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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:50:20 GMT -5
I supposed I was a wicked, worthless woman and, far worse, only a despicable natural slave, but something deep in me, fundamental in me, proud and ancient in me, loved men, and I did not want to make them small, and nothing, but wanted, rather, to please them, to obey them, to serve them, to give my all to them, to make them strong and proud, grand and glorious, to make them happy. But here, among the virile men of Gor, I had little choice in such matters. Such things, regardless of whether or not I might wish to bestow them of my own free will, would be simply commanded of me. DANCER OF GOR-, Page 75
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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:51:22 GMT -5
Indeed, I suspected that there would always be more to learn about service and love, that such things were fathomless and limitless, and, thus, in a sense, the notion of being "fully trained," or knowing all there was to know, was in actuality less of a practical goal than a lovely ideal, one which might perhaps be approached ever more closely, but would never be and perhaps should never be fully attained. Let the girl revel in her growth, and not fear that one day there will be no more to learn, no where else to go. There are no summits on the heights of love. DANCER OF GOR-, Page 129
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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:51:52 GMT -5
And, interestingly enough, I was not discontented. I could have wished, I suppose, for lesser men, but I did not really want lesser men. I wanted the mightiest men, the most powerful men, the most glorious men, the most ferocious, grandest men. I did not want men who were like me, I wanted men who were like men, men in whose arms, ravished, loving, crying out, overwhelmed, mastered, I could be myself, and find myself. I wanted such men, and knew in my heart that I belonged to them. I wanted a man who was greater than I, and incomparably so, one whom I must, in the order of nature obey, one to whom I must look up, and I did not care if it was from my knees, black with dust, a collar on my neck, naked, that I looked up to his glory. DANCER OF GOR-, Page 91
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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:52:53 GMT -5
One of the great fears of a slave girl is that she will be sold to a woman. Free women treat their female slaves with incredible hatred and cruelty. Why this is I do not know. Some say it is because they, the free women, envy the girls their collars and wish that they, too, were collared, and at the complete mercy of Masters. MARAUDERS OF GOR-, Page 154
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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:54:25 GMT -5
In the lowering of the woman, of course, a common consequence of her helplessness in the arms of a powerful male, her surrenderings, her being forced to submit, she finds, incredibly to some perhaps, her freedom, her ecstasy, her fulfillment, her exaltation, her joy; in the Gorean mind this matter is simple; it is the nature of the female to submit; accordingly, it is natural that, when she is forced to acknowledge, accept, express and reveal this nature, that she should be almost deliriously joyful, and thankful, to her master; she has been taught her womanhood; no longer is she a sexless, competitive pseudoman; she is then, as she was not before, female; she then finds herself, perhaps for the first time, clearly differentiated from the male, and vulnerably, joyfully, complementary to him; she has, of course, no choice in this matter; it is not permitted her; collared, she submits; I know of no group of women as joyful, as spontaneous, as loving and vital, as healthy and beautiful, as excited, as free in their delights and emotions, as Gorean slave girls; it is true they must live under the will of men, and must fear them, and the lash of their whips, but, in spite of these things, they walk with a sensuous beauty and pride; they know themselves owned; but they wear their collars with a shameless audacity, a joy, an insolent pride that would scandalize and frighten the bored, depressed, frustrated women of Earth. MARAUDERS OF GOR-, Pages 155-156
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Post by sweetlarma on Jul 3, 2007 16:55:03 GMT -5
The slave girl, of course, will usually have many friends. These are, of course, almost always wenches collared like herself: Friends of her master will often bring their own girls with them, in visiting, and with these, after the men have been served, she may make friends, perhaps chatting in the kitchen. These girls may be exchanged among the men, but commonly they are not. Most masters are rather possessive about their slaves, particularly if they are fond of them. She may also, of course, meet girls in the streets, encountered in the neighborhood, or on her errands. The slave girl, almost always, has no dearth of friends. To be sure, they are likely only to be mere slaves like herself. Women desire, in their hearts, to be beautiful, helpless, conquered animals, owned and dominated by masters. The collar makes it clear to them that their dream has been enacted upon them; that, indeed, their dream, to their joy, has become their reality. They know that they are now in their place, and will be kept there. They are happy. GUARDSMAN OF GOR-, Pages 209-210
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Post by sweetlarma on Jan 14, 2008 11:18:53 GMT -5
They are prized, and relished. They become radiant, and zealous, and passionate, hot, devoted and dutiful. They set themselves to win the love of their master, and not unoften they succeed. Many then become the love slaves of love masters. They are kept as slaves, of course, for they are slaves; too, of course, as slaves, they are kept under perfect discipline. She, as other slaves, would not want it any other way. How could she, or any other slave, respect a master too weak to enforce discipline, too weak to get the whole slave from her? They are radiant. They are joyous in their collars. To be sure, not all slaves are love slaves. ---Tribesmen of Gor, 13:
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Post by sweetlarma on Nov 14, 2008 10:26:29 GMT -5
"'The chains which will most truly bind you,' I said, 'are those of your aroused, ignited needs, my shackled beauty, and the uncompromising, luscious condition of bondage itself, which will be yours.' She looked up at me. 'Such chains,"' I said, 'you will find far fiercer and far more obdurate than the links of these iron laces which now weight your limbs.'" --Explorers of Gor, page 189-190
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 11:28:52 GMT -5
passage from Beasts of Gor, chap 15:
"What is slavery like in the south?" asked Audrey. "It is the same as here," I said. "You would be in the absolute power of a man." "I know that, Master," she said. "But how would I be dressed? What would I have to do?" "You would be dressed, if at all, as your master pleased," I said, "and you would have to do whatever you were told." "Oh, I know that, Master," she said, laughing, kissing me. Then she lay with her head on my shoulder. "Would I be branded?" she asked. "Doubtless," I said. "It is easier to keep track of a slave that way." "Does that hurt much?" she asked. "At the time," I said, "not later." "Where are we branded?" she asked. "A girl is commonly branded on the left or right thigh," I said, "sometimes on the lower left abdomen." "I am afraid to be branded," she said. "It does not hurt afterwards," I said. "It is only a mark to help keep track of you." "Really, Master?" she asked. "Well," I said, "if the truth must be told, it does, considerably, enhance your beauty. Also it is sometimes not without its psychological effect." "I can well imagine its psychological effect," she said. She shuddered. "It can help to impress upon a girl that she is a slave," I admitted. I touched her on the thigh. "There?" she asked. "Quite possibly," I said. Suddenly she clutched me. "Oh, oh," she cried. "It is the thought of being branded," she whispered, intensely. "Please, Master, hold me, hold me!" Her thighs were clenched fiercely. "I am going into orgasm," she cried out, frightened. I held her, as she gasped and wept in my arms. I had not even entered her, or touched her intimately. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. Angrily I thrust apart her legs. "Forgive me, Master," she wept "It was the thought of being branded." "So, Slave," I said, "you want the iron?" "Yes, Master," she wept. "If I should have you in the south," I said, "I would have you soon marked." "Yes, Master," she wept. "Yes, Master!" "Serve me now, Slave," I said. "Yes, Master," she cried. "Yes, Master!" she cried.
"Serve me again," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Audrey will now serve her master again. "Does Audrey like serving her master?" I asked. "Audrey loves serving her master," she whispered. "Why is that?" I asked. "Audrey is a slave," she whispered. "It is true," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. Then she began to cry out with helpless pleasure. "In the south," I said, "there are many cities. Many of these cities consist largely of high cylinders, joined by traceries of high bridges." "It sounds very beautiful," she said. "It is," I said. "Are there many slave girls in these cities?" she asked. "Yes, many," I said. "Tell me of them," she said. "They are commonly kept barefoot," I said, "and are clad in brief tunics. Their hair is usually worn long and loosely. Their throats are normally encircled by collars, which identify their masters." "Are such girls treated kindly?" she asked. "It depends on the will of the master," I said. "They are slaves." "Of course," she said. "Most girls are treated kindly," I said, "provided they are absolutely pleasing in all ways." She was silent. "That is little enough to expect from a slave," I pointed out. "Yes, Master," she said. "Do you object?" I asked. "No," she said. "It is only that the domination to which the Gorean slave girl is subject is so uncompromising, so complete." "It is absolutely uncompromising and complete," I told her. "Goreans are not men of Earth," I said. "They will have what they truly want from a woman, everything." "Though I am destined to be the helpless victim of their will, their power and their lust," she said, "yet I cannot help but admire and fear such men." "They will make you be a woman, their woman," I said. "In my most secret dreams," she said, "I longed for such a man. I did not know they could exist." "Something in your heart," I said, "whispered to you that there must be somewhere such men." "It was only a longing dream," she whispered, "the yearning of a girl for a true man, one proud and free and strong, one not dishonest, one not broken, one not robbed of himself, one who could by his might and strength make me as much a woman as he was a man." "And then?" I asked. "And then, one day, on a platform in the Sardar, I learned that it was not a simple dream, but that it had been a dream to which there corresponded a fearful reality." "You, wench of Earth," I said to her, "now lie naked on Gor, a slave girl." "Yes," she whispered. "Are you frightened?" I asked. "Yes," she whispered. "I am terribly frightened." She clutched my arms. "Should those of Earth not be told that there truly is a Gor?" she asked. "No," I said. "It is better that they do not know." "How many girls, this very night on Earth," she asked, "are being brought to Gor?" "I do not know," I said. "Perhaps none. I do not know the schedule of the slave runs." "The horror, and the joy, of it," she said. "Joy," I asked, "Slave?" "Yes, joy," she whispered. "Master?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Would you please stand over me?" she asked. I did so. "Yes," she said, "that is how I imagined him, the man in my dreams, he for whom I longed, he who would come for me and place me, regardless of my will, resolutely in his total bondage." "And what did you do?" I asked. "I knelt before him, like this," she said, "and put my head to his feet." She looked up at me. "You see," she said, "I knew, in seeing him, that he was my master." "And what did he do?" I asked. "He did not let me speak," she said, "but took me by the shoulders and gently, but powerfully, pressed me back." "Like this?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "Oh, I wanted to protest, and speak, and question him, but I saw in his eyes that I must not do so." "And then?" I asked. "He told me that he would try me out," she said, "and see if I pleased him. If I did not he would leave me alone, and unharmed, and I should not see him again. But to beware, for if he was pleased with me, he would take me away with him, to a far world, one very different from my own, where he could keep me as he wished, and would do so, as a slave." She smiled at me. "He encouraged me to try to resist him, that I might keep my pride and freedom." She looked up at me. "You see, he only wanted me if I truly was a slave," she said. "What did you do then?" I asked. "I opened my body to him like a flower," she said. "I said to him, "Do not leave me, Master. Take me with you. I am truly a slave as you have suspected. You are the first man to discern this. Thus you are the first man to whom I belong." She smiled. "Yes, he said, I see that you are a slave, but I do not know if you will please me." "And then?" I asked. "Then," she said, "I was very afraid, for I sensed that if he should so much as touch his lips to mine I could never again be anything but a man's slave. What if I should not please him, Would he not then simply abandon me, leaving me behind, a masterless girl, a lonely, forlorn slave on a world empty of men strong enough to be a woman?s master?" I supposed it was hard for one who was a slave to be in a world in which there were no masters. Perhaps there were masters on such a world, but she had not yet found them. The slave seeks her master, the master his slave. When they find one another they will know it. She will kneel to him, and he will accept her as his. "Did he permit you to speak further?" I asked. "Yes," she said. I opened my arms to him. I said to him, "I will try with all, my heart to please you, my master, that I may be found worthy to be taken with you as your slave." "What then did he say?" I asked. "He said nothing," she said. "He only held me by the arms, and I could not move. Then he laughed. Then he used me for his pleasure." "His domination was ruthless" I asked. "Yes," she smiled, "lovingly ruthless." "He treated you as a slave" I asked. "Completely," she said. "As was proper," I said. "Of course," she smiled. "I was his slave. Should a slave not be treated as a slave?" "Of course," I said. "When he finished with me," she said, I said to him, "Have I pleased you, Master?" He did not respond but, from a bottle, poured a tiny bit of fluid into a cloth. "Did I please you, Master?" I again begged. Then he placed the damp cloth over my mouth and nose, holding it tightly. "Yes," he said, "you have pleased me, Slave." I looked up at him. I could sense the fumes in the cloth. "You are a pretty slave," he said. "You will bring a good price in the market." I realized then that he would only keep me for a time, and would then sell me. I realized then that I would have many masters. I struggled, but I could not escape. Then I lost consciousness." "An interesting dream," I said. "Then one day," she said, "I awakened, chained on Gor," She kissed me. "Master," she said. "Yes," I said. "The girls who are kept slave in the cities," she asked, "are they happy?" "Many are blissfully happy," I said. "Strange," I mused, "that that should be so, and yet the facts are incontrovertible, Many of them, collared, subject to the whip, are yet blissfully happy. It makes little sense to me. I do not profess to understand it." "I sense how it could be, Master," she said. "A girl, of course," I said, "in having many masters learns how to please men. She must, of course." "I am sure that is part of it, Master," said Audrey. "May I speak?" "Yes," I said. "I sense," she said, "what my true master would be like." "Any man who owns you is your true master," I said. "That is true," she laughed. "But I have a dream of a perfect master, to whom I could be but a perfect slave." "I see," I said. "Other girls, too," she said, "must sense this sort of thing." "Perhaps," I said. "Do not men have some sense of what sort of girl would be their perfect slave?" she asked. "Some girls are surely more attractive and desirable than others," I said, "and clearly this is not a simple function of physical appearance. Indeed, some rather plain girls are, for no reason that is clear to me, tormentingly attractive, intensely desirable." "There is no simple answer," she said. "No," I said, "I do not think so." "Is it not true," she laughed, "that all men want a woman who will bring them their slippers in her teeth?" "Sandals," I corrected her. "Sandals," she laughed. "Yes," I said, "every man wants such a woman." "And a slave girl must," she said. "If the master so instructs her," I said. "Of course." "All men want," she laughed, "is a girl panting in their arms." "Surely more than that," I said. "Any girl can be made to pant in a manes arms," I pointed out. "That is true," she said, bitterly. She was slave. She knew she could be forced to yield to any man. "What is it that you are trying to say?" I asked. "You could not easily delineate for me your criteria for the perfect slave," she said, "nor I to you my criteria for the perfect master. Indeed, one might be a perfect slave to one master and not to another, as one might be the perfect master to one slave and not to another." "Go on," I told her. "But we both sense," she said, "that there would be a rightness, or rightnesses, about such matters." "Perhaps," I said. "I think I would know my perfect master as soon as his eyes met mine," she said. "I doubt it," I said. "I would certainly know," she said, "that it might well be he." "Perhaps," I granted. "Too," she said, "I suspect that you generally have little difficulty in picking from a line of chained girls those who are of the most interest to you." "That is true," I smiled. "But such difficulties, even should they occur, are, of course, not intolerable." "Beast," she said. "But my point, Master, if I may be permitted to continue to speak, is that both of us would sense rightnesses, fittingnesses, matches, agrecabiities. complementarities, in such matters." "Of course," I said. Then I said, "Ah yes, your point is an interesting one." "Yes," she said. "Suppose that a woman is, as I am, a natural slave." "Yes," I said, "the buying and the selling." "A girl will often have many masters, will she not?