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dance
Sept 19, 2007 10:06:38 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Sept 19, 2007 10:06:38 GMT -5
Tuka's dance
Tuka, Tuka!" called another fellow. "She is extremely pretty," I said.
"She knows something of slave dance," said a fellow, licking his lips.
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes" he said.
"Tuka, Tuka, Tuka!" called more men.
The fellow, Teiber, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kissed at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought.
"Tuka, to the circle!" called a fellow.
"She is a dancer," said a man.
"She is extraordinary," said another.
"Put Tuka in the circle!" called a fellow.
"Tuka, Tuka!" called another.
Teiber snapped his fingers once, sharply, and the slave leaped to her feet, standing erect, her head down, turned to the right, her hands at her sides, the palms facing backward. She might have been in a paga tavern, preparing to enter upon the sand or floor. I considered Teiber's Tuka. She had an excellent figure for slave dance.
"Clear the circle!" called a fellow.
The other dancers hurried to the side, to sit and kneel, and watch.
I considered the slave. She was beautiful, and well curved.
Teiber gestured to the circle.
"Ahh!" said men.
"She moves like a dancer," I said.
"She is a dancer," said a fellow.
I considered the girl. She now stood in the circle, relaxed, yet supple and vital, her wrists, back to back, over her head, her kneels flexed.
"She is a bred passion slave," I said, "with papers and a lineage going back a thousand years."
"No," said a man.
"Where did he pick her up," I asked, "at the Curulean?"
"I do not know," said a fellow.
I supposed she was perhaps a capture. I did not know if a fellow such as this Teiber, who did not seem of the merchants or rich, could have afforded a slave of such obvious value. A fellow, for example, who cannot afford a certain kaiila might be able to capture it, and then, once he has his rope on its neck, and manages to make away with it, it is his mount.
"Aii!" cried a fellow.
"Aii!" said I too.
Dancing was the slave!
"She is surely a bred passion slave," I said. "Surely the blood line of such an animal go back a thousand years!"
"No! No!" said a man, rapt, not taking his eyes from the slave.
I regarded her, in awe.
"She is trained of course," said a man.
Only to obviously was this a trained dancer, and yet, too, there was far more than training involved. Too, I speak not of such relatively insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such and art form, for women with many figures can be superb in slave dance, or that she must possess a great natural talent for such a mode of expression, but something much deeper. In the nature of her dance I saw more than training, her figure, and her talent. Within this woman, revealing itself in the dance, in its rhythm, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical femininity, unabashed and unapologetic, a rejoicing in her sex, a respect of it, a love of it, an acceptance of it and a celebration of it, a wanting of it, and of what she was, a woman, a slave, in all of its marvelousness.
"Tuka, Tuka!" called men.
Men clapped their hands.
The slave danced.
Much it seemed to me, though there might be two hundred men about the circle, she danced for her Master.
Once he even indicated that she should move more about which, instantly, commanded, she did. "Tuka, Tuka!" even called some of the other slaves about the edges of the circle, sitting and kneeling there, unable to take their eyes from her, clapping, too. Teiber's Tuka it seemed, was popular even with the other slaves, of which she was such a superb specimen.
I watched her moving about the circle.
"Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove.
"Aii," cried another fellow.
I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves.
"She is superb," said the flow next to me.
"Yes," I said.
She was working her way about the circle.
It was interesting to me that a Master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword.
"Ah," said the fellow next to me.
The dancer approached.
How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were,or what they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to social coercions, women subjected to antibiological constraints, women forced to deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful, natural creature can be clipped and then instructed to rejoice in its mutilations and mishappenness. So inhibit, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopeful sign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappiness and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture.
Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty.
I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her.
I wept then for the men of Earth, that they would not know such beauties. How utterly marvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible would it be for a female of Earth to match them!
I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about.
Suddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed, it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized.
"She is not from Gor!" I said.
"She is from far away," said the fellow next to me.
"From the distant land," said another.
"Called "Earth,'" said another.
"Yes," I said.
The mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave. She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her Master. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her Master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, then palms of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed. She had been superb. My shoulder was sore where I had much struck it.
Then with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her Master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The dance had much aroused her, and she was totally his, completely at his will, his pleasure and mercy.
"Our gratitude , Teiber!" cried a fellow. Magicians of Gor, Page 52-56
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dance
Sept 19, 2007 10:16:58 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Sept 19, 2007 10:16:58 GMT -5
"Dance, Tende!" said he. He began to sing and clap, looking downriver. "That is a slave song!" she cried.
He stopped clapping and singing, and regarded her.
"There are white slaves present, Master!" she cried.
He looked upon her sternly.
"I dance, my master," she cried, frightened. She flexed her legs, freeing her body to move, and extended her arms gracefully to the right, the right arm further advanced than the left.
"Is she free?" asked, Ayari.
"No," said Kisu.
"Have her put her arms over her head, wrists back to back," said Ayari.
"Do so," said Kisu.
Tende complied.
"How lovely that is," said Kisu.
"I have seen it done in Schendi," said Ayari. "It is one of the ways in which a slave may begin a dance."
I smiled to myself. That was true. The lovely posture which Tende had just assumed was undeniably one of the initial postures of certain slave dances. It is widely known on Gor, of course, not just in Schendi. It is, for example, quite familiar in Port Kar and, far to the southeast of that port, and somewhere far to the north and east of our present position, in the Tahari. Slave dances, of course, may begin in dozens of ways, sometimes even with the girl roped or chained at a man's feet.
I looked at Tende.
To be sure, only a slave dance could begin from such a posture. No free woman, for example, would dare to place herself in such a position before Gorean free men, unless perhaps, weary of her misery and frustration, she was begging them, almost explicitly, to put her in a collar.
There are many stories of Gorean free women, sometimes of high caste, who as a lark or in a spirit of bold play, dared to dance in a paga tavern. Often, perhaps to their horror, they found themselves that very night hooded and gagged, locked in close chains, lying on their back, their legs drawn up, fastened in a wagon, chained by the neck and ankles, their small bodies bruised on its rough boards as they, helpless beneath a rough tarn blanket, are carried through the gates of their city.
"Are you ready, Slave?" asked Kisu.
"Yes, Master," said Tende.
I am fond of slave danes. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than when she dances her beauty as a slave before masters. But then a woman can be incredibly beautiful in almost all attitudes and postures. It is strange that the men of Earth are so seldom aware of the subtler beauties of women, but then they have not seen them in their full femininity, as slaves.
A woman can be very beautiful simply greeting her master, head down, at the door to his chambers. She can be very beautiful in doing so small a thing as pouring his wine,eyes downcast, gracefully, as his slave. Perhaps she is a bit more beautiful, however, when she kneels helplessly before you, or lies piteously at your feet supplicating you to satisy her slave needs.
Perhaps she is most beautiful when she, collared in your arms, cries out in orgasm, acknowledging you as her master.
"Dance, Slave," said Kisu.
"Yes, Master," said Tende.
Tende then, obedient to her master's command, as Kisu clapped his hands and sang, danced on a flat rock in the Ua river, danced before Bila Huruma, so far away, her master's enemy, from whom she had been stolen.
She danced well.
I observed the eyes of the blond-haired barbarian who, with Alice, knelt on the rock. The eyes of the blond-haired barbarian, gazing on the exhibited slave, shone with excitement. How beautiful Tende was. And how stimulating it was to the blond-haired barbarian to realize that a man could force a woman to do this sort of thing.
