John Norman - Kajira of Gor

“You are a superb natural slave,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“I do not object,” he said.

“Good,” I said.

“In fact, it pleases me,” he said.

“Good,” I whispered.

He held my head between his hands, like it was that of a dog.

“Do some men care for their slaves,” I asked, “just a little?”

“Some men care for them much more than a little,” he said.

“Even natural slaves?” I asked.

“Those are the best sort,” he said.

“I am glad to hear it,” I said.

“In every woman,” he said, “if one can but find it, I believe there is a natural slave.”

“I believe it is true, Master,” I said.

Then I felt myself drawn to his lips, and I was drawn half into the chair, and then he, holding my head, not releasing it, turned, and I felt myself moved backwards and to the side, to my knees, before the chair, and then he was crouching before me, and then I felt myself being lowered backwards to the floor. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, my master!”

***

“Do I make you weak?” I asked. I lay now on love furs, at the foot of his couch. He had put a chain on my neck.

“No,” he said.

I leaned over, and kissed him, delicately, intimately.

“Aiii!” he said.

“I see that my master speaks the truth,” I said.

“She-sleen!” he said, and then, with a rattle of chain, threw me again beneath him.

***

“I would be a hundred slaves to you,” I whispered, “a thousand!”

“You are,” he whispered. “You are.”

***

“Doubtless master is tired now,” I said, “and should rest. I will stop.”

“Not yet! Not yet!” he said.

“Very well,” I said.

***

“Insatiable slut!” he growled. “Do you think I am made of iron?”

“It seemed so,” I said.

“Desist,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I laughed. It was hard for me to keep my hands off Drusus Rencius. He was so beautiful. I snuggled down beside him, my head at his hip. I kissed his hip. Then I lay there, quietly, beside him. “I am not disturbing you now, am I?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Would you like to rest now?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. His hand was in my hair.

“Would you like me to relax you?” I asked.

“Very well,” he said.

I crawled to my knees.

In a few moments, he said, “Is that your idea, as how to relax a man?”

I laughed, and continued my work, lovingly.

“Obviously you have been trained,” he said.

“I am not one of those women who thinks her part in making love is finished when she lies down,” I said.

“That is clear,” he said. The slave, of course, is not permitted the ignorance, inertness and mediocrity of the free woman. She must serve marvelously and totally. Nothing less is permitted her.

“I am a woman of many talents,” I assured him.

“Doubtless,” he said, half moaning.

“I have attended school,” I informed him. “And I am a skilled feast slave. I am also skilled at weaving on a mill loom.”

“Marvelous,” he gasped.

“Shall I stop now?” I asked.

“Continue,” he said.

“But I thought you wished to rest?” I said.

He looked at me, menacingly.

“I shall continue,” I said. “I would certainly not wish for a command to have to be repeated. That would be a reflection on my discipline. Too, I have no wish to be beaten twice in one day.”

“I wonder who is the master and who is the slave,” he said.

“You are the master, and I am the slave,” I said. “I am clear on that.”

“Would you care to mount me?” he asked.

Eagerly I did so.

“Are you now Mistress?” he asked.

“Whatever Master wishes,” I laughed. I sensed, suddenly, what might be the sensations of power and pleasure a woman might experience, putting a male to her use, before she was restored to the order of nature, and her servitude. “Would you truly permit me this?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said, “but, later, we will do it somewhat differently.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, puzzled.

Then, to my amazement and delight, grinding and tensing, I watching him closely, I transformed him into a squirming slave beneath me, and then, when it pleased me, took his yielding from him.

Later in the afternoon, when we had rested, and he had had food brought in, and we had eaten, he put me again in such a place, but this time I must face his feet and my hands were held behind me. In such a way, sometimes, a captured free woman, stripped, is placed backwards on a kaiila, her hands bound behind her. This is usually done only when she is being led to slavery. In such a way, then, he used me. My slavery was again well impressed upon me.

This type of position, it might be mentioned, is also used by Gorean masters with the woman facing forward, when he can see her face, but with her hands tied, say, before her or behind her, or at her collar, bound either with actual thongs or, most cruelly, “by his will,” that form of “tie” in which a woman must keep her hands in a given position, for example, holding them as if bound, or, say, keeping them on her hips or clasped behind the back of her neck. If she breaks such a position, of course, she is subject to terrible discipline.

She must then, as he lies slothful and recumbent beneath her, at his ease, observing her, perhaps amused, writhe upon command and thus serve, and eventually cap, his volcano.

Later he taught me this sort of thing first-hand. He used the collar tie and, mercifully with real thongs. When he was finished I had not only learned again that I was a slave but that this general sort of position, even with the female facing forward, has no intrinsic connection with female dominance. He had let me experience it in that fashion to see what it was like. He had then returned me to total bondage.

“Master,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I have been doing a great deal of thinking,” I said.

“Is that what you have been doing?” he asked.

“I mean, in the last few Ehn,” I said.

“Yes?” he said.

“I have learned my collar,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

“You have taught it to me well,” I said.

He shrugged. The Goreans have a theory that any man can teach a woman her collar, and perfectly.

“But was it necessary,” I asked, “that you used me as you did earlier, after you had whipped me?”

“How was that?” he asked.

“Master!” I protested. Then I saw that he wished to make me speak. “when you made me kneel, with my head down,” I said, embarrassed.

“No,” he said. “It was not necessary.”

“Then why did you do it?” I asked.

“It amused me,” he said.

“Surely there was more to it than, that,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “it is a useful way to show a woman, one who may be proud, or not clear on the matter, that she is a slave.”

“I see,” I said. “I find it difficult to forget the experience.”

“Oh?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Doubtless you were appropriately degraded and shamed,” he said.

“No,” I said. “To be sure,” I said, “it was instructive, but, as I recall it now, I found it very loving and exciting.”

“You liked it?” he asked.

“Doubtless it brought my slavery home to me,” I said, carefully.

“I would think so,” he said. “It would doubtless be difficult to continue to think of oneself as a free woman after having been used in that fashion.”

“I liked it,” I said, suddenly.

“That is interesting,” he said. The beast! He knew I had almost screamed with submission and pleasure!

“Are slaves often used in such a fashion?” I asked, as though unconcerned.