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "A comely girl may change hands many times." "And a master, of course," she said, "is likely to own, from month to month, or year to year, several different girls." "Yes," I said. Most Gorean masters could not afford more than one girl. The price obtained on one, of course, can be applied to the purchase of the next. In this sense, after the initial investment, provided one both sells and buys, girls are cheap. "A man, too," she said, "buys women who are attractive to him. It is harder for the woman, but she, too, at times, is in a position to influence her sale. She will try to appear more beautiful and pleasing to the man she wishes to buy her than to one she does not wish to buy her." "The slaver will take her hide off with the whip if he catches her at it," I said. "Too," I said, "at a public auction that sort of thing is difficult or impossible." "Yes," said Audrey, "in a public auction, as I understand it, a woman is completely at the mercy of the men." "Your point is an excellent one," I said. "If women are true slaves, and men are true masters, and slave exchanges are frequent, there is a resonable chance that a man may find his choice slave, and a girl her choice master." "Or perfect slave and master," she whispered. "Yes," I said. The bliss of many slave girls now seemed less puzzling to me. First, as girls, natural slaves, they were in a relationship to which, in effect, they were bred by nature, that of the submitting organism in an ancient biological complementarity of male and female; female slavery is but the cultural institutionalization, the expression and perfection, to be expected in conscious, intelligent organisms, intent upon remaining true to nature, rather than violating it, of the male's control and ownership of his female. Man owns woman by nature; in a complex society, and in a world with property rights and laws, female slavery, as a legalized fact, is to be expected; it will occur in any society in which touch is kept with the truths of nature. Gorean law, of course, is complex and latitudinous on these matters. For example, many women are free, whether wisely or desirably or not, and slavery is not always permanent for a slave girl. Sometimes a girl, winning love, is freed, perhaps to bear the children of a former master. But the freedom of a former slave girl is always a somewhat tenuous thing. Her thigh still bears the brand. And, should her ears be pierced, it is almost certain she will, sooner or later, be re-enslaved. It is hard for men to leave a woman who can be a good slave girl free. She will always dread that in the night men will come again for her, hooding her, carrying her to a distant city, to be again put on the block of a steaming market, that once again her throat will be encircled by a steel collar and that she will kneel at the feet of a new master. Slavery also, of course, encompasses the ownership of male slaves, for which there is less precedent in nature. Where males are concerned the institution is primarily economic. The labor of male slaves is useful and cheap. It is applied in such places as the quarries, the roads, the great farms, in certain types of cargo galleys, on the wharves, at the walls of cities and in the forests. Male slaves are usually debtors or criminals; sometimes they are captives, taken in actions against enemy cities or facilities; sometimes they have merely accrued the displeasure of powerful men or families; some slavers, working in gangs, specialize in the capture of free men for work projects; they obtain a fee per head on a contractual basis. The second reason for the bliss of many slave girls, that sequent upon the appropriateness of bondage for the beautiful woman itself, her female joy in being made to be true to herself, slave, was that, given the flesh transactions in a given city, sooner or later, masters tended to find girls who were, from their point of view, superb slaves, apd girls tended to find men who were, from their point of view, marvels as masters. It is a beautiful moment when the woman realizes that the man who owns her is her love master, and the man realizes that the girl he bought, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, is his love slave. Then the only danger is that he will weaken. One must be strong with a love slave. If one truly loves her, he will be that strong. The slavery in which a love slave is kept is an unusually deep slavery. She must serve him with a perfection which would stun and startle other girls; if she should fail in any way, even in so small a way that the lapse would be overlooked in the case of another wench, or bring perhaps a mild word of reprimand, she is likely to be tied at the slave ring and whipped; there is a good reason for this; she is, you see, a love slave; no woman can be more in a man?s power; and with no woman must he be stronger. Too, of course, if a relationship should weaken, or not prove enduringly satisfactory, the girl is simply put in cuffs and taken to a market. The relationship which does not prove satisfactory is soon terminated. This termination is completely in the power of the master. "Enough discussion," I said. "Let us have you." "Yes, have me, Master," she whispered. Her lips met mine, eagerly.
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 11:31:05 GMT -5
"The Goreans claim that in each woman there is a free companion, proud and beautiful, worthy and noble, and in each, too, a slave girl. The companion seeks for her companion; the slave girl for her master. It is further said, that on the couch, the Gorean girl, whether slave or free, who has had the experience, who has tried all loves, begs for a master. She wishes to belong completely to a man, withholding nothing, permitted to withhold nothing. And, of course, of all women, only a slave girl can truly belong to a man, only a slave girl can be truly his, in all ways, utterly, totally, completely, his, selflessly, at his mercy, his ecstatic slave, helpless and joyous in the total submission which she is given no choice but to yield." Book 8, Hunters of Gor, page 102
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 11:31:26 GMT -5
" 'How can a girl who is only a slave be of interest?' she asked. 'Your question is foolish' I said. 'all men desire a slave or slaves, it is their nature. Thus, that a woman is a slave, even in itself, makes her extraordinarily interesting. Her slavery itself, apart from her intelligence or beauty, is found extremely provocative and exciting to a male, because of his nature.' " Book 12, Beasts of Gor, page 219
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 12:03:25 GMT -5
I know of no pleasure comparable to the pleasure of owning a woman, fully. It is indescribably delicious; it is glorious; it fills one with joy and power; it exalts and fulfills the blood. It teaches a male, in the thunderous currency of intellect and emotion, what is the true meaning of manhood. Compared to it, the gratifications of pretense and denial, the insistence on subverting ones blood and virility in the name of a false manhood conditioned by a demented, antibiological society, are pallid indeed. Let those who can climb mountains climb then; let those who cannot climb them console themselves with denying their existence. Rogue of Gor - Page 81
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 12:07:57 GMT -5
A man can truly love only that woman who is truly his, who belongs to him. Otherwise, he is only a party to a contract. Slave Girl of Gor, page 444
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Post by sweetlarma on Dec 12, 2008 12:18:06 GMT -5
"Do you not understand, Master?" I asked. "If I had the choice, I would choose not to be free but to be your slave." A woman, I had learned, must choose between freedom and love. Both are estimable virtues. Let each choose which is best for her. "But I do not give you a choice," he said. "Of course not, Master," I said. "You are Gorean." He looked down at the furs. "Perhaps I will sell you," he said. "You may do as you wish, Master," I said. I knew I was at his complete mercy, only a bond girl. He seemed angry. "Bring me wine, Master," I said. He looked at me, suddenly. "A girl is only testing her master," I smiled. Suddenly he struck me, slapping me cruelly across the mouth. It hurt me. I tasted a bit of blood. "Do you think," he asked, "that because I care for you I will not be strong with you?" "No, Master," I said. I lay in the shadow of the slave ring. A chain and heavy collar lay at the foot of the ring, the chain attached to the ring. He took the heavy metal collar and closed it about my throat, over and about the lighter collar I wore, confining me at the ring, on the furs at the foot of his couch. Then he touched me. "I see you will be strong with me, Master," I said. "What a fool I am," he said, "to care for a miserable Earth-girl slave." "I ask only to love and serve you, Master," I said. "Yet you are attractive," he said. "A girl is grateful to her master, should he find her pleasing," I said. "So you would choose to be a slave?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I said. "very *friendly* person," said he. "Yes, Master," I said. "It is I who will decide," he said. "Yes, Master," I said. "I decide-" he said. "Yes, Master," I begged. "-that you are my slave." "Yes, Master!" I cried. Then I writhed in his arms as he took me, exploding in the deepest and most profound ecstasies a female can know, those of the slave orgasm, known only to the owned woman. "How could I love you so much," he asked, "if I did not truly own you, if you were not fully mine?" "I do not know, Master," I said. Clitus Vitellius had confessed his love for a slave. I hoped he would not now beat me. He took me by the hair and thrust my head down to the furs. "A man can truly love only that woman," he said, "who is truly his, who belongs to him. Otherwise he is only a party to a contract." "A woman," I said, "can love only that man to whom she truly belongs." "To whom do you truly belong, Slave?" he asked. "To you, Master," I said. "You please me, Slave Girl," he said. "Free me," I said, teasing him. "Do you wish to feel the whip?" he asked. "No, Master," I said, quickly, suddenly frightened. I was his. He might do to me what he wanted. "Beg for your freedom," he said. "Please free me, Master," I begged. He laughed. "No," he said. "I do not free you. I will keep you as my slave." I closed my eyes. I had been Judy Thornton, of Earth. I had been a co-ed at a small but prestigious college. I had been an English major. I had written poetry. I had been popular on campus. Now I was only a branded slave girl, Dina, helpless in the arms of her master. I thought of Elicia Nevins, who had been my beauty rival at the college. She now, too, wore a collar. I wondered if she were as happy in the arms of her master as I in the arms of mine. She had been an anthropologist. I wondered if now she truly understood, perhaps for the first time, the nature of the institution of slavery. Her master had perhaps taught her. I lay blissfully in the arms of Clitus Vitellius, owned. I opened my eyes. "Is a girl not to be permitted sometimes to speak her mind?" I asked. "Perhaps upon occasion," said Clitus Vitellius, "provided she does so upon her knees and at my feet." "You are a monster, Master," I said. Then again I felt his body at mine, and I cried out as my legs were thrust apart. "You are rough, Master!" I chided. Then, frightened, I said, "Forgive me, Master." He did not beat me. I began to respond to him, shuddering under the blows of his manhood, and surrendered myself then, content, to the delicious brutality of my ravishment. He had many ways of taking me, and I must submit to them all, unquestioningly. We heard men later upon the bridges outside. It was early morning. I held Clitus Vitellius. "You are very lustful, Master," I told him. "I am shamed neither by my health nor vitality," he said. He said this as a Gorean, explaining something to an ignorant Earth-girl slave. "And you," he said, "you must know, are an exquisitely responsive she-sleen. Does that shame you?" "Not any more, Master," I said. "It is an indication of your vitality and health, and emotional freedom," he said. "It is a sign that you are vigorous and sound, neither psychologically crippled nor diseased." I had grown free on Gor, though I wore a collar. Strange, collared, I was free. Uncollared I had been a true slave, a prisoner of a pathological culture, ascetic, mechanistic and twisted. "Perhaps I am emotionally free," I laughed. "But I scarcely am physically free." "True," he said. He pulled me by the chain at the back of the collar back to my back on the furs at the foot of his couch. "You keep me a slave?" I asked. "Of course," he said. "I never knew I would meet a man who could lust for me and desire me so much," I said, "that he would keep me as a slave." "You never knew you would meet a man who would satisfy your deepest needs," he said, "the hidden, profound, scarcely understood, secret needs which you yourself scarcely recognized." "You are a secret dream, which I scarcely dared dream, come true to me, Master," I said. "And you to me, Slave," said he. "Will you truly be hard with me, Master?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "Will you truly, though you care for me, keep me as full slave?" "Yes, Slave," he said. "Subject even to discipline, if I displease you?" I asked. "Subject to discipline, at my pleasure, whether you displease me or not," he said. "My bondage then will be absolute," I said. "Of course, Slave," he said. I reached out timidly, to touch him. I kissed him, tenderly, on the shoulder. "I love you, Master," I said. "Be silent, Slave," he said, irritably. "Yes, Master," I said. He then touched me with sweetness, and tenderness, and I held him closely, but did not speak, lost in his touch, for I, a slave, had been forbidden to speak. He made gentle love to me then, which, I knew, might become abrupt or brutal as he chose. There were a thousand ways to have a slave girl and I did not doubt but what Clitus Vitellius was master of them all. How joyful I was. He was dominant over me. I was subject to him. I was his, completely without qualification. It is impossible for me to express my feelings. Perhaps this is why he had warned me to silence, that I might not try to speak, but would be content to feel what could not, in any language, be spoken. So I did not then try to speak, but, rather, contented myself with turning to the tasks of love.
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Post by sweetlarma on Sept 25, 2009 20:58:37 GMT -5
He had called me "slut". I did not really mind this. Indeed, something in me relished it. I remembered how I had behaved in the furs. The expression was, perhaps, I thought, with a shudder, quite appropriate. Kajira of Gor - page 238
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