Kisu continued to clap his hands. He continued to sing, the strains of a melodic slave song.
Dances bring high prices on Gor. Some slavers specialize in dancers, renting them, and buying and selling them. Two such houses in Ar are those of Kelsius and Aurelius. Some say that the finest dancers of Gor are found in Ar; others say that they are found in Port Kar, and others that they are in the Tahari, or in Turia. These controversies, I think, are fruitless. I have been in many cities and in each I have found marvelous dancers. The matter is further complicated by the buying and selling of girls and their shipment, as merchandise, among cities. A dancer has usually had many masters; her fair throat has been graced by many collars. In some cities if a dancer is not thought to have been sufficiently pleasing she is thrown to the patrons of the tavern to be torn to pieces or beaten. If she is thought to have been sufficiently pleasing she may be auctioned, for the period of an Ahn, to the highest bidder.
"Enough!" called Kisu, happily.
Tende stopped dancing... Explorers of Gor, Page 342
I considered the belly and hips of the dancing girl as she thrust them toward me, undulating, as the music pounded in the tavern. The girl was naked, save that she wore many strings of jewels and armlets. too she wore bracelets and anklets of gold, which had been locked upon her, and were belled.
Her collar, too, was of gold, and belled. She was blond, and it was said she was from earth. A single pearl, fastened in a setting like a droplet, on a tiny golden chain, was suspended at the center of her forehead. Rogue of Gor, Page 10-11
'Please, Master,' whispered the girl to me. She extended her small hand, still dancing, as though to touch me. On her wrist was a golden bracelet, belled. I saw the small lock, with its key socket, on the bracelet. She could not remove it. Rogue of Gor, Page 12
There was Gorean applause in the room, the striking of the right palm on the left shoulder. Rogue of Gor, Page 13
'Slave dance,' on Gor incidentally, is a very rich and varied dance form. It covers a great deal more than simple 'ethnic dance.' For example, it includes dances such as hunt dances, capture dances, submission dances, chain dances, whip dances, and such. Perhaps what is done in slave dance on Gor would count as 'exotic dance' on Earth, but, if we are thinking of the actual kinds of dances performed, then there is much in slave dance, for example, story dances, which are seldom, if ever, included in 'exotic dance' on Earth, and there are forms of dance in 'exotic dance' which for one reason or another, are seldom, if ever, seen on Gor, for example, certain forms of carnival dancing, such as bubble dancing or fan dancing. Perhaps the reason such dances are seldom, if ever, seen on Gor, is that Goreans would be likely to regard them as being 'real dance.' They would be regarded, I think, as little more than culturally idiosyncratic forms of comedic teasing. They are, at any rate, not the sort of dance, or the 'danse-du-ventre' sort, so pleasing to strong men, which a slave on Gor, fearing the whip must often learn to perform. Dancer of Gor, Page 172
There is nothing coy or teasing about a Gorean dancer if the dance is of the scrolls. the girl wishes to be taken, wishes to please, she wishes to excite them, and twist them with torments of desire, and make them gasp and scream with pleasure! They would not compromise with a woman like me.
They would want her too much. They would throw her to their feet. They would dominate and master me, mercilessly! I was a female. In the arms of no other sort of man could I be fulfilled!
What an excellent slut, what superb slave meat. Dancer of Gor, Page 192
"The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology. Others are when she kneels before him, when she kisses his feet, when she performs obeisance, when she knows herself subject, truly, to his whip." Dancer of Gor, Page 193
I saw Tenalion smile. To be sure, many of the dances of female slaves are lovely and sensuous; others of course, are piteous and orgasmic. In all fairness, though, one must note that there is a large variety of slave dances on Gor, and that there is some variation from city to city. The institution of female slavery on Gor is doubtless thousands of years old; accordingly it is natural that there should be great complexity and refinement in such a delicious art from as slave dance. There are even, it might be mentioned, hate dances and rebellion dances, or need dances , or love and submission dances; even the hate and rebellion dances, of course, conclude, inevitably, with the ultimate surrender of the girl to her master as a love slave. Fighting Slave of Gor, Page 288
Performed for the girl's true Master, each dance is different and unique, as is each Freeperson. It can be done in many ways, from the kajira allowing her hands to roam her own body in throbbing lust for her Master, to the girl writhing in desire and submitting at His feet. Dancer of Gor, Page 190
Kron clapped his hands again and to my surprise there was a sudden sound of bells and four terrified girls, obviously chosen for their beauty and grace, stood before our table clad only in the scarlet dancing silks of Gor. They threw back their heads and lifted their arms and to the barbaric cadence set by the musicians danced before us…
“Why are they dancing for you?" asked Lara
"They will be whipped if they do not," said Kron.
Lara's eyes dropped.
"You see the collars," said Kron pointing to the slender graceful bands of silver each girl wore at her throat. "We melted the masks and used the silver for the collar."
When Kron had tired of watching the dancers he clapped his hands twice and with discordant jangle of their ankle bells they fled from the room. Outlaw of Gor, Page 225-226
"You cannot even dance," I informed her.
Suddenly she stepped back, threw back her head, thrust one leg to the side, and lifted her arms. Then, eyes closed, not moving, except the hell of the right foot, which beat the rhythm, she began to hum a Tuchuk slave song; on the second measure, her hands came to her hips and she opened her eyes, looking at me; on the third measure, her body began to move and, to the melody, she began to sway toward me; when I reached for her she swept back, and danced, her hands at the side of her head, fingers snapping with the melody.
Then she stopped.
"It's all I know," she informed me.
I cried out in rage. Assassin of Gor, Page 56
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dance
Sept 19, 2007 10:25:33 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Sept 19, 2007 10:25:33 GMT -5
Dance of the Netted Slave
"I caught a glimpse, between bodies, of a naked slave writhing in a net on the dancing floor. Four other slaves were dressed in such a way as to suggest that they might be slave hunters, but their costumes were such as to leave no doubt as to their own sex, and considerable charms. They were on their feet and had light staffs. They whirled about the captive, preventing her escape, and exulting over her, pretending to prod and torment her. There was much skilled staff work in progress, the staffs often behaving in unison, circling about, changing hands, striking on the floor together, seeming to poke at the victim, to strike her and such. It was a version of the dance of the netted slave.
I sat back from the dancing floor, my back to the wall, the musicians to my left.
The dance was coming to an end and the slave who had been "netted," now well in custody, bound and leashed, was displayed by the "hunters" to the patrons. Now the captive knelt in the center of the dance floor, the "hunters" exultant about her. Then, as the music swirled to a conclusion, the captive lowered her head, humbly. There was much Gorean applause, the striking of the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. There was then, suddenly, the snapping of a slave lash, and the "hunters" swiftly stripped themselves, cast aside their staffs and knelt with the prisoner. Then one of the fellows from the tavern took the net and cast it over the lot of them. No longer then were the hunters hunters. Now, they, too, were only netted slaves. Then to a passage of music, all rose up, hunted and hunters, all now in the net, and, in the small, pretty running steps of hastening slave girls, hurried from the floor. There was more applause."
~Vagabonds of Gor, pages 400-401
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dance
Sept 19, 2007 10:29:05 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Sept 19, 2007 10:29:05 GMT -5
Tuka Dance of Placatory in the Work Camp
There are many forms of placatory dances which are performed by female slaves. Some of these tend to have rather fixed forms, sanctioned by customs and tradition. such as the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. Some form of placatory dance is usually taught to the girl in slave training. There is no telling when it might be needed. Thought I had had, because of the relatively advanced state of my dancing skills, for a new slave, very little instruction in dance in the house of my first training, I had been taught at least that much. The form of placatory dance taught to a girl usually depends on the girl in question. For example, I had not been taught the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. It had been felt that the nature of my body lent itself to a more desperate , needful, lascivious form of dance. I had been taught how to dance on my knees, for example, and supplicatingly, on my back, and belly. Most placatory dances, however, are not fixed-form dances, but are "free" dances, in which the slave exquisitely alert to the nuances of the situation, the particular Master, the nature of his displeasure, the gravity of her offense, and such, improvises, doing her best to assuage his anger and beg his forgiveness, to reassure him of the authenticity of her contrition and the genuineness of her desire to do better.
"Hot Sand will do, Master," I said, "and chains in which my limbs are enclosed."
"Yes," he said.
I saw I did not need to fear him, save in the ways any slave must fear a Master.
I danced then to those whose eyes were hardest. Some of them were not even men I had trapped, but only men who knew what I had done. Some may have been as innocent as those I had lured; others might have been murders and brigands, suitably enchained for the expiration of sentences, their custody having been legally transferred to Ionicus, my Master, at the payment of a prisoners fee, by the writ of a praetor or, in more desperate cases, by the order of a quaestor. I danced abjectly. I danced piteously. I danced beggingly. I danced as well as I could. I could not do more. They would either be pleased or not. My fate was in their hands.
"She is pretty," said one of them.
"Yes," said another.
Hope sprang again high within me. I sought them to move another, with my helplessness, and the pleas of my body.
"Are you a good slave lay?" asked a man.
"It is my hope that I am pleasing, Master," I said. "Surely I shall endeavor to be so."
He grinned.
"She is an excellent dancer," commented a man, another whom I had lured in Argentum.
"Yes," said another fellow, another of those who owned his chaining to me.
I began to be conscious then, as I sometimes was, of the incredible power of the female slave, of how helpless men could be before her, and of what she could do to them.
"Ah," said one of the men, softly, watching.
I repeated the movement.
"Yes," said another man. "Yes!" said another.
How paradoxical I thought, that she who is branded, and collared, and owned, is nothing, should have such power!
"Dance, slut, dance!" said a man.
And then again I danced, helplessly, piteously, suing for their favor, striving desperately to be found pleasing. In the end the power belongs to the master, totally, and not to the slave. She is his.
"Excellent," said a man. "Excellent."
I danced.
I danced in such a way that a free woman might only dream of, awakening, sweating, in the night, clutching her covers, in terror, then feeling her throat with trepidation, with the tips of frightened fingers, to ascertain that no collar has been locked on it in the night. How could she, a free woman, have such a dream? What could it mean? And what would the men do to her when they came to take her in their arms? She awakened, in terror. Perhaps she hurries to strike a light in her room. The familiar surroundings reassure her. She has had such dreams before. What could they mean? Nothing, of course. Nothing! Such dreams must be meaningless! They must be! but what if they were not? She shudders. Perhaps she then, in her long silken gown, curls up, frightened, at the foot of her bed. What, too, could that mean? She does not know. Surely that, too, means nothing. But what if it did? She lies there, troubled, but somehow comforted, somehow secure, in that position. It seems to her, somehow, that that is where she belongs.
"Superb," said a man.
I saw now that they, or most of them, were pleased. I sensed now that I might be spared, at least if I pleased them, too, well enough in the sand. I had lured many of them, but now I danced before them, to please them, begging for my life, danced before them helplessly, at their mercy, submitted and dependent on their favor, for my very life, as much as thought I might be their own slave. I saw to my joy, coming gradually to understand it that they, or surely most of them, would accept this, my beauty, my submission and service, abject and total, in lieu of my blood. It would be vengeance enough for them. How mighty they were, and kind! To be sure, I would have to continue to show them perfections of slave service and total deference. How grateful I was to he whom I had most feared, he who was lost upon the chain, he who had given me this eagerly embraced opportunity to save my slave's hide! But it was he, of all of them, who had refused to watch me dance. He stood with his back turned to me, his back straight, his arms folded, looking away. Many times I had danced to him, moving behind him in the and, but he did not turn. he did not deign to glance upon me. Then, near the end of my dance, as it approached its climax, I was on my kneels in the sand, writhing, bending forward until my hair was in the sand, bending back then, expressing the bow of my body, my thighs, my belly, my breasts and throat to them, my hands inviting attention to them, my hair back in the stand, and then I straightened, and then was on my back, and belly, twisting and moving, lifting my hands to them, begging for favor, piteously suing for mercy. Such things I had been taught as long ago as the house of my first training, but I think, truly, even had I not had such training, I would, in the circumstances, have done much the same. Perhaps as instinctual in a woman. I had, when owned by Gordon, the musician, once seen a former free woman, new to her collar, in an alley in Samnium, performing so for a Master, he with the whip in hand, encouraged her to adequacy. She did well, She, shuddering, half in shock, learned that she would be spared, at least for the time. He then began to instruct her in how to give pleasure to a man. She attended fearfully, and well, to her lessons.
At the end of my dance, I was on my knees again, behind him. I lifted my hands to him. "Master, please!" I begged. "Look upon me!" But he did not turn.
With a cry of joy the men surged about me. I was lifted by my upper arms and flung back in the sand. My legs were lifted up, my knees bent. My wrist chain was pulled forward and thrust over and behind my feet. It was then jerked up, behind me. I could not move my hands from my sides. I was helpless. My ankles, each in the grip of one man, were pulled apart, until my ankle chain, its links straightened, permitted no further extension. My opened tunic was thrust back on both sides. I, half submerged in the sand, put my head back, looking up, and back. I could see the figures, and the palanquin, seemingly small, seemingly far above me, seemingly far away from me on the ridge. I thought my Master, Lonicus, of Cos, might be looking for me, through the lorgnon. "Oh!" I cried, suddenly as t he first of them put me to his pleasure.
Dancer of Gor, pgs. 333-335
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dance
Sept 19, 2007 10:33:05 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Sept 19, 2007 10:33:05 GMT -5
Sa-ella
Dance of the Sa eela
The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slaves dances of Gor. It belongs, generally to the genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the Master.... The Sa-eela, usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all impediments except her collar, is one of the most powerful of slave dances of Gor. It is done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in the river towns and, generally in the Vosk basin, are in my opinion, among the finest. There is no standardization for better or worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not only can the dances differ from city to city, but even from tavern to tavern, and from girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance. For the woman, slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, it provides her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression.
Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table using the table in the dance, thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips.
The Sa-eela, of course is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman.
Peggy, then was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and then prone, and again supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness. Stands before the Master, hands lifted, their backs together above her head.
T observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clenched fists on the tiles, the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous scattering of her hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and whimpering, struck down in misery, stinging the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell, locked away from men.
She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and head down remained for a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different melodic phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignancy. She crawls some feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seem to contain her. She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over and straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to ask, looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But there is of course, no one there, and in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen. But there is, of course, no one there, and in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself for the master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering diaphanous slave splendor. She then crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head high, a bound slave is being led on her tether from the pen. But, at the gate, of course, her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us clearly, that she is still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head with her hands, and weeps.
The next phase of the music begins at this point.
She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they have come for her. She puts her head up; She turns away; she feigns disdain. Then it seems as she, startled, looks about, on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head, holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered. It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the palms of her hands, frightened, that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice it seems she is struck with a whip. Then she again assumes the position of a pleasure slave. She nods her head. She understands well what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. "Yes Masters!" it seems she says. But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish fellows, understand that this is precisely what she too, deeply and desperately desires to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she a mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for consideration of her master. How can they understand the poignance, and significance of this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before the master! Who knows if she in such a large house, one with such cells and jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity?
It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in jewelries and shimmering silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken feast. She then with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us. Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were of course, the "masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She twisted as though her hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she hand in the beginning, back to back.
The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin.
In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master.
Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely high arches. Her body was superb...
She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance the girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her cascading hair to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers....
The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela.
In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave in effect, puts herself at the mercy of the master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might take an interest. A woman may do this, of course from many motives, such as fear or her desire to be purchased by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be found pleasing by him, for her own sake. In such displays there can be, though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no true distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl in effect says, "I am for sale. Buy me, and love me!" In the second case, the girl in effect says, "Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested in her?" In the second case of course, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was herself he intended to own, and in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and individuality.
The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation in all her sensual splendor, was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous needful, beautiful, intimate and personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her collared body. She danced herself before her master.
The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles before Callimachus of Port Cos. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back toward him.
*Guardsmen of Gor, pages 259-266
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dance
Oct 31, 2007 16:21:02 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Oct 31, 2007 16:21:02 GMT -5
Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with delight the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. Nomads of Gor Book 4 Page 161
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dance
Nov 9, 2007 12:43:30 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Nov 9, 2007 12:43:30 GMT -5
Did I not dance...
The other day, when I was permitted outdoors, girls spoke about their dances. I had been very quiet and felt that I could not compete as they spoke about all the dances they could perform. Suddenly, one of the girls asked me in a teasing tone "Does the kettle girl Sana dance?" First I turned my back to them wanting to run away from that question, feeling as if I could not compete with those girls. Some of them known to be fine and talented dancers. However, instead I turned about and faced them.
Did I not dance, the Panther Girl Dance...
when I had no knowledge that one day I would be a slave girl. Still free, I would step into the dancing circle, as three moons would send their light upon me. Willingly, I shed off the pelts and in the spotlights of the moons, I danced wild. Sweat covered every inch of my naked form, as my nails were sinking into the dirt-covered ground. My face contoured with bitterness recognizing how vulnerable I was. Knowing that I can no longer suppress my womanhood. Appearing as if I was a wild beast, while my body moved femininely and savagely. I danced until I had no breath left and felt every muscle in pain from exhaustion.
Did I not dance, the Netted Slave Girl Dance...
when in the darkness I felt the net to cover my slender form. I heard the screaming of panther girls. We bruised each other in the small space, as sticks prodded and tormented us, My fingers curled around the strings of the net, trying to escape. My eyes must have seemed large, horror could have been read in them. Thrashing against the net, until I tired and then quietness came. No screaming any longer disturbed the night, while we were huddled together. My head was lowered, my fingers still clutching the strings of the net, this time in a manner that showed complete helplessness.
Did I not dance, the Brand Dance...
when I was thrust to the table and felt the rope cut into my flesh. Struggling in fear, as I barely could move. Feeling threatened, while I gathered all my strength to protest violently against the restrains. I was barely able to elevate my hips from the cold stone. Then screaming in agony as the brand seared into my flesh, thrusting my head wildly and tears streamed down my cheeks. And than at last, I laid still, unmoving and ever so defenseless, as the flame cast their flickering lights upon me completely mesmerized by the beauty of the brand that had sealed my fate.
Did I not dance, the Whip Dance...
when I was poised in the whipping position before Master. Hearing the leather cut the air, with a loud singing sound, knowing that the blades would meet my flesh cruelly. Feeling my muscles ever so tense, then noting myself flinch as I was trembling and weeping. The blow was indescribable painful, my body writhing in distress before Him. Whimpering to his ears, while nails dig into the soft fleshed palms. My blood pulsating through my veins, anticipating the next strike.
Did I not dance, the Rebellion Dance...
when I turned my back towards Master and moved away from Him, only to face Him again. My eyes reflected rebellion; my cheeks were flushed with a dark hued crimson. Uncontrollably I was breathing and I had curled my fingers to small fists. Every movement was completed in defiance until he called me back to Him. Then my movements turned from anger to utter surrender. My facial features now softened, tears had escaped from my eyes. Each movement concluded in order to enchant His eyes in hopes to be found pleasing.
Did I not dance, the Need Dance...
when at first I would turn my attention into another direction when a Master would come my way. I would ignore those around me, while my movements were completed in a manner that shows clearly that I did not attempt to please anyone's eyes.
Than as time carried on and I noticed that Masters turned their attention towards me as I passed and shyly I would lower my head. My knees were pressed so tightly together, as my entire carriage showed certain stiffness. Not daring to speak to a Master, or to move while in their presence, since fear started to run down my spine.
Then discovering my sexuality, which would soon change in the way I moved. I would shyly run my hand along my thigh, to perhaps raise the hem. Ever so careful to pay attention to the reactions, a smile would trace in a charming manner over my lips, soon to be replaced with uncertainty. I would coax the Masters in a subtle way to take notice of me, wanting them to seize me by my wrist.
It was only a matter of time, as now my movements were provocative and shameless. In a lewd manner I would bend at my tiny waist, knowing that with such, my cleavage would be seen. I would splay my thighs rather wide, exposing myself in a very intimate way. I would lift my hips, and they were thrust forward, clearly indicating my desire. Passionate moaning uttered over moist lips, begging to be taken.
At last, with feverish eyes, my hands lifting to toy with dark locks, them raining over the smooth flesh and soft rounded shoulders. Then nimble fingers, starting to braid those raven strands as rose hued lips remain slightly parted, allowing my soft tongue to slowly run along their contours. In silence begging rape.
Did I not dance, the Sa-eela Dance...
when I lay to my mat in the darkness, feeling the cool links between my tender thighs. I would close my eyes, and fingers traced along sensitive flesh. At times peering to the door, expectantly. Then my face showed sorrow, as such expectancy is not met. The cool of the links not soothing the aching. Tormented with fantasies that rush through my mind, as my belly tightens and my breathing becomes more irate. I moisten my lips, as they become dry. Lifting my hips to manipulate the chain. Soft murmuring brushing over my mouth. In the end, curled to a small ball, whimpering and weeping, as I will sleep alone, unsatisfied, neglected.
Did I not dance, the Love Dance...
When my mouth parted and I felt warmth wash over me. Seductive my movements, my skin flushed with the radiance that streams through my every being. Rotating my hips, ever so slowly, pressing my form against the other. The rhythm in which my body moves is soothing and loving. A smile dazzling my lips,completely relaxed and then I feel a deep satisfaction as tears of joy accompany my delight.
Now ask me again if the kettle girl Sana dances? I challenged.
No one spoke as they stood and looked upon me. I would inform them then...
The kettle girl Sana dances beautiful.
