John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“Yes,” I said.

“Please have me, with gentleness, Master,” she begged, “though I am a slave.”

“Very well, Slave,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, softly.

She lay beside me. She fingered the chain depending from her collar. “I love being chained,” she said.

“Chains are useful in impressing her slavery on a woman,” I said.

“They leave little doubt in her mind so as to who is master,” she smiled.

I did not respond. What she said, however, was doubtless true. The effect of a chain, or a rope, on a woman’s sexuality is sometimes incredible. This is particularly true with the new slave girl. With the older slave girl, one who has already learned something of the meaning of her collar, a mere snapping of the fingers or a small, imperious gesture can have a similarly, devastating, triggering effect on her sexuality.

The readiness and excitability, indeed, the almost helpless sexual vulnerability of the slave girl, is something for which the men of Earth, whose experience has been limited to the free females of Earth, are totally unprepared. It commonly takes fifteen to twenty minutes to bring a free Earth female to orgasm. A slave girl, on the other hand, whether Gorean or an imbonded Earth girl, finding herself on Gor, once trained and understanding, fully, her condition, will often find herself on the brink of orgasm, simply finding her master’s eyes casually upon her. The differences, of course, are almost entirely psychological. Sexuality, as is well known, is almost entirely a function of the imagination and brain.

The slave girl knows that she is a slave, truly, and that passion is not only permitted to her but required of her. Indeed, she may be whipped or slain if she is insufficiently passionate. Her sexual needs are thus liberated. Frightened, she often begins by acting, and this is known to the master, but soon, perhaps to her horror, she discovers that she, obedient to the master’s touch, and no longer acting, and this, too, is known to the master, has become, truly, suddenly, a yielding, spasmodic slave.

Too, of course, her slavery and her sexuality is impressed upon her in a thousand, subtle ways. Certain modes of speech are expected of her and certain gestures and postures. She must, for example, address free persons deferentially and, commonly, will kneel in their presence. Her garb, too, is commonly distinctive; it is usually inexpensive and brief; sometimes it is only a rag; it is designed to remind her of lowliness; it is designed, too, of course, generally, to leave little doubt as to her charms. Needless to say, too, her throat is encircled by a collar, which will identify her master; sometimes, too, the collar will bear the name by which he has decided to call her; and her thigh, or some other part of her body, will be branded. She is an animal, sensuous and beautiful, marked as property, and has a name only on the sufferance of her master; he need not even give her a name, if he does not wish to do so.

Beyond this, of course, she finds herself in the Gorean civilization. It is a complex, vital, bright, colorful, deeply sensuous civilization; it is a harsh, gorgeous world in which the slave girl has a special role and place; her condition is unquestioned and categorical; it is supported by history, by custom and law; there is absolutely no escape for her; she is slave. Accordingly, an animal and property, without even a name in her own right, she kneels before her master; she waits to be commanded.

“I love it when you are strong with me,” said Peggy. She lay bide me, on her elbow, the chain dangling from her collar.

“You are a woman,” I said.

“I despise weak men,” she said. “I respect only men who will treat me as a woman, and do with me what they please. I know I am a woman. I want to be treated as one. How can I take my place in the order of nature if men will not treat me as they wish? That is what I want, to be treated, even with insolence, as men wish. Only then can I know them as my master, and yield to them in my fullness.”

“Before,” I said, “you wished to be taken with gentleness.”

“And you did so,” she said. “That was then my mood, and I am grateful that you deigned to respect it.”

“Sometimes I might not,” I said.

“I know, Master,” she said. “And then later,” she said, “when your appetites grew again upon you, you took me as a mere slave, with brutality.”

“You yielded well,” I said.

“I could not help myself, Master,” she said.

She then lay beside me, and began to kiss at my arm. She took my arm in her two hands, kissing it. “You are strong,” she whispered.

I did not respond.

“Master,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said.

“Have Peggy again. Peggy begs it.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Perhaps not.”

She whimpered, and put her head against my arm.

I supposed that it was not surprising that women reduced to bondage, collared and branded, denied by the strictures of their condition the mockeries of male imitation, and finding the impediments to the manifestation of their deepest and most secret nature removed, should gradually find themselves more and more at the mercy of their needs.

I found this amusing, perhaps because I had come from Earth. How humiliating for an Earth girl, in particular, I thought, to discover that she now had, ignited within her, deep, feminine needs, for the satisfaction of which she found herself dependent on masters. This aspect of the sexuality of the female slave, her need as well as her responsiveness, would also be found astonishing by the men of Earth, accustomed only to the suppressed dispositions and conditioned inertnesses of the women with which he is familiar.

It is not unusual for a slave girl to kneel, head down, before even a hated master, and beg his touch. Slavers, not unoften, deprive a female slave of a man’s touch for two or three days before her sale. She then, almost invariably, brings a higher price. Her need, manifested in her piteous display of herself, in her physical attitudes, her gestures and expressions, is evident and often arousing, to the buyers. How many women of Earth, I wondered, strip themselves slowly before a man and then kneel before him, and kiss his feet, and then, looking up, beg him for his touch. Perhaps only those who are slave girls.

“You are chained,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I took Peggy’s chain in my hand and jerked it, lightly but firmly. She felt the chain, then, pull at the snug collar and jerk it against the back of her neck.

“You are truly chained,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Why are you chained?” I asked.

“It pleased Master to chain me,” she said. She kissed me. “Please, Master,” she said, “have your chained slave.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Perhaps not.”

She sobbed in frustration, and continued to kiss me.

Even with girls used to slavery, who have well learned their collars, of course, the chain never loses its meaning. Masters commonly use it, even with experienced girls. It never loses its effect.

“Please, Master,” she sobbed.

“Be silent,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, sobbing.

Sometimes a slave girl must be struck away from one’s feet. Sometimes she must be chained to one side, to a wall or in a corner.

I laughed.

“Master?” she asked.

I then took her in my arms and threw her, roughly, beneath me.

She cried out with pleasure.

“What is that sound?” I asked.

“You make a slave very happy, Master,” she said, snuggled beside me.

“Do you not hear it?” I asked.

“I hear conversation, the clink of goblets from the floor of the tavern,” she said.