Sunday, 7 May 2017

Harem Girl of Gor Chapter Thirteen


Chapter Thirteen: Red Metal


“I’m really not comfortable with this, Emma,” said Jacinta as she stood, naked and barefoot in the seraglio harem within Marcellus’s villa. A couple of Marcellus’s slave-girls lay around the bathing pools, resting before they might be required in the early evening after the sun had set. They stretched their lithe bodies like sleepy cats and picked at golden bowls of sun blushed dates as they regarded Jacinta with amusement. They could see she wore no collar and her thighs were clean of a brand. She was a Free Woman and therefore they normally feared her, but here she was in a scented seraglio behind billowing drapes, behind a locked door and barred windows, naked and obviously scared. They scented weakness, they scented fear and they scented a reversal of fortunes that excited them.

The harem chambers were comfortable and opulently furnished with candelabras, and divans covered with red satin damask, ornate mirrors set in fabulously engraved wooden surrounds depicting erotic vistas, marble topped tables set with silver chandeliers containing eight wax candles apiece, and windows shaded with red coloured glass. The tiled floor was covered with matting over which lay a number of rich looking embroidered carpets. Close by was a divan covered with red and white silk and gold thread.



I had just now bathed the Lady Jacinta in one of the scented pools and dried her beautiful body with a series of jasmine powders and towels. Her skin smelled lovely now as I brushed her long hair until it was glossy and sleek.

I think Jacinta was referring primarily to the length of pleasure silk, red in colour that lay folded on a nearby vanity table, along with a series of slave cosmetics.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, but my Master has decided you are to be bathed, perfumed, made beautiful with slave cosmetics and dressed in pleasure silk for the dinner this evening.” I took hold of her left wrist and slipped a number of bejewelled bronze cuff-lets and jingling bracelets there. I did the same with her right wrist.

“But I’m free,” said Jacinta with the first signs of concern in her otherwise inscrutable face.

“Yes you are, Mistress. That hasn’t changed.” I smiled softly as I brushed her body with scented powder.

“Then I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“My Master wishes a girl to serve him during dinner. Normally I would do so, as I wear his collar, but I will be dancing on the verandah overlooking the pleasure gardens where the Masters will be dining and drinking, and so he has opted to use one of his captives. Mistress is very beautiful. I think my Master considers you to be more beautiful than Melinda, though she too is exceptionally pretty. Consider it a compliment, Mistress.” I was perhaps secretly enjoying this just a little. How bad am I? Oh, but I was feeling very bad...

“When you say 'serve him'…”

“Oh, just food and drink, Mistress. You will be expected to fetch and carry and kneel before him. That sort of thing.” I used a scented powder puff between Jacinta's thighs

“But why the pleasure silks and…” she gazed now at the low vanity table in alarm, “are those ankle bells?”

“I believe they are, Mistress.” I smiled brightly. “They’re very pretty, aren’t they?”

“They are for you, I presume, Emma?”

“For both of us, Mistress. My Master wishes both of his girls belled and dressed in pleasure silks. He wishes to make a good impression on Marcellus.” I finished adorning Jacinta’s wrists with erotic bracelets and bangles that chimed as she moved.

“I’m not a slave!”

“Of course not, Mistress, you are a dignified Free Woman.”

“It is not right that he dresses me in pleasure silks for tonight.”

“Of course not, Mistress, but nevertheless that is what you shall wear.” Oh how I smiled deferentially to her. She really did look nervous now.

“Are you enjoying my current predicament, Emma?”

“Oh no, Mistress, not at all. But if you could kneel down now, Mistress, by the vanity table, for I need to make up your face now.” There was some giggling from the slave-girls who reclined by the pool side, for they knew that Jacinta was a Free Woman and so it delighted them that she was being presented this evening as practically indistinguishable from a slave.

“Your sympathy is so very sincere,” said Jacinta with thinly disguised scorn as she knelt down with as much dignity as she could muster.

The one advantage I had over Gorean women who were enslaved is that I was already pretty good at applying heavy makeup. My second life as a T-girl on Earth meant I had spent many long hours religiously following YouTube videos, practising all manner of makeup techniques in a mirror. My slave trainers in the pens of Banu Hashim had been surprised how quickly I was able to apply a high standard of slave cosmetics to my face while other slaves struggled to learn the basic techniques. For a time there I was actually a makeup tutor in the appropriate classes and I helped other girls learn to do their eyes and lips. I even introduced contouring to the class, which astonished my trainer, Bahira, who had never heard of it.

I applied a light foundation on Jacinta’s face, and then set about drawing eyeliner around her eyes. She knelt there perfectly still, not objecting the way Melinda might have for example. With the eyeliner in place I began to give her soft smoky eyes that I knew would dazzle the Gorean men. I was well versed in makeup techniques that most slave girls would be ignorant of, and I was determined to make Jacinta stand out. I shaded and blended with my brushes and then did her eyebrows. Lip pencil came next followed by lip rouge. And then my true artistry came to the fore as I began to highlight and contour her cheek bones. Despite Gor seeming like a primitive society in many respects, there are notable and significant exceptions. The castes of builders and physicians for example are actually technologically sophisticated, and it is easy to find anachronistic examples of modern technology on Gor such as energy bulbs and electric tarn goads. Cosmetics too are almost of Earth quality and gave me plenty of scope to define and accentuate Jacinta’s fabulous bone structure.