Only then I turned away; I was proud
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dance
Nov 27, 2007 8:26:46 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Nov 27, 2007 8:26:46 GMT -5
submission
Something of the nature of the institution of capture, and the Gorean's attitude toward it becomes clear when it is understood that one of the young tarnsman's first missions is often the capture of a slave for his personal quarters. When he brings home his captive, bound naked across the saddle of his tarn, he gives her over, rejoicing, to his sisters, to be bathed, perfumed and clothed in the brief slave livery of Gor. That night, at a great feast, he displays the captive, now suitably attired by his sisters in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. Bells have been strapped to her ankles, and she is bound in slave bracelets. Proudly, he presents her to his parents, his friends and warrior comrades. Then, to the festive music of flutes and drums, the girl kneels. The young man approaches her, bearing a slave collar, its engraving proclaiming his name and city. The music grows more intense, mounting to an overpowering, barbaric crescendo, which stops suddenly, abruptly. The room is silent, absolutely silent, except for the decisive click of the collar lock. It is a sound the girl will never forget. As soon as the lock closes, there is a great shout, congratulating, saluting the young man. He returns to his place among the tables that line the low-ceilinged chamber, hung with glowing brass lamps. He sits in the midst of his family, his closest well-wishers, his sword comrades, cross-legged on the floor in the Gorean fashion behind the long, low wooden table, laden with food, which stands at the head of the room. Now all eyes are on the girl. The restraining slave bracelets are removed. She rises. Her feet are bare on the thick, ornately wrought rug that carpets the chamber. There is a slight sound from the bells strapped to her ankles. She is angry, defiant. Though she is clad only in the almost transparent scarlet dancing silks of Gor, her back is straight, her head high. She is determined not to be tamed, not to submit, and her proud carriage bespeaks this fact. The spectators seem amused. She glares at them. Angrily she looks from face to face. There is no one she knows, or could know, because she has been taken from a hostile city, she is a woman of the enemy. Fists clenched, she stands in the center of the room, alone, all eyes upon her, beautiful in the light of the hanging lamps. She faces the young man, wearing his collar. “You will never tame me!” she cries. Her outburst provokes laughter, skeptical observations, some good-natured hooting. “I will tame you at my pleasure,” replies the young man, and signals to the musicians. The music begins again. Perhaps the girl hesitates. There is a slave whip on the wall. Then, to the barbaric, intoxicating music of the flute and drums, she dances for her captor, the bells on her ankles marking each of her movements, the movements of a girl stolen from her home, who must now live to please the bold stranger whose binding fiber she had felt, whose collar she wore. At the end of her dance, she is given a cup of wine, but she may not drink. She approaches the young man and kneels before him, her knees in the dictated position of the Pleasure Slave, and, head down, she proffers the wine to him. He drinks. There is another general shout of commendation and well wishing, and the feast begins, for none before the young man may touch food on such occasions. From that moment on, the young man's sisters never again serve him, for that is the girl's task. She is his slave. As she serves him again and again throughout the long feast, she steals glances at him, and sees that he is even more handsome than she had thought. Of his courage and strength she had already had ample evidence. As he eats and drinks with gusto on this occasion of his triumph, she regards him furtively, with a strange mixture of fear and pleasure. “Only such a man,” she tells herself, “could tame me.”
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dance
Dec 6, 2007 12:18:03 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Dec 6, 2007 12:18:03 GMT -5
Tuka's placatory lure girl dance from Dancer
page 328 “You were an excellent lure girl,” said one of the fellows. “Thank you, Master,” I whispered. Even had I dared to rise, as I did not, I did not know if I, in my terror, could even have found the strength to do so. Too, even if I had dared to leap up, and had found the strength to do so, I could not have escaped them. They were all about me. Too, I could not run, chained as I was. “She deceived me well,” said a fellow. “And me,” said another. “And me,” said another. “Forgive me, Masters!” I begged. The guard did not appear. “Help!” I screamed. “Help! Help, Master! Please, help! Help, Master!” But only silence greeted my cries for assistance. “Were you given permission to speak?” asked a fellow. “No, Master,” I whispered. “Forgive me, Master!” the fellow before whom I knelt and one of the men, a brawny fellow, lifted me up from the back, by the upper arms. Another fellow then, as I was held, cuffed me, twice. I was then dropped back into the sand, on all fours, a punished slave. “Let her try to run,” said the fellow before whom I had knelt. I looked about, wildly. I tasted blood in my mouth. The men behind me moved to one side, opening a place between them, leading back toward the top of the ridge.
page 329 . “Look up,” said the overseer. The fellow regarded me through the lorgnon. “This,” said the overseer, “is the girl, Tuka, who served your supplier, Tyrrhenius, in Argentum. We had her purchased, following your policy, for a tarsk bit over her former selling price. We had her brought here, as we thought would please you, to the black chain. We are gratified that this should have coincided with your tour of inspection.” The overseer gestured to the guard and he open my tunic, and pulled it back. I saw the lorgnon lift a little. “As you might surmise,” said the overseer, “she was an excellent lure girl. She figured in the entrapment of twenty-three of the prisoners below.” I trembled, kneeling in the soft, warm sand, it up about my thighs. “You may greet your master,” said the overseer to me. “Greetings, Master,” I said.
page 330 It had been long, I knew, since these men had had a woman, and they were Goreans. They would be half mad with desire. Too, many of them had found me exciting, and had wanted me earlier, else I could not have lured them. Too, I was a skilled dancer. Too, I was beautiful, or had been told so. Certainly many men of this world have found me attractive, and desirable, and have not hesitated to put me to their services, and fully, as may be down with a slave. I danced. I looked at their faces. Many of these men, I knew, would feel they had a score to settle with me. It was my hope that they might be persuaded to accept in settlement of these accounts, if accounts they were, not my blood but so small and innocent a thing as my mastering, my total ravishing and subjugation. That would be vengeance (pg. 331) enough, I hoped, for such men. Certainly I had lured them. But I had not truly chosen to do so. Surely they would understand that! Of my own will I would never have dared to do such a thing! And now I danced before them, for my life, helpless, desperate to please them, in terror. What more then could they want, saving my zealous services, those commonly to be surrendered by a slave dancer to masters. I danced. I saw anger, and hatred, turn to desire. I did many cunning things with the chains. I began to sense, with timidity, and hope, and then a growing confidence, and with an increasing sense of elation, that many of them, perhaps even most, might be encouraged to find me of at least minimal interest.
page 332 I danced then to those whose eyes were hardest. Some of them were not even men I had trapped, but only men who knew what I had done. Some may have been as innocent as those I had lured, others might have been murderers and brigands, suitably enchained for the expiation of sentences, their custody having been legally transferred to Ionicus, my master, at the payment of a prisoner’s fee, by the writ of a praetor or, in more desperate cases, by the order of a quaestor. I danced abjectly. I danced piteously. I danced beggingly. I danced as well as I could. I could not do more. They would either be pleased or not. My fate was in their hands. “She is pretty,” said one of them.
page 333 “She is an excellent dancer,” commented a man, another whom I had lured in Argentum. “Yes,” said another fellow, another of those who owed his chaining to me. I began to be conscious then, as I sometimes was, of the incredible power of the female slave, of how helpless men could be before her, and of what she could do to them. “Ah,” said one of the men, softly, watching. I repeated the movement. “Yes,” said another man. “Yes!” said another. How paradoxical I thought, that she who is branded, and collared, and owned, and is nothing, should have such power! “Dance, slut, dance!” said a man. And then again I danced, helplessly, piteously, suing for their favor, striving desperately to be found pleasing. In the end the power belongs to the master, totally, and not to the slave. She is his. “Excellent,” said a man. “Excellent.” I danced. I danced in such a way that a free woman might only dream of, awakening, sweating, in the night, clutching her covers, in terror, then feeling her throat with trepidation, with the tips of frightened fingers, to ascertain that no cpollar has been locked on it in the night.
