from the desk and put it in front of me to sort.
I commenced to putting the mail in order. One pile was personal, I would take that home with me; one pile was business, that would be handed to Mrs Hermandez; the third was the largest, junk mail.
Master Weiss looked up. “The junk mail can be placed in the shredding bin. Carry it in your mouth to the bin there, moving on your hands and knees.”
I am a slave. I obeyed, crawling, the chain clinking softly.
Master Weiss moved behind me. I held my breath. It had been over half a week since my master left, my slave fires were hot. He must have sensed that.
“You want to serve, Juli, don’t you. You are hot.”
“Yes Master, please master.”
Then with me still on my hands and knees, he put me to slave use. At first tentative, but then more insistently, almost savagely he took me. I believe he was shocked by the intensity of the slave orgasm, but he kept on until he was satisfied. I collapsed on the floor.
Master Weiss resumed his telephone calls while I knelt, a used slave, by his desk. The chain hung down my body and folded seductively over my left thigh. This was one of the things Tiffany the slave dancer had taught me when we were together in Montana.
Master Gerry Weiss had known me when I was Miss Juliet Chen and he was Gerry Weiss and Patrick’s friend. Now he had used me as a slave. How we had changed, how much had changed. I was likely the first slave he had known, what possibilities would it raise in his mind?
I put such things out of my mind. I was a slave, I did not need to consider such things. I had been used, used as a slave beast and I was content. I have come far since I was a respectable free woman.

 

After The Bighorn, Chapter Thirteen, Slaves and Free Women.

Patrick Master’s Narrative.

(Illustration, Master, Freewoman, slave, by TroyDM. Used by permission, all rights reserved by the artist)

After Monday’s clash in court, we lawyers on the Frick patent case buckled down to the hard but unglamourous work of preparation and study. This is the part that is never shown on the screen in movies and TV. Indeed, I don’t know how it could be made to look dramatic. It is study, study, study; knowing the law, and gaining mastery of the facts.

It is not glamourous, but it is where cases are won. It is what makes moments in court possible. J. Augustus Frick IV and the Frick company lawyers prepared documents to turn over to the VanRijn team, while I, Richard Thornton and Dana Winter, with two junior associates, scrutinize information turned over by the VanRijn people. Dana handles the coordination with our data team headed by Gerry Reiss back in San Francisco. Gerry has done an amazing job of bringing on board the temporary data staff which will document all our exhibits, making sure that they are numbered correctly and entered in our system. He is still trying to find a computer data specialist, but finding those through temp agencies is nearly impossible.

Zack Frick is handling the making sure all the teams are working together and not at cross purposes. He is doing an amazing job, considering his youth, indefatigable in his energy. There was one incident with Dana Winter, who tried to patronize him, due to his recent graduation from Law School (at an age when most are graduating from High School), and she being seven years his senior.

Zach’s sarcasm and commanding presence made her back down; she was confused by his lack of deference to a woman, and the arrogance with which he dismissed her. And it was all done with immaculate politeness, and of course the assurance of a man raised in a Gorean atmosphere. I saw in his attitude the same bearing he had when acting as slave-master he cowed the twenty women, collared in the dungeons under Frick House, who were destined for slavery on Gor. To him, as an earth woman, without a Home Stone, she was just a female of the Slave World, collar-meat.

Dana, though, is efficient, and I am more likely, at the current time, to regard her as more useful as a lawyer and a Free Woman, than as a prospective slave. Jane Bennet, while capable as a lawyer, is somewhat lazy, and more reliant on getting men to do her work for her. In the future, she is slated for the collar, when her current role can be filled. The world is full of prospective candidates for the collar; there are fewer to fit the roles my office needs.

Richard Thornton, full of the chivalry which has weakened the men of Earth ( in Gorean views anyway) tried to step in to shield Dana.  Zach, quelled him even more quickly, Richard feeling threatened back down from physical confrontation as uncivilized.

Looking at Dana, I felt it wrong that she tried to push Zach aside. I find myself between Gorean and Earth attitudes, on the one hand regarding women as fit for the collar, as my beloved Juli is, and the other, still regarding women with some degree of deference.

Maybe this is the same as the Gorean dichotomy of Free Women and Kajirae, one that is especially enforced by Free Women. I don’t think that Dana Winter is especially destined for the collar; I know that she carries herself much more modestly than others, such as Jane Bennet.

On the other side of the elevator bank on the third floor of the Frich Building is a department entirely different to the Legal Department. This is the packing and testing division of the Frick Steel Home Products Dept. This department deals with equipment for those who are submissive in the lives: collars, cuffs, chains, etc. This department serves the Fricks in many ways. It is a profit centre for the business, it provides them with a list of women and some men who may be suitable for dispatch to Gor as kajirae or kajirus, and provide a group of women working as packers, who may also be suitable for the Frick’s export business. After all, employees in the packing business come and go, and so no one is surprised when one disappears: it is just assumed they found another, better paying job. Many of the lawyers working on our side of the third floor, would gather near the water cooler in the elevator lobby as the women packers arrived and departed for their shifts. It was old fashioned girl watching and even Richard Thornton participated, although he pretended he didn’t. Dana Winter did not, although she sniffed at the ‘inappropriate clothing’ of many of the packers. As the only professional woman on the legal side, she was quite alone, except for the secretaries, with whom she did not associate on class grounds.

I found my Earth attitudes amusing, as I regarded the packers more suitable for the collar than Dana or the secretaries, as they dressed more modestly and conservatively. Really of course, either is suitable for the collar, but I still regard the modest Free Women of our legal department more highly.

Strangely I don’t have the same attitude to the women waiting for transport to Gor currently waiting in the Frick cellars for the Silver Ship to arrive. Even though I know their backgrounds as intelligent women mostly from well regarded universities, once viewed naked and collared, their former status does not seem to matter. J Augustus Frick IV reminds me that Goreans appreciate intelligent women in the collar, perhaps even prefer them. I am still working out the contradictions in my thinking.

There is one Free Woman who I have no difficulty envisioning in a collar: Chelsea Frick. I would love to have that proud beauty kneeling at my feet, wearing my collar, beside my beloved Juli. That however is very unlikely, Chelsea being the daughter of my allies and thus out of my reach. Perhaps someday something might happen that brings her into my clutches.

I have talked to Juli in my office recently. She was there collecting my mail, and sorting office mail from personal mail. It is a task I have set her every day. Every day that she goes to my office, dressed in her collar and the skimpy garments she wears as a slave, it reinforces in her mind the change in her status from a Free Woman to my kajira, my property. When she is seen by the people that knew her as my companion, who wore conservative clothing, now dressed as something to be displayed they know her status has changed and that she is to be treated differently, even though they have no ideas of the details. Mrs Hernandez, the receptionist, has forbidden Juli to use the elevator, as one dressed as she is not really fit to ride with the clients and lawyers. She must climb the stairs to the Fifth Floor offices. She can no longer just walk back to my personal office as she could when she was my companion Juliet, now she must be escorted. Juli must learn to accept this, her status is different now than that of a Free Woman.

I have also talked with Gerry Reiss, who is helping on this Frick case. He raised again the matter of me keeping Juli as my slave. I told him again, that she is bound by contract until she objects; and reminded him that not all countries ban all forms of slavery.

“Yes, Patrick, I know. I have been doing some research. Among the countries are some that are surprising, some even in Europe.
I feigned surprise.

“Among other, the Grand Duchy of Lutha. I recall you had some dealings with that country. Is that how you intend to make Juli irrevocably your property, a possession not a person?”

“It may well be Gerry, it seems she will be happier in that condition, I think more women that you suspect might crave that status.”

“I know you have looked at this closely, Patrick, and that you are a stickler for the letter of the Law. Do you really intend to do this?”

“If I can make it work, Gerry, I truly intend to do so. If not in San Francisco, then I will move to a place where I can live as Juli’s owner.”

“It is hard to get my mind around.”

“In the meantime Gerry, feel free to use my office for your work. You will be more respected at the firm, if you sit in a place of authority. Juli will be coming by weekdays to sort my mail, the official from the personal.”

“It will be hard to face Juli every day, as we will both remember I saw her displayed as a naked slave, not a person.”

“Continue to view her that way, Gerry, it is the only way she will be comfortable in her situation. If you choose, use her as a slave as well. There is no use pretending that she is free, any pretense will only make things uncomfortable.”

“I am not sure I know what you mean, Patrick.”

“Juli is a slave, a kajira, Gerry, use her as such. It is only appropriate. Goodday Gerry, I must return to work.”

“Good bye, Patrick.”

Kajira Nineteen’s Narrative.

(One of the books read by Twenty, that she had thought was only a pleasant late night fantasy)

We have been held captive here in this dungeon for seven days now. A week of abuse, a week of eating nothing but gruel, tasteless, unflavoured NutriGirl. Those girls among us who are ‘Red Silk’, that is ‘opened for the use of men’, and baring the brunt of our situation. Many times a day, one of them is randomly taken to the curtained alcove and ‘put to use’, sometime by more than one of the brutes. We can hear them, and her, as her torment goes on. The worst thing is that most of the ‘Red Silk’ girls do not regard it as torment, but as a form of pleasure. I asked Eighteen, the only one in our pen who is ‘Red Silk’.

“How can you stand it, the unspeakable things they do to you?”

“I don’t feel it is unspeakable. It is not something I would have considered before I was brought to this place, but what they force me to do, the surrenders they force from me are wonderful.”

Her face lit up.

“They are so demanding, they allow me no pretense. I must yield fully as a slave. They accept nothing less. I am fulfilled. I feel I have found my role.”

“Don’t you want to escape, don’t you want to be free? To become free again?”

“No, I feel this is what I am. It is not what I would have answered a week ago, but I have never felt so alive. Even our nudity, it feels right to be under the gaze of men. Men who own us.”

“No, no no, I will never be a slave. I have to escape. Those men who look at me like they own me.”

“They do own you,” interjected Twenty. “They own all of us. We are bound for Gor, for a life of bondage in slavery to the men of that planet. We are women of the Slave World.”

“Is that what your Gor books tell you? How can that be true.  It is just propaganda for traffickers of women here on Earth. There is no Gor.”

“Then why are we learning Gorean, why must we learn that language? I never thought that Gor could exist; I thought it was fantasy. Just something erotic to dream of in the night. But it seems real, our captors believe it is real. I am sure that Kailieka must be Gorean. She and Bruno have the same accent. I am sure they come from another place, another planet.”

“I cannot accept it, my mind will just not let me believe it. I want to be free, I want to escape”

“There is no escape for us, no escape for a kajira, here or on Gor. I know you have felt it, I know you have known, as you kneel, legs wide open at the feet of men, that you have felt that you are a slave.”

“I won’t admit that; I can’t admit that.”

Sometimes what Twenty said was true, but mostly I was sure it was just brainwashing, I admitted to myself now that perhaps some women had slave tendencies, but not me, not really.

 Mistress Kailieka, and Mistress Jade, slaves really , but put in charge of us had a group of four of we ‘white silk’ girls kneeling closely to a post. Attached around the post were four dummy penises, and we were made to practice pleasuring them, using our mouths. Very submissive behaviour, even in Free Women, but expected of us captives (not slaves, nevery slaves). I was with my kennel mate, Seventeen, a girls from Ohio State, and Ten, the girl who every one thought was a slut, but it turned out was white silk, and One, the girl who was whipped when she refused to disrobe. Every since her clothes had been cut from her and she felt the slave whip, she had oscillated between eagerness to please and the remains of her modesty. Kailieka had demonstrated what was expected of us and now we were practicing this most degrading task.

I had asked her a question earlier and was turning the answer over in my mind.

“If we are very good and pleasing, will our master love us and free us?”

“It is a saying that ‘Only a fool frees a slave”, and anyway Nineteen, you are too pretty to be free. You are destined for the collar. A curvy wench like you will always be in demand on Gor. You will serve well and be pleasing. The masters will not have it any other way.”

‘Too pretty to be free’! I had heard that phrase before. I could remember the older man in a suit saying that the day we were processed: stripped of our clothes and marked with numbers as they took away our names.

Too pretty to be free. I knew I had heard it some where else.

Then suddenly, as I swallowed the artificial penis, it came to me. I had walked in on a conversation in the common room as Jimmy Klein, who was courting Amanda Sloan was talking.

“Janey Anstruther, she is curvy, she is too pretty to be…” Then he had seen me and broken off the conversation. I rebuked him for talking about women that way, but he was adamant that he admired me. Well who doesn’t like to be admired. I pretended I was angry with him.

Now I knew what he had meant to say, that I was too pretty to be free. I bet he was one of the people who named me to these kidnappers. Now more than ever, I have to escape, so I can warn Amanda that her boyfriend is not to be trusted.

We all did well at our training. I did not look forward to having to pleasure a real man, but I at least passed my test. Kailieka was scornful, “barely competent, much more will be demanded, but at least it might keep them alive.”

Jade countered.

“They did well enough, let us exercise them in the gardens.”

Kailieka nodded, reluctantly.  We were lined up and our collars connected by short lengths of chain, while our hands were secured behind us. We were marched up the stairs, past the door on the landing by which we had entered, and continued up the stairs to near the roof. Kaikieka produced a key and opened a trapdoor, and we climbed out into a large room. It was an old fashioned ballroom, like in a movie about the Nineteenth Century. We past a girl practicing dance moves over and over, so sexy and demeaning, and out a garden door. There was a small enclosed space, with stone walls, trees and grass all around. It was lovely to be in the open air.  Our collars were unleashed and we could wander. I looked around but there was no way to climb the fence, and the only gate was locked. It was evening and the cooler air was lovely. Seventeen and I were one corner, running from tree to tree, when I ran into a lady. I was shocked. She was the first clothed woman I had seen in this place. She wore no collar. Seventeen  sunk to her knees, I followed, Jade and Kailieka had warned us to beware of Free Women. They said they had a hatred of slaves. I don’t know why, we are the unfortunate ones at the mercy of men.

“Can you free us, please Mistress? You see what men have done, you are a woman like us, cannot you help us?”

Evidently Seventeen had said something wrong. The woman’s face grew very angry.  Then she stopped and smiled.”

“You poor dears, how unfortunate for you. I cannot do anything for you right now, but maybe I can get you away from this place. What are your names? Oh of course, you are Seventeen and Nineteen.”

Her laugh was not a pleasant one, but her promise to help us escape gave me hope.

“Now you mustn’t say anything to any one. Perhaps I can get you both away from here, but no more than you two. But you are both very pretty, but perhaps, just perhaps you will do.”

I don’t know why Jade and Kailieka warned us against Free Women. She seemed like she would help us.

Slave Juli’s Narrative.

(Slave Juli in Patrick's office, Illustration by TroyDM. Used by permission, all rights reserved by the artist)

I have to return to Patrick’s office today.  After what happened yesterday, I am afraid. But I am a slave, I must obey. Yesterday when I climbed the stairs to the Fifth floor where Patrick’s Law Office was, I was very embarrassed. In the lobby where the elevators and the stairs are, a security post had been established. There were a man and a woman there, both in uniform. I went towards the stairs, to climb to the Office because I had been forbidden to use the elevator for fear of offence to clients and staff in Patrick’s office. Both the guards were suspicious of me, especially the woman. I don’t think she liked my skimpy clothes, the only ones allowed me by my Master. I was desperate to reach the office, my Master would punish me if I did not fulfill my errand. Finally I prevailed on the male guard to call upstairs; I am sure the female guard just wanted to shoo me away and forbid me to ever come back.

Finally the male guard finished talked to Mrs Hernandez the receptionist and instructed to let me come up. The female guard looked disgusted, the male guard insisted on accompanying me up the stairs. He followed me, I am sure that he just want to ogle my bum; my skirt was short and he could see everything as he climbed behind me. When he got there, he winked and said, “see you tomorrow.”

Mrs Hernandez made me kneel in the supply alcove for fifteen minutes before escorting me back. I am sure it was just to show me she could, there were not a lot of calls or business for her to attend to.

I was sorting the mail, putting it in piles on the coffee table when Gerry Reiss walked in. Master Gerry Reiss now. I was so embarrassed. When last I had seen him, he had seen Master Patrick display me as a slave, naked for inspection.

“Patrick told me I could use this office. He also asked me to remind you that you are slave. That is what the collar on your throat means, isn’t it. Not just a fashion statement.”

“Yes Master.”

“Should you not be kneeling, in the presence of a Free Man?”

“Yes Master, my apologies, Master.”

I knelt before him, in the position of a pleasure slave. This was humiliating; I had known him when I was free.  He went to the desk and began to work, he seemed a little embarrassed to have a kneeling woman in the office.

He worked away while I finished sorting the mail, kneeling now instead of sitting on the couch; I had not been given permission to get off my knees. He kept looking me, more often as he continued to work. Finally he seemed to make up his mind.

“Take off your garments. You are a slave after all.”

It seemed the more he had looked on me kneeling, the more he regarded me as a slave. I knelt before as a slave. He regarded me. He took out a chain, and secured me. It was over an hour before he allowed me to get dressed. Mrs Hernandez arrived to escort me out just as I got my clothes on. I am worried today may be worse,