John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“Now you speak the truth,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you now feel shamed, that you have made this confession?” I asked.

She looked up at me, startled. “No,” she said.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“It is strange,” she said. “I feel exalted, glorious. It is strange. It is as though I had come home to myself.”

“The only true liberation,” I said, “is to become what one truly is.”

“Oh!” she cried.

“Does a slave object to being treated as a slave?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said. “I regret only that I never admitted my slavery on Earth.”

“There would have been little point,” I said. “There are few masters on Earth.”

“There is no dearth of masters on Gor,” she said.

“No,” I smiled.

She shuddered in my arms. “I admit to you that I belong in a collar,” she whispered.

“It is true,” I said.

“I long to be taught its meaning,” she said.

“You will be,” I assured her.

“Teach me my collar,” she begged. “Make me the slave I long to be.”

“I shall,” I said.

“Linda is now ready to serve her master,” she said. “Master,” she said, “what is wrong?”

I looked down at her, locked as a hot, leashed slave in my arms. “I shall have you under the name of ‘Beverly’,” I said.

“That was my name on Earth, long ago, when I was free,” she said.

“I put it on you now, for my use of you, as a slave name,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You were once of Earth, were you not?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Are you now of Earth?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“Of where are you now?” I asked.

“Gor, Master,” she said.

“Once you were a free woman, were you not?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Are you now free?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said. “Please, Master!”

“What are you now?” I asked.

“I am now naught but a Gorean slave girl!” she wept. “Please, Master!”

“What is your name,” I asked.

“Beverly,” she said. “My name is ‘Beverly’. That is the name which my master has seen fit to put upon me.”

“It is a pretty name,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master. Please, Master!”

“You appear to be sexually aroused, Beverly,” I said.

“I am, my Master,” she said. “Please, please!”

“Speak, Slave,” I said.

“Beverly begs to serve her master,” she said.

I then took her, and, in moments, in helpless spasms, sobbing, in joy, she cried out her slave’s submission to me. “I am now naught but a Gorean slave gir1! I am now naught but a Gorean slave girl!” she cried. “And I am yours, my Master! I am yours! I am yours!”

The girl who had held the leash of the girl whom I had just enjoyed, having now returned, removed her hand from the docile, supine slave’s body. She tasted, and smelled, her fingers. “I see that you have earned your tarsk bit,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl, happily.

The girl who was the Coin Girl’s leash holder then bent to untie the leash from the slave ring.

“Please, Mistress,” begged the girl whom I had just enjoyed, scrambling to her knees and putting her head to the feet of the other girl, “do not yet untie my leash!”

“It is well past the nineteenth Ahn,” said the girl who was apparently the new girl’s slave supervisor and trainer, “But the pleasures of the master are not to be interfered with,” said the kneeling slave. “That I was told in the house!”

Then, on her knees, she turned and looked pleadingly at me. I took out another tarsk bit, and held it out. The girl came then near to me, and leaned forward, that I might, from my reclining position, be able to reach the coin box chained on her neck. I put in another tarsk bit. The kneeling girl then turned and looked, pleadingly, at the girl under whose orders she was.

“Very well,” said the girl who was standing, looking down upon the kneeling slave. “I shall wait up the street.” Then she looked at me. “When you are through with her,” she said, “send her to me.”

“Very well,” I said.

Beverly knelt happily beside me, and I lay back, on my back, on the tunic, on the stones of the street. I felt her small hands, lovingly, timidly, touching me about the shoulders and chest. “I did not know you could be like this,” she said. “I have never seen you before like this.”

“A woman looks differently at a man when she is a slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she smiled. “What must you think of me?” she asked, ruefully.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“How I behaved, how I acted,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“How can you respect me?” she asked.

“I do not,” I said.

“You do not respect me?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “of course not, for you are a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she smiled. She kissed me, softly, on the right shoulder. Then she knelt back, on her heels, beside me. Her knees were spread, in the position of the pleasure slave. “You think little of slaves, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you must think little of me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Am I good?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am glad,” she said. “Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“What if I were not good?”

“Then I would not have put another coin in your coin box,” I said.

“What if I were not good the first time, after you had put a coin in the coin box?” she asked.

“Then I would have beaten you,” I said.

“Could you beat me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I told her.

“Would you, truly, had you not been satisfied with me, have beaten me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am pleased that you found me pleasing,” she said.

I smiled.

“Too,” she said, “you would have been entitled to a refund, though I myself could not have given it to you, for the coin box is locked. You could have obtained it, however, later from my master.”

“I know,” I said.

“But then, too, I would be again beaten,” she said, “doubtless whipped.”

“Yes,” I said. The satisfaction of Coin Girls, in its way, is guaranteed, or one can receive one’s money back. It is not surprising, then, that the girls, under the conditions obtaining, strive to be pleasing.

“I put a second coin, did I not, in your coin box?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Address yourself to my pleasures,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, and bent forward, over my body. I felt her sweet lips, and her small teeth and tongue, those of a slave, on my body. In a few moments I ordered her again to her back.

She lay beside me.

Then I pulled her by the neck chain closer to me. I thrust another coin into the small metal box on the chain. She kissed me. “Again, Master?” she asked. I took her by the arms and flung her beneath me. “Do you know the name of this street?” I asked.

“The Street of the Writhing Slave,” she said.

“Writhe, Slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

It was an Ahn later.

She lay beside me, pressing her softness against me, kissing at my arm, my shoulder and chest, softly, piteously. “Very well,” I said.

“Oh, yes, Master!” she breathed. “Yes, yes, Master!”

I then put her beneath me, and looked down into her eyes. “Yes, Master,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes, Master!”

I was preparing to have her when suddenly I saw fear come into her eyes. “Oh, no, Master!” she cried. “No! No!”