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dance
Jan 14, 2008 11:17:04 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Jan 14, 2008 11:17:04 GMT -5
Serving (Scarf or Veil) Dance Performed using ribbons or scarves as a form of enticement for the Master. The girl will offer to serve the Master in a most exciting manner. She typically wears a costume of scarves or uses a ribbon to arouse both herself and the Master. Falling to her knees, she may offer a lustful serve of ka-la-na. "Tribesman of Gor" p. 13
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Nov 9, 2008 11:07:20 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Nov 9, 2008 11:07:20 GMT -5
virgin
the virgin dance as it is called, has different meanings in a way.....depending on the situtatioin it is done. wisters has extracted the explaination from the book, Dancer of Gor, in which it is explained.
There are some three senses of the expression "virgin dance" on Gor.
There is a sense in which it is a kind of dance, rather than a particular dance, which is deemed appropriate for virgins. In that sense I was not expected to perform a "virgin dance." One would seldom see such dances in taverns.
The second sense is the obvious one in which it is a dance danced by a virgin, and usually just prior to the loss of her virginity. In that sense, it could be almost any dance which serves the purpose of displaying the girl before her initial ravishing.
The third sense of the term is that of a specific dance, or type of dance, most often, interestingly, not even danced by a virgin, but usually by an experienced slave. It is not exactly a story dance, but more of an emotional or attitudinal piece, more in the nature of a "role dance," a dance in which the slave dances as though she might be a virgin, but knows she is to be ravished, and that she is expected to be pleasing. The dance I was expected to perform was, I suppose, a "virgin dance" in both the second and third senses of the term. Mirius, paradoxically, speaking obviously in the third sense of the term, had told me that I would do better at this sort of dance when I was no longer a virgin.
Dancer of Gor: page 190.
"Do you beg now to dance before your first use Master?" asked Mirus.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And before the guests of Hendow?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And before all present?" he inquired.
"Yes, Master!" I said.
"Adorn her," said Mirius.
"Ina," called Tupita. "Sit," she said then to me, "with your hands on the floor beside you, leaning forward, your right leg advanced."
Ina came forward from the back through the beaded curtain, with a flat, shallow, box. Tupita and Sita removed the leather cuffs from my wrists. ............
............ I felt metal anklets being thrust on my ankles by Tupita and Sita. They put several on each ankle. They then, similarly, placed narrow bracelets on both my wrists, several on each wrist. A long belt of cord, to which were attached numerous metal disks, suspended and shimmering, was then looped twice about me, the first loop secured high, and tight, at my waist, and the second loop, a larger loop, a framing loop, was secured in such a way, in the back, that it would hang quite low on my belly, well below my navel. The purpose of this belt was to call attention to, and enhance, by sound and sight, the movements of the hips and abdomen. With the slave beads I already wore I felt utterably displayed, and barbaric. I could not move now without the sounds of the beads, the anklets and bracelets, the shimmering belt with its two loops.
"Stand," said Tupita.
I did.
The men gasped with pleasure. I was frightened.
"Prepare to dance, slave," said Tupita.
"Good," said a man.
I stood then with my hands lifted over my head, the backs of my hands facing one another, my knees flexed. It is a common beginning position in slave dance.
The musicians readied themselves.
I looked out on the men. These were not men of Earth, defeated and tamed by propaganda and lies. These were Gorean men, men like lions. I stood before them, weak and helpless, a woman from Earth, now a collared slave who must dance for their pleasure.
The czehar player, sitting cross-legged, now had his instruments across his lap. He was the leader of the musicians. He had his horn pick in hand.
I stood barefoot, naked, save for collar and adornments, on the dancing floor of a low-ceilinged Gorean tavern. I must prepare to please masters.
"Are you ready?" asked the leader of the musicians, the czehar player.
"Yes, Master!" I said, eagerly
"Aii!" cried a fellow, pleased, as I began to dance.
The music was rich about me.
I danced, as the slave I was.
"Here, slut, here!" called more than one man
I teased them, dancing close to them, swaying, my belly alive for them, with the jangling metal pieces, the anklets clashing on my ankles, the bracelets sliding and ringing on my wrists, and then as they attempted to seize me, drew back, backing away, or whirled, with a swirl of beads, away from them. I picked one man after another out of the audience, seeming to dance my beauty most meaningfully to him. Perhaps he would be my use master. I did not know.
"Several began to keep the time with their hands, clapping them together.
Suddenly in my dance it seemed I was a virgin, reluctant and fearful, terrified in the reality in which she found herself, but knowing she must respond to the music, to those heady, sensuous rhythms, to the wild cries of the flute, to the beating of the drum. I then danced timidity, and reluctance and inhibition, but yet reflecting, as one would, in such a situation, the commands of the music. I examined in dismay the beads about my neck, the cords at my waist, my barbarically adorned anklets and wrists. I touched my thighs, and lifted my arms, looking at them, and put my hands upon my body, as though I could not believe that it was unclothed. I pretended to shrink down within myself, to desire to crouch down, and conceal and cover my nudity. but then I straightened up, fearfully, as though I had heard commands to desist in such absurdities, and then I extended my hands to the sides, to various sides, as though pleading for mercy, to be released from the imperatives of the music, but then reacted, drawing back, as though I had seen the sigh of whips or weapons., The kaska player, alert to this, reduced the volume of his drumming, and then, five times, smote hard upon the taut skin, almost like the cracking of a whip, to which I reacted, turning to one side and another, as though such a disciplinary device had been sounded menacingly, on all sides, in my vicinity, and then I continued to dance, helpless before the will of masters. Then, as the dance continued, I signified by expression and movement my curiosity and fascination with what I was being forced to do, and the responses of my body, reconciled now to its reality, helplessly obedient now to the music.
I suddenly by expression and movement, an almost involuntary contortion of my belly, seemingly startling me, and frightening me, apeared to suddenly sense, or glimpse, my sexuality.
"Ah," said a man, appreciatively.
I approached him in the dance, and then others, my belly seeming to register, with its jangling accouterments, their presence. Each time I would draw back fro them, but my belly, my hips, would seem to propel me again toward them, or toward yet another. I then felt my hips, and thighs, and breasts, and belly, as these seemed to come alive in the music. And then, throwing my head back, I danced unabashedly as an acknowledged, aroused slave, much as I had before, taunting them, teasing them, delighting in my power, but then, suddenly as though I sensed my ultimate helplessness, my ultimate inability to achieve total fulfillment without the wholeness of sexuality, without the master and the yielding, which gave meaning to the incipient passions within me. I danced the aroused slave who is the property of the master and begs his touch.
"Good," said a fellow.
"The slut is excellent," said another.
Then I realized suddenly that I was actually aroused. The interior of my thighs were hot. My belly, hot and burning, seemed to beg to be touched. I do not know, really, whether I had done this to myself in the dance, which is possible, or if my arousal had merely come upon me in the course of the dance, but I was aroused. I was a helpless, aroused slave! This now was no role. It was what I was.
I returned to the back of the dancing floor, piteously, that I might sway before my master, he in the back, by the bearded curtain, gross, loathsome Hendrow.
Hendrow nodded to me, almost imperceptibly. Then pointing to me, and lifting his finger twice, he indicated I should turn away, and return my dance, in the center of the floor, facing the crowd.
