John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“Do you think I am a slave, Jason?” she asked.

“I assumed that any who might search for the topaz would be likely to regard you in such terms,” I said. “You are the type of woman, sexually stimulating and curvaceous, desirable, whom Gorean men, rightly or wrongly, look upon in terms of the parameters of bondage, in terms of such things as their potential for yielding incredible gratification and service. Too, do not forget that your left thigh bears a certain lovely brand, that of many Gorean Kajirae.”

“Do you think I am a slave, Jason?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?” I asked.

“You have not untied me,” she said “You have left me bound as a slave.”

I did not speak.

“I lie before you, bound as a slave,” she said. “Use me, if you wish. I am tied, helplessly. I cannot resist you. Take me, and as a slave, if you wish!”

I did not speak.

“Untie me,” she begged.

“No,” I said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“You look well, tied as a slave,” I told her.

“Perhaps that is because I am a slave,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“You are punishing me, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And as a slave,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You do regard me as a slave,” she said.

“You are a woman of Earth,” I said. “How can you be a slave?”

“I am a woman of Earth,” she said. “How can I not be a slave?”

I rose from the couch and went to the door.

“Where is the topaz, Jason?” she inquired.

“I choose not to inform you of its location,” I said.

“Excellent,” she said. “You keep your slaves in ignorance.”

“Do not confuse yourself with a slave, Miss Henderson,” I said. “If you were my slave, you would be in no doubt about the fact.”

“I wonder,” she said.

I considered her throat. I did not think it would look bad in a close-fitting steel collar, properly inscribed, identifying her as mine. Then I forced such thoughts from my mind. She was Miss Beverly Henderson, of Earth.

“May I inquire as to the duration of my punishment?” she asked.

“An Ahn or two, I expect,” I said. “I will have Lola restore the house to order. When she is finished you will be freed and sent to your room. You may emerge in the morning.”

“And little Lola will come in here to lick your feet,” she said, bitterly.

“She will do what she is commanded,” I said. “I may have her do that. I may not. It will depend totally upon my will.”

“What manner of man are you?” she asked, horrified.

“One who does not mind having a beautiful woman, naked, collared, a slave at his total mercy, licking his feet,” I said.

“How pathetic to be a slave!” she cried.

“Rejoice in your freedom,” I told her. I then opened the door and prepared to exit.

“Jason,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I yielded to my rapist,” she said.

“As a slave?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Am I not then a slave?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I will never yield to you,” she said “You cannot make me yield to you!”

I smiled to myself, for was she not female? Then I put such thoughts from my mind. She was Miss Beverly Henderson, of Earth.

I exited and closed the door, quietly. “I hate you!” she cried out, from within.

“Lola!” I called. “Lola!”

The day’s work had been long on the docks, I was looking forward to receiving the attentions of the lovely little slut.

“Lola!” I called.

Where was she? By now she should have run to me and knelt before me, happily, waiting to be commanded.

“Lola!” I called. “Lola!” I began to grow slightly irritated. Was the girl lax? Perhaps it would be necessary to put her under some unpleasant discipline.

“She is not here,” said Miss Henderson, lightly.

“You have sent her shopping?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Where is she?” I asked. “You, know I like her at my feet when I come home.”

“She is not here,” said Miss Henderson, somewhat evasively I thought.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She was a poor slave,” said Miss Henderson. “She was lazy. Her work was not adequate.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I grew displeased with her,” said Miss Henderson.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I sold her,” said Miss Henderson.

I looked at her, disbelievingly.

“Her work was not satisfactory,” she said. “I ordered her to submit to binding, as a slave must. I then, with a switch, conducted her to the wharves, where I sold her.”

“To what merchant?” I said, angrily.

“I did not inquire his name,” she said.

“The market was on what wharf?” I asked.

“I received two copper tarsks for her,” she said.

“The market was on what wharf?” I asked.

“I will give you the two copper tarsks, if you wish,” she said.

“The market was on what wharf?” I asked.

“I did not pay any attention,” she said. “Doubtless, by now, she has been sold off anyway. Jason! Take your hands off me!”

I held her rudely by the arms, almost lifting her from the floor.

“She was not yours to sell!” I said.

“Her work was not satisfactory,” she said. “I share this household.”

“She was not yours to sell,” I said.

“I will give you the two copper tarsks, if you wish,” she said. “We can buy another work slave, if you wish, a better worker, one mutually agreeable to us.”

“Lola was a splendid worker,” I said.

“I did not care for her,” said Miss Henderson. “Jason!”

I had flung her halfway across the room, in fury. “Beware!” she said. “I am free!”

“You had no right to sell her,” I said.

“I am free,” she said. “I do what I please!”

I glared at her, in fury. Then I turned about.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the wharves,” I said.

“She will have been sold by now!” she cried. “You will never find her!”

“When did you take her to the market?” I asked.

“Early this morning,” she said, “as soon as you had left.”

“You planned well,” I said.

“You will never find her!” she cried.

I left the house, in fury, slamming the door.

“You will never find her!” she cried, from within.

I began to run toward the wharves.

“You take me with bitterness, Master,” she said. “Has Peggy displeased you?”

“No,” I said. “I am angry.”

“Ah,” she said, “then ventilate your emotions upon me, for I am only a slave.” She kissed me. “I must submit to whatever men choose to do to me. Do you wish to whip me?”

“No,” I said. “It is not you whom I should make suffer.”

“Some free woman has displeased you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then take your vengeance upon her,” she said. “Collar her. Make her your slave.”

“She is from Earth,” I said.

“We are not different from other women,” she said, “unless it might be, perhaps, that we make better slaves.” She leaned back on the furs of the alcove. “Is this the same female concerning whom we once spoke, she who was with you in the restaurant?”

“Yes,” I said.

“The pretty little beast,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And you have not yet enslaved her? Master is dilatory.”

“Do you think so?” I asked.

“A Gorean man would soon have her lovely little throat locked in his steel collar,” she said.