John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“Then you might have me serve nude anytime?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Even though you knew me from Earth?”

“Of course,” I said. “Do not expect, simply because we are both of Earth origin, that this will soften your slavery. It will only make it more delectable.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I do not want my slavery to be softened,” she said, “for any reason.”

“It will not be,” I told her.

“I beg to be kept in a full, and hard, slavery,” she said, looking up at me.

“You will be,” I told her.

“Without compromise,” she begged.

“Without compromise,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said. “It is how I have always wanted to serve you, even from the first moment I saw you,on the campus of the university.”

“And, too,” I said, “from the first moment I saw you, it was the form of service I wished from you.”

“It is now yours, my Master,” she said.

I then crouched down and gently lowered her, to her back, on the tiles. I then stood up, and looked down at her, naked and bound, at my feet.

“Please rape me, Master,” she said. “Please subject me to slave rape.”

“Why?” I asked.

She looked up at me, startled. She squirmed in the bonds. There were tears in her eyes.

“I beg to be raped,” she said. “Please, Master, rape me! Rape me!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Is it not obvious?” she asked, weeping, twisting in the golden straps.

I smiled.

“I-I,” she stammered.

“Say it,” I said.

“I-I am hot in my collar!” she wept. She then blushed crimson.

“What a vulgar little slave, you are,” I said.

“What a beast Master is,” she said, “to make a girl so explicitly confess her needs.”

I then crouched down and untied her ankles, but I held them together in my hands. I felt them trying, straining, to move apart, but they could not do so. She had little leverage and, in any event, her strength was as nothing compared to mine. They would not be thrown apart until I wished.

“This will be the first time that you have truly had me, as my own Master,” she said. “You took me in the Street of the Writhing Slave as a Coin Girl, a mere rent girl, a street girl, a gutter wench, and you have taken me, I a helpless slave, I not knowing you, in the guise of my unknown Gorean master, but this will be the first time that you have had me, so to speak, in your own name and right.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Please, Master,” she said, “may I beg one thing! Let it be swift, efficient and uncaring. Put me under your lust, as a mere object!”

I regarded her. Obviously at my least touch she would go into orgasm. I had never seen a slave more ready for exploitative penetration. She wanted her first having by me, in my own name and right, to be one which would make it clear to her that she, in my arms, was only a mere slave.

“Oh!” she cried, as I flung apart her ankles. She looked at me, in sudden fear. Then I took her.

“Oh, yes! Yes!” she cried.

Then I withdrew from her.

She lay at my feet, on her side, her hands bound behind her. “Oh, yes, yes,” she whimpered.

I had had her casually, swiftly, ruthlessly, without sensitivity or tenderness. I had had her as a meaningless piece of slave meat.

“Yes,” she moaned, softly, “yes, yes.”

I looked down at her. Sexuality in the human female is a marvelous, deep, complex and total thing. Consider the female at my feet. I had scorned to show her the least respect. I had treated her as trash, and a worthless slave. Yet she moaned, bound, on the tiles, in joy. She had been treated as she had wished, as one who was merely mine, and must submit, in the order of nature. I looked down at her. Her entire body, in all its curves and beauty, cried out her vulnerable sexuality. What scoundrel, I wondered, would refuse to satisfy the needs of the female of his species?

I kicked the girl with the side of my foot. “You are now in your place, Slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “You had me well.”

With my foot I rolled her to her back on the tiles before me.

“Will Master keep me?” she asked. “Did I please Master?”

“You were not entirely displeasing,” I said. “At least for the time, you will be kept.”

“I will try to work out,” she said.

I looked down at her, on her back, her hands tied, on the tiles at my feet.

“I will try desperately to work out,” she said.

“On your belly,” I said. Then I went to her and untied her hands. Quickly she rose to her knees before me. She held my legs and, softly, kissed my left thigh.

“Now that I have had you, and I have decided to keep you about, at least for the time,” I said, “we must try to think of some name for you.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“But there is no great hurry in the matter,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said. For now she would continue nameless. Many times, incidentally, a new girl is not immediately given a name. If one doesn’t know if she will work out, or be kept, it is sometimes not thought worth the while to waste a name on her. Similarly, sometimes a master waits a few days to name the slave, to see if an appropriate name, one seemingly right for the girl, suggests itself. Most of the time, of course, it must be admitted, the girl, like a pet sleen, is promptly named. It makes it much more convenient to refer to her, and summon her. The name she is given, of course, is a function of the will of the Master, and names may be changed, as he pleases. Sometimes, for example, a girl may be rewarded with a lovely name, or punished with an ugly one.

“Thank you for my slave rape,” she said. “It is how I wished first to be had by you.”

“It seemed appropriate for a low slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.” I felt her nibbling at the tunic at my thigh, and kissing, softly, through it. I felt the dampness, the wet, from her small, warm mouth, and, too, through the cloth, the movement of her tongue. “Master did not even remove his tunic,” she said.

“Do you object, in the least?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said. “I am only a slave.”

“To your work,” I said, jerking my thumb toward the table.

Startled, she rose swiftly to her feet and went to the table, where she, kneeling down, began to gather together the dishes and stack them.

It pleased me to see her, naked and in my collar, engaged in this necessary and menial labor, fitting for a slave. This also gave me the opportunity I desired, unseen by her, to fetch forth from the chest an object which, long ago, I had purchased for her on the great concourse near the wharves.

I moved quietly behind her, as she knelt, working, at the table, the object, in several loops, held between my hands. I then, with one motion, slung the loops over her head and body, and jerked back, straightening her body, and pinning her arms to her sides. “Chain!” she cried. “Master!” She tensed her body and struggled, but only for an instant. I tightened the chains. She ceased struggling. The chains were tight in her flesh. “Master?” she asked. I then lifted the chains from her, and held them out, before her. “It is beautiful,” she said.

She saw now that the chains had been the loops of a single, graceful body chain, sinuous and glossy, closely meshed and dark, ornamented with colorful beads of wood, semiprecious stones and bits of leather. Its full loop is some five feet in length, and it can be wound and looped, and twisted and strung about a woman’s body in a variety of intricate fashions. It is light and the closeness of its meshing allows it to follow closely the contours of a woman’s body. It is unbreakable. It may be worn with or without clothing. By means of small clips, snap clips or lock clips, it may be used to secure as well as adorn a woman. It is to be worn, of course, only by a slave.