I knew the music was approaching its climax, and the dance must be concluded.
I then, in the coda of my performance, danced helplessness and beauty, and submission, surrendering myself as I, in my collar, must, into the hands and mercies of masters.
As the music concluded I performed floor movements, and the eyes of the men blazed, and fists pounded on the tables, and then the music was done and I lay before them on my back, my breasts rising and falling as I fought for breath, my body sheened with sweat, my hands beside me, palms up, my knees lifted slightly, my right knee highest, a slave before masters.
Extra: I heard roars of triumph, shouts of pleasure. I was frightened. The men were on their feet. There was a thunder of applause, the striking of the shoulders in the Gorean fashion, and, too, the crashing of goblets on the tables. I crept to my knees in the bedlam. -- Dancer of Gor, page 190
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dance
Nov 10, 2008 18:21:17 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Nov 10, 2008 18:21:17 GMT -5
"...the symbolism of the dance...one of the deepest and most pervasive themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance, she danced the glory of life and the natural order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing, to service and love."
~ Blood Brothers of Gor ~
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dance
Dec 9, 2008 9:03:04 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Dec 9, 2008 9:03:04 GMT -5
street dancer
I was clad in a ta-teera, or slave rag, a brief bit of rep cloth, torn here and there, well revealing me. We were in the streets of Market of Semris. I had been sold here once. We had come from Samnium, which lies south and east of Brundisium. I had come into the possession of my current master there. I had cost him only fifty copper tarsks, half a silver tarsk. The men who had sold me had not chosen to long haggle. I had cost them nothing. They did not have to make much on me. Too, it seemed they wished to dispose of their girls, and there were several of us, (pg. 281) brought by tarn basket to Samnium, quickly. I did not know to whom Tupita was sold, but doubtless, too, would have gone into a cheaper slavery than she had known. On my back, tied there, was a rolled pallet, filled with straw. About my neck hung a copper bowl. It was suspended by a thong, threaded through a small hole in the bowl. My master had a double flute slung on his back. He was Gordon, an itinerant musician.
"Is she any good?" called a lad, as we hurried through the dusty street.
"Come and see," said my master.
We must now be closer to the square, as it seemed there were more people in the street. Too, the street, now, was paved. Buildings were on both sides of us. The street was about ten feet in width. It had stepping stones at the corners, for rainy weather. These stones are placed in such a way that the wheels of a cart may traverse the street. When we came to the square there would probably be barriers set up against such traffic. The square was for pedestrians. Porters there, slave, could, for a fee, transport goods, if it was desired, within, or across the square. The gutter on the street was a long, narrow trough. It ran down the center of the street.
A free woman, throwing me a look of disgust, drew to one side, that her ornate robes not brush against me as I passed. "Oh!" I said, startled. A man had patted me as I had passed him.
"Here," said my master, with satisfaction.
I blinked against the light of the open square. Market of Semris is not a large town, and it is mostly famed, as I have earlier noted, for its markets for tarsks, "four-legged" and "two-legged," as it is said, but like most Gorean towns, its square, even as small as it was, was a matter of civic pride. It was set with flat stones, intricately fitted together. At its edges, in several places, were shops. It contained four fountains, one at each corner. The temple was impressive, a closed temple, with columns, a pediment and a frieze. The public buildings, the law court and the ‘house of the Administrator," the locus of public offices, were similarly structured and adorned. Commemorative columns stood here and there about the edges of the square. We entered through the vertical posts, passing the porters’ station there. An open barbers’ shop, with five stools, was to one side. The stools were all occupied. Three fellows were having their hair cut’ one was being shaved, with a shaving knife; another was having his beard trimmed. Other folk were standing about, waiting. I followed my master, on my leash. I was incredibly (pg. 282) thrilled to walk upon these stones. I looked about myself with wonder. I had only dreamed of such things. It was like being transported magically into the past, only here, in this place, it was the present, and I was actually here, truly, though in a collar. I knew I must obey well in such a place, in this place, among such people. I was a slave, and uncompromisingly at their mercy. Yet in spite of such things, I would not have traded the beautiful world of Gor for anything, even though on such a world I was only the lowliest and most meaningless of its animals. To one side there was a sculptured group, perhaps celebrating some triumph or victory, of five heroic male figures, with shields, helmets and spears, and at their feet, amidst apparent spoils, perhaps captives, or slaves, kneeling, two nude female figures. I saw, too, about its base, an encircling, illustratory frieze. "Please, Master!" I begged. "Please let me look. Let me look!" he glanced back, shrewdly at me. My eyes were piteous. I knew, whatever he decided, I must abide by his decision. He was not an indulgent master, but he was an intelligent one, and he could see that I was excited. I was vitally aroused in such a place. He then let me, he behind me, with the leash, look at the encircling, narrative frieze. It was in five main divisions. In the first it seemed that angry heralds or ambassadors were before a throne, on which reposed a serene Tatrix, and that perhaps an insult had been given. In the second armies were drawn up upon a plain before a city. In the third a fearful battle was in progress. In the fourth it seemed that humbled representatives of the vanquished now appeared before the camp throne of a victorious general. To him they brought, it seemed, a suit for peace, and offerings of conciliation. Among these offerings were unusual beasts, sheaves of grain, vessels and coffers filled with precious goods, and women, naked, and in chains. Too, it seemed they had brought something else. Before the throne of the victorious general, kneeling, in her tiara, fully clothed, but chained, had been placed the Tatrix. In the fifth, and last division, we saw a victory feast. Naked maidens, doubtless of the vanquished, served at the low tables, and, in the open space between these tables, and among them, danced. At the side of the victorious general, his guest, sat the Tatrix, still in her tiara, but stripped to the waist, doubtless at the next feast her tiara would be removed from her. Slave girls have no need for such things. Doubtless, at the next feast, she, too, naked, would serve and dance, hoping then like any other slave to be found pleasing by her masters.
"Interestingly," said my master, "this monument celebrates a victory in which Market of Semris was only indirectly involved. (pg. 283) It tells the story of a war which took place far to the north and west, on the Olni, between Port Olni and Ti, two hundred years before the formation of the Salarian Confederation. Ti was victorious. There is a larger original of this in Ti. This is a copy. It is here because, at the time of that war, Market of Semris had been of great service to Ti as a supply ally."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Most of what I have told you is on that plaque to the right," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I could not read.
"Come along," he said, with a sound of chain giving me a tug on the leash.
"That is a curvy slave," said a man, approvingly.
I did not know if he had referred to me or not. Perhaps he had. A ta-teera leaves few of a girl’s charms to the imagination. I quickly followed my master, taking care not to let the leash grow taut. I may have been mistaken, but I felt that men were looking at me. Perhaps they had noticed, too, the double flute on my master’s back. if so, they may have taken an additionally close look at me, more than the usual Gorean master’s appraisal of delectable slave meat, deciding then whether or not it might be of interest to follow us.
"Here," said my master, stopping in a shady corner of the square.
"Yes, Master," I said.
There was a building there. In the wall of it, about a foot from the ground, there were four or five slave rings. Such things are common in Gorean public places. They provide masters with a convenience for the tethering of their slaves.
Some men gathered around.
I loosened the cords which kept the pallet on my back. I removed the pallet from my back and put it on the ground. I undid the strings which kept it rolled, and spread it. It was to the left of the nearest slave ring. I took the copper bowl from about my neck and put it beside the pallet. My master then put his end of the least twice about the slave ring and, with a heavy padlock, passed through two leash rings, secured it there. I was now chained to the slave ring.
I knelt beside the bowl. I kept my head down.
My master removed his long double flute from his back.
I braced myself for an instant.
I think that anyone in the square must have heard those sounds. He then, for two or three minutes, played soft, full, (pg. 284) melodious tunes, sensuous, inviting tunes. Men began to gather around, in greater numbers. There was soon a small crowd there.
I kept my head down.
My master would decide when the crowd was sufficient. I recollected the monument in the square, the heroic figures, and the women, doubtless booty, at their feet. I recollected, too, in particular, the frieze encircling the base of the monument. I recalled in particular, the lofty Tatrix on her throne, in the beginning of the frieze, and later, the procession of those who came suing for peace, bearing conciliatory gifts, animals, riches, women and such. I recalled the Tatrix, fully clothed, in chains, placed on her knees before the victor. I recalled, too, the last portion of the frieze, where she sat beside the victor, in her tiara, gracing his victory feast, half stripped, while women of her city, totally naked, served and danced. I was excited by the frieze. I was excited, too, as a slave, by the men about. In the presence of men, sometimes to my dismay and embarrassment, I would feel warm and wonderful between my legs. This was permissible, of course, for I was only a slave. Those women in the frieze had probably been free women, at least at the time. their freedom, however, I did not doubt, would have proved fleeting, and soon they would have been distributed among the victors, or disposed of, for profit, in various slave markets. I wondered if the general would have had the Tatrix, sold in a cheap market or if he would have kept her for himself, perhaps as the least of his own slaves. But I, myself, was not a free woman. I was only a slave. I loved the freedom, and liberation this gave me, to be a full woman. I then heard the soft swirl of music which I well recognized.
I rose gracefully to my feet, and stood before the men. I heard the soft intaking of breath in several of them, in anticipation. How powerful I felt then, thought I was only a slave, chained at a ring.
With the music of the double flute in the background I modestly removed the Ta-Teera, putting it to the side.
"Ah!" said a man.
"Marvelous," said another. I adjusted the chain, placing it between my breasts. It went to the ground where it lay in a coil, then moved back to the ring. By intent it was of a generous length. I pulled it down a bit, at the collar. I did this in such a way that the men could tell it was well locked there. I knew this would excite them, as it excited me. Too, of course, as a practical matter, this further assured that the draw would be at the front of the collar. I flexed my (pg. 285) knees. I lifted my hands over my head, gracefully, their wrists back to back.
My master let me dance for four or five minutes, until the men were in a frenzy of need. I performed even what are called "floor movements" for them. I saw their eyes blazing. Such is the power of the dancer.
I then, at the finish of the music, knelt before them, submitting, as a female slave, and then, still kneeling, lifted my head. "May I speak, Masters?" I asked. "Yes," cried several of the men. "I have need of the touch of a man," I said. "I beg the touch of a man. Who will touch me?" these were words I had been taught to say, even, of course, the appropriate petition, that of a slave girl, to speak before masters. But, too, I had been excited. They were men, and I was a slave. I did want their touch, and desperately. The only sexual attention my master gave me, wanting to keep me in need for customers, was an occasional raping.
I felt myself seized by the upper arms, half lifted from my knees, and flung back on the pallet. I heard a small coin, a tarsk bit, ring in the copper bowl. I seized the lustful brute to me, desperately, thankfully! I was hot and open, and slave needful! In an instant he was finished with me. I half sat up, but was caught, and thrust back to the pallet. I heard another coin strike in the bowl. I closed my eyes, gratefully.
I served muchly that afternoon, and five times did I dance. Sometimes in my dance I made use of the chain, sometimes pretending, to the music, to fight it, a fight which I had to lose, or not to understand it, looking to the men then, as though they might explain its meaning to me; they did, with raucous cries; sometimes I used it to caress me, with the soft, lovely chain caresses of bondage, to which I, whimpering, responded; sometimes I seemed to confine myself variously, seemingly sometimes more strictly, more helplessly, more mercilessly, with it; sometimes I kissed it and caressed it, gratefully and lovingly expressing therein the welling up within me of my joy at finding myself at last in my rightful place in nature; there is much that one can do with a chain. Once a free woman came to watch, for a moment, I dared not meet her eyes, but, too, I did not falter in my dance, or beauty; indeed, I tried to show her, lovingly, as one woman to another, what a woman could be, even a lowly slave, especially a lowly slave. She hurried away, trembling with her robes. I wondered if sometimes she, too, would care to wear a collar, and move so before men.
I then, late in the afternoon, lay upon the pallet. I could hear, (pg. 286) beneath its narrow, sewn canvas surface, the crinkling of the straw within. There were several coins in the copper bowl. My master had taken some out, from time to time, during the afternoon. One normally leaves enough in the bowl to act as an invitation to others, but not so much as to suggest that there is no need of more, if only to keep the others company.
"What got into you today?" asked my master.
"Master?" I asked, lying on my side on the pallet, the chain on my neck.
"I think I have never seen you so needful and hot," he said.
"My needs grow upon me, Master," I said. It was true. But, also today I was charged with seeing the square, the buildings and the people of Market of Semris. It was as though I had suddenly found myself marvelously transported to the past, and one in which I must helplessly meet its conditions, and obey it, and on its own terms, and perfectly, not mine. Market of Semris might have been a town in Hellas or Latium. I was thrilled to be there, if only as a slave. I would not have traded the beautiful, marvelous world of Gor, even with its perils, for anything. Too, I had not forgotten the monument and the frieze. I would never forget it. It had much excited me, in its style, beauty and graphicness, and in its simple, unquestioned, unevasive public representation, albeit in a political and commemorative context, of natural biological relationships.
"Slave," said my master.
"Master?" I asked. I turned on my back. I saw that his needs were upon him. I smiled at him, eager to please him. I lifted my arms to him.
"To your stomach," he said.
I obeyed. He would keep me well in my place.
My master was Gordon, an itinerant musician. I was a street dancer.
Dancer ch 17 page 287
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dance
Jan 19, 2010 19:02:44 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Jan 19, 2010 19:02:44 GMT -5
I saw Tenalion smile. To be sure, many of the dances of female slaves are lovely and sensuous; others of course, are piteous and orgasmic. In all fairness, though, one must note that there is a large variety of slave dances on Gor, and that there is some variation from city to city. The institution of female slavery on Gor is doubtless thousands of years old; accordingly it is natural that there should be great complexity and refinement in such a delicious art from as slave dance. There are even, it might be mentioned, hate dances and rebellion dances, or need dances , or love and submission dances; even the hate and rebellion dances, of course, conclude, inevitably, with the ultimate surrender of the girl to her master as a love slave. Fighting Slave of Gor, Page 288
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dance
Jan 19, 2010 19:30:05 GMT -5
Post by sweetlarma on Jan 19, 2010 19:30:05 GMT -5
'There is nothing coy or teasing about a Gorean dancer if the dance is of the scrolls. the girl wishes to be taken, wishes to please, she wishes to excite them, and twist them with torments of desire, and make them gasp and scream with pleasure! They would not compromise with a woman like me. They would want her too much. They would throw her to their feet. They would dominate and master me, mercilessly! I was a female. In the arms of no other sort of man could I be fulfilled! What an excellent slut, what superb slave meat.' Dancer of Gor - 192
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