John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“You performed your duties as a naked waitress well,” I said, “expertly and deferentially.”

“I do not wish to be killed,” she said.

“You were a fine trainer,” I said. “You taught me much.”

“And now,” she smiled, “is it your intention to give your trainer a little training?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I have never had the feelings of a normal woman,” she said.

“Lie down,” I told her.

“I obey,” she said. She looked up at me. “You do not seem angry with me,” she said.

I sat beside her. “I am not,” I said. “Keeper!” I called. “Give me the key to the shackles of this one.”

He came to me and gave me a key, with which I removed the shackle from her right ankle. I returned the key to him. I did not unlock the shackle on her left ankle. She continued to wear it, with its short chain and the opened right shackle.

“He did not seem surprised or startled,” I said, “that I should open your shackle.”

“No,” she said, bewildered. “He did not.”

“It is not thus so unthinkable,” I said, “that a man might desire to free your legs.”

She looked at me, frightened.

“Remember,” I said, “you are not now carrying a whip and keys, clad in black leather, in a position of power, men at your mercy.”

“No,” she whispered.

“And even in that guise,” I said, “it is not so improbable but what men might wish to take your whip from you and throw you down, and teach you what it is to be a woman.”

“I wanted them to do so,” she said. “I wanted them to make me a woman.”

“You are a woman,” I told her. “Dare to be it.”

“No!” she said. “It means surrender to men!”

“Of course,” I told her.

“I do not have the feelings of normal women!” she said.

“Perhaps it is only that you are afraid to have them,” I said.

“No, no!” she said.

“Then have them,” I said.

“No!” she said. “The Lady Gina will never be a submitted slave!”

“You are too proud to be a woman?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Even though you are, in truth, a woman?”

“Yes,” she said. “It is wrong to be a woman! It is wrong to be a woman!”

“You could always pretend that to be a woman is to be like a man,” I said.

“I am not a fool,” she said.

“Do you really think it is wrong for a woman to be a true woman?”

“Yes,” she said, “for it is to be a woman, and not a man!”

“But you are not, in fact, a man,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

“Be a woman, then,” I said.

“I dare not,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said.

“Is it such a terrible thing to be a woman?” I asked.

“Yes, yes!” she said.

“No,” I said, “it is not terrible. It is deeply and profoundly marvelous.”

She trembled.

“Take your place in the order of nature,” I said.

“At the feet of men!” she said.

“It is where you belong,” I said.

She began to shudder at my side. “I begin to feel such emotions, such feelings,” she said. “They frighten me. They threaten to overwhelm me.”

“It is uncontrollable. It is like a storm,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yield to them,” I said.

“I do not want to be a woman!” she wept. “I do not want to be a woman!”

“How fared the House of Andronicus?” I asked her.

She looked at me, startled. “The goods and the slaves fled or were taken,” she said. “The House itself was destroyed.”

“And Andronicus?” I asked.

“He fled,” she said, “with others.”

“How did Lola fare?” I asked.

“She fled,” she said. “I do not know if she was taken by the looters or not.”

“Do you think she managed to escape?” I asked.

“The looters, perhaps,” she said. “But she wears a collar.”

I nodded. Lola was attractive. By now she was doubtless on someone’s chain. Lovely female slaves do not remain long at large.

“Did you know she sometimes cried your name aloud in her sleep?” asked the Lady Gina.

“No,” I said.

“Yet you failed her as a master,” she said.

“That is true,” I said.

“It was long ago,” she said.

“True,” I said.

“You seem much different now,” she said.

I shrugged. “Perhaps,” I said.

“Jason,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said.

“You freed my legs,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “but it was a mistake.”

“Why?” she asked.

“You do not have the feelings of a normal woman,” I said. “It is doubtless nothing that you can help.” I then bent to reshackle her. Quickly she drew her legs back. “What is wrong?” I asked her.

“Please do not reshackle me, just yet,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I want to be a woman,” she whispered.

“Truly?” I asked.

“Yes, truly,” she sobbed.

“Then,” I said, “you must be prepared, holding nothing back, to yield to your deepest and most profound feelings.”

“But then,” she said, “I would be only a submitted slave, overwhelmed and mastered.”

I took her in my arms. She was tense, and frightened. “You’re trembling,” I said.

“I am only a woman, and a prisoner,” she said.

“Do not forget it,” I told her.

“No, Jason,” she said.

“You do not seem large and strong,” I said.

“I am not large and strong,” she said.

“Your body is soft,” I said, “and feels good in my hands.” I jerked her by the arms to a sitting position, and looked at her.

“Could a man find me desirable?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Escape me!” She struggled, futilely.

“I cannot escape you,” she said. “You know that!”

I threw her then down to her back in the straw.

“Do not be rough with me, Jason,” she said.

“You will now be treated as men please,” I told her.

“Yes, Jason,” she said.

“Accustom yourself to obedience and submission,” I said.

“Yes, Jason,” she said.

“Will it be necessary to whip you?” I asked.

“No, Jason,” she said.

“Prepare now to yield to your deepest and most profound feelings,” I said.

“I will try,” she said. “Oh!” she cried, my hands in her hair.

“You will not merely try,” I told her. “You will yield to them.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, what?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You yielded well, Lady Gina,” I said.

“I would never have believed I could have such feelings,” she said. “I did not know such feelings could exist.”

“Surely you have seen writhing, screaming slave girls?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but not until moments ago did I have more than an inkling of what they might be feeling.” She smiled. “It is no wonder the luscious little sluts are so fond of their collars.”

“There can be progress in such matters,” I said. “Perhaps no woman has yet truly sounded the depths of slave joy.”

“Yes,” she said, “the joy of being owned by a man, of being in his power, completely, of being fully his, and of totally loving and serving him.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

She kissed me. “You handle a woman well, Jason,” she said. “You put me through my paces well.”

“Any captor or Master,” I said, “can put you through your paces.”

“It is true,” she said, and kissed me. She put her head on my belly. “I have seen women such as myself on the block,” she said. “We do not bring high prices.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“If I were sent to the kitchens, or the mills or laundries,” she said, “I would be under the will of my task master, would I not?”