John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“I am so happy,” she whispered, lying in my arms. “I had never dreamed I could be so happy.”

I thrust the whip again to her mouth and, tenderly, softly, holding it to her lips, she covered it with kisses.

“You enjoy kissing the whip, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You know well what its lash can do to your softness, do you not?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she smiled.

“And yet you kiss it lovingly,” I said.

“Yes, my Master,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps it is a symbol, plain to my vulnerable womanhood, of your manhood, which makes me such a yielding slave. Perhaps it is a symbol of your dominance over me.”

“Does it seem to you that you are kissing a symbol?” I said.

“Perhaps on some level it seems so,” she said, “but I experience it rather differently. It is, you see, a real whip, and one that can be used on me. Thus it seems to me that what I am really doing is kissing a whip; your whip. The whip, in itself, is not a symbol. It is a real whip. It may, of course, have symbolic significance.”

“Kissing the whip is for you,” I said, “apparently a rich sexual, and emotional, experience.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “And even if you were a hated master, it would still, for us slaves, be such an experience.”

“Even if the master were a hated one?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “On one level we might hate to kneel before him and kiss his whip, but on another level we would be thrilled that he had made us do so. He would be showing us that we are women. Master, perhaps, being a man, cannot fully understand, or understand in its total fullness, what it is for a woman to kneel naked before a man and be forced to kiss his whip. It is, I assure you, a very meaningful experience, and one which she understands in every bit of her body. Indeed, after having kissed a man’s whip it is very difficult to continue to hate him, even if he wishes us to do so, enjoying perhaps the humiliation and taming of a woman who hates him. Rather, as slaves, now taught by our master, we find ourselves, almost against our wills, considering how we might perhaps better serve and please him.”

“I see,” I said.

“All women want to be owned by a man strong enough to make her kiss his whip,” she said “What woman would want to be owned by a man of any other sort?”

I said nothing.

“You will be strong with me, will you not?” she asked. “You will make me do, and be, uncompromisingly, and as a slave, what you want, will you not?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then I kiss your whip,” she said, “and love it.”

“You enjoy being a slave?” I asked.

“I am a slave,” she said, “and I love it.”

“You know that you cannot change your mind on this matter,” I said, “and that there is no escape for you on Gor.”

“I know it well, Master,” she said. “On this world; the law even, as I am a slave, in all its force, puts me in your total power.”

“In the total power of any Master,” I said, “to whom you might legally belong.”

“Yes, Master,” she shuddered. “But it is my hope that you will be kind to me.”

“I shall see if you serve well,” I said.

“I shall serve well,” she said. “I think that yon will find that the girl you knew on Earth, now collared on Gor, will supply you with wonders of service.”

“Serve me now,” I said.

“Immediately, and in any way Master wishes,” she said.

She lay on her stomach, on her elbows beside me. I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling.

“Several collars were removed tonight,” she said, “those of Shirley, of Lola and Peggy.”

“To be replaced with other collars shortly,” I said.

“My collar was not removed,” she said. “You kept me.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I think you like me,” she said. “You could have taken me to the market and sold me. You could do that easily. You are a Gorean master. But you did not do so. I think that perhaps you like me.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“That will not endanger our relationship, do you think?” she asked.

“I do not think so,” I smiled.

“You are rich, aren’t you?” she asked.

“As Goreans go,” I said. “I think, Yes.”

“You could buy many girls?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“But I am the only girl in the house,” she said, pointedly.

“At the moment,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

I regarded her, smiling.

“I will try to be such that you will feel neither the need nor the desire for others,” she said.

“Do you think that you can do the work, and supply the love and service of several, Nameless Slave?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said, fervently, “yes, a thousand times yes!”

“I shall give you an opportunity to prove yourself,” I said.

“I ask nothing more,” she said.

“You need training,” I said.

“Train me!” she cried. “Train me, piteously, mercilessly, to your standards and pleasure!”

“I shall do so,” I said, quietly.

“Yes, Master,” she said, trembling.

I held her in my arms, looking down into her eyes. She looked up at me, lovingly.

“I do not need to report for five days,” I told her. “I think that will give us time to become better acquainted.”

“I thought we were already rather well acquainted, Master,” she smiled, “and intimately.”

“I do not even know your name,” I said.

“You have not yet given me one!” she laughed.

“I want to know millions of things about you,” I said.

“I am your chained slave,” she said. “What else do you need to know?”

“Everything,” I said.

“The talents of my tongue and fingers?” she asked.

“Everything,” I said, “even your smallest movements and most trivial thoughts.”

“You want to own all of me, don’t you?” she asked.

“I do own all of you,” I said. “It is only, now, that I am growing curious about what I own.”

“You wish to make inquiries into the nature of your property?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am a girl, and a slave, and I love you,” she said.

I kissed her.

“I can tell you my measurements,” she said, “and my collar size, and the sizes of the wrist and ankle rings that will fit me. I was forced to memorize these things before my first sale.”

“I am tempted to grow fond of you,” I said.

“Of a slave?” she asked.

“To be sure,” I said, “the thought is surely foolish.”

She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. “I am almost melting with love for you, my Master,” she said. “I know my will means nothing, but I beg to be had.”

I then again, this time gently and at length, with tenderness, took her.

I looked down at her, curled on the love furs, so small and curvaceous, in the heavy collar, chained by the neck to the slave ring, asleep.

The light of morning was in the room, filtering through the shutters. It was warm and bright outside. We had slept late. I had been downstairs to get some food. I could hear birds in the garden.

I kicked her in the side. “Awaken,” I said.

“Oh!” she said, moving with the chain on her neck.

“Position,” I said.

Swiftly she assumed the position of the pleasure slave, on the love furs, head up, back straight, kneeling back on her heels, her hands on her thighs.

“You kicked me,” she said.

I cuffed her, backhanded, striking her from her position to her side on the love furs. She looked up at me from the furs, her eyes wide, blood at her mouth. Then she resumed the position of the pleasure slave.