“Mistress is going to be so beautiful for the men,” I said as I dabbed rouge on to the apples of her cheeks and blended the colour in with my finger tips. When I had finished I held a small mirror up to her face and enjoyed her shocked reaction.

“Oh God…” She had never worn makeup like this before, not even on Earth. As she admired herself, I dabbed slave perfume on either side of her neck, on the soft insides of her wrists, and between her breasts.

“This scent…” said Jacinta in alarm.

“It is slave perfume, Mistress.”

“It is so sensual,” said Jacinta softly.

“But of course, Mistress. It is slave perfume. Please stand. I need to dress you now.”

Jacinta stood, looking more beautiful than she had ever done before. I tied the ankle bells to each ankle and then picked up the length of soft, almost diaphanous red slave silk.

“I can’t wear that…” moaned Jacinta softly. “Please let me have a tunic.”

“My Master has determined what you will wear when you serve on the verandah this evening.” I paused for a moment as she gazed at the length of silk. “I will array it around your body in a most artful arrangement, Mistress.”

And I did. The length of silk was carefully wound across her hips and up past her left shoulder and then over to almost but not quite conceal her breasts. By the time I had finished and I had tied the loose ends into very loose slip knot at her left thigh, she looked like a delicious morsel in the most delicate gift wrap possible. A single tug on the slip knot and a quick jerk of the wrist would strip her completely.

“Emma, help me…” Jacinta shivered to the touch of the silk.

“Why, Mistress? Whatever is wrong?” I knew exactly how she must be feeling, for there is not a woman alive I think who can feel defiant and confident when she is dressed in slave silk. It is not simply a function of the softness of the fabric, though that plays a large part, but also the realisation of how you will appear before men, and what the sight of you will do to them. Slave rape is almost a certainty if you happen to be a girl dressed that way. And furthermore you feel open, vulnerable, exposed in such scandalous silks. Yes, I knew exactly how Jacinta must be feeling right now. “It feels different, doesn’t it, Mistress?” I said with a smile.

“What?” Jacinta wrapped her arms around her body as if to minimise the effect of the slave silk – something I knew she would not be permitted to do when she was serving the meal. She looked scared now, and well she might be, for I could well imagine my Master taking one look at her and forgetting that she was a Free captive exempt from use.

“I can’t let men see me like this!”

“Men will see you like this. I’m sorry.”

She began to cry. She had held the tears back for a long time, over many days, but now they began to flow and I grew annoyed that it might spoil the eyeliner I had given her.

“I’m free…” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t be dressed like this.”

I couldn’t continue to be angry with her. I couldn’t continue to take some sort of sick joy in seeing her fall like this. She had been my friend. I am not a bad person. Not really. I reached out and held her, and Jacinta folded into my arms. She had always been the stronger one, but now here was something I had far more experience in. Here in the matter of slave-like experiences, I was the expert.

“Hush,” I whispered. “There are slave-girls in here now and they will be pleased to see a Free Woman sobbing like this. They are naturally scared of you, and so they will delight in your downfall. Do not give them the satisfaction.”



It was obvious what an amazing job I had done in preparing Jacinta from the reactions of Brinn and his men when we stepped out onto the verandah. If sharp intakes of breath were thunderclaps, then they would have reached out and toppled the high cylinders of Kadesh there and then.   

“By the Priest Kings!” Limidius actually spilled a cup of ka-la-na as he did a double take at Jacinta.

“I would buy her,” said Asheer.

“I would outbid you, brother,” said Santos as his hand froze before his mouth – a morsel of spiced meat held between his fingers, forgotten now as he gazed at the beautiful silk clad vision that was the heavily made up Jacinta.

“Lady Jacinta.” Brinn rose from his soft couch and stepped froward to admire my work. “I really hope it turns out that you do not serve Priest Kings...” He took Jacinta's left wrist and held it before his nose to inhale the sensual perfume she wore. Jacinta trembled, feeling like a sleek mouse caught between all number of hungry farm yard cats. I was very pleased, for it was obvious to me now that if it did indeed turn out that Jacinta was lying about her supposed loyalties to the Priest Kings, that neither Brinn, nor Limidius, nor Santos, nor Asheer would even dream of killing her for it. That had always been a possibility before, for Goreans can be angry men if they are tricked or deceived, but now the worst that Jacinta might suffer would be abject slavery. It had been my intention when I applied all my make up tricks on her to save her life if the worst might happen. She was my friend you see, and no matter how hurt I had felt by her words, I would not see her throat cut.

Brinn released her wrist and there was a soft growl in his voice. I could sense that he was extremely aroused, not just by Jacinta, but by the sight of the two of us together, seemingly a perfectly matched brace of slave-girls, belled, be-jewelled, perfumed, clad in wisps of red pleasure silk, one blonde, one dark haired. He wanted us both now, here on the tiles if necessary. Jacinta shrank back in alarm, perhaps sensing this too. