John Norman: Conspirators of Gor

It had not occurred to Gorean men, I knew, to denounce manhood, no more than to proclaim it. They just lived it, as they were men. And without men, how could there be women?

How frightening it can be to be a slave, but, too, how can one feel more female?

I looked up at him, and was frightened.

How I sensed that I was seen!

“Master?” I said.

How he was looking upon me!

He did think me unworthy, still, I realized, a liar, a would-be thief, a deceitful, self-centered, manipulative, worthless, little hypocrite.

That was how he saw me!

Perhaps I had been such, more so on Earth than here, but I did not think I was such now.

“No, Master,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, Master.”

Of course, he was looking upon me as a purchasable chattel, for that is what I was, but, too, he seemed to see me now not as a mere chattel, but as a particularly worthless one, one suitably despised, yet one that he found, despite himself, and perhaps against his best judgment, one of interest, of slave interest, of keen slave interest.

I sensed he was angry with himself.

He was perhaps furious with himself, to find himself attracted to me. Did he despise himself for this? Could he not help himself? Was I, I wondered, as irresistible to him, as he was to me?

Could that be?

I was beneath his gaze.

I was naked before him, and kneeling.

I fear I trembled.

I knew myself desired, and not as a free woman might be desired, in all her lofty, precious, august dignity, encircled with customs, codes, traditions, conventions, proprieties, and rights, but as a slave is desired, with all the raw, uncompromising, unmitigated lust with which a slave is desired, a rightless animal whose obedience is to be instantaneous and unquestioning, who hopes to be pleasing, who hopes to serve the master, whose passion is to be unqualified and unrestrained, who exists, as a belonging, an owned female, to give him inordinate pleasures.

“You are a despicable, vain, pretentious, tormenting little she-sleen,” he said, “but, little she-sleen, your time of tormenting is now over.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“You have played your games enough,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Get your knees apart,” he snarled.

“Master?” I said.

“Now,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Now,” he said, “that is the way you should be.”

Yes, I thought to myself, this is how I should be, and how I want to be. On Earth I had been a slave, not collared. I had been exploitative, selfish, shallow, petty, and nasty. Then, suitably enough, appropriately enough, I was brought to Gor and must wear the collar for which I was born.

“I am in the position of a slave, a pleasure slave,” I said, “before my Master.”

“You were trained as a pleasure slave, were you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion, in Ar.”

“Stand,” he said, “face away from me, put your hands behind your back.”

I did so, and was braceleted.

He then took me by the hair, forced my head down to his hip and then, I in leading position, he drew me beside him deeper into the courtyard, and then, in a concealed place, on the thick, soft, flowing grass, so rich and deep, so living, threw me to his feet.

I looked up at him.

I jerked a little at the bracelets.

“Here, Master?” I said.

“I am tired of being tortured,” he said. “You may be worthless, but you are an interesting piece of meat, on which I intend to feast.”

Then he took me in his arms, and I felt ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, Master!” I cried out, a third time.

“Please free my hands!” I begged.

“No,” he said.

Later, my hands freed, I clung to him, under the moons of Gor. Later he let me creep to his thigh. Still later, he lifted me in his arms, almost as though I might be free, and he carried me into the domicile, and up to his room. There he lit a lamp, and chained me by an ankle, to the ring at the foot of his couch. I gathered I would be slept there, chained at his feet.

“Thank you, Master,” I wept.

In the collar I had found my fulfillment, my joy, and my redemption.

“Oh, please, Master, again,” I begged.

He then drew me to him, again.

“Surely I am not to be back-braceleted again?” I said.

Then my wrists were again braceleted behind my back.

“On the furs,” he said. “Kneel, get your head down!”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

His hands were then on me.

I jerked at the bracelets, but was helpless within them.

“Ohh,” I cried, softly. “Oh! Oh! Yes, Master, yes!”

“Master will not sell me, will he?” I said, frightened.

“How good are you?” he asked.

“Surely Master has formed some sense of my possible value,” I said.

“We shall see,” he said.

“Oh!” I cried.

“Are you suitably humbled?” he asked.

“I have been long humbled,” I said. “I was humbled as soon as I was collared. A slave is not permitted pride.”

“Still,” he said, “I occasionally felt you were a bit pretentious.”

“It is hard to be pretentious,” I said, “when one is muchly bared, in a slave tunic.”

“I occasionally thought you an arrogant little slut,” he said, “when you were in my keeping, you knowing that you would not be touched.”

“I was angry,” I said.

“You wanted to be touched,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“You were a tempting little tasta,” he said.

“Perhaps I taunted you a little, a subtle movement, a way of turning, a glance over my shoulder, a smile.”

“I was well aware of such things,” he said.

“I hoped you would be,” I said.

“It is one thing for a free woman to do such things,” he said. “It is quite another for a slave.”

“I do not think so,” I said.

“A slave might be simply taken in hand,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“You are seductive little brutes,” he said.

“We are slaves,” I said.

“Slaves want to be touched,” he said.

“Of course,” I said. “Oh!” I said, for I was touched, and as a slave might be touched.

How helpless we are!

“It is pleasant to touch you,” he said.

“I assure you,” I said, “I am now well touched.”

“It is a beginning,” he said.

“You will not sell me, will you?”

“Now that you have been reduced, shattered, and well used, again and again, and have cried out, piteously, for more, and more, again, and again,” he said, “it would be amusing to take you to the market, and rid myself of you.”

“It may be done with me,” I said, “as Master pleases, for I am a slave.”

“What would you like?” he asked.

“Keep me in your collar,” I begged. “I have been yours, even from the Sul Market!”

“Do you think you might be a good slave?” he asked.

“I will try my best, Master!” I said.

“Very well,” he said. “Please me, and as the slave you are.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, gratefully.

“On your world,” he said, “I would suppose you were literate.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“And you had station and resources, were refined, and educated, might come and go as you pleased, muchly had your way, were elegantly clothed and shod, and such?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“And here you are a naked slave,” he said.

“It is my hope,” I said, “that my Master, if I prove sufficiently pleasing, may grant me a garment.”

“A rag, or such,” he said, “provided, of course, that you are fully pleasing.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I had sensed, on Earth, that I should be the slave of men such as those of Gor, but I had not anticipated my transposition to Gor, and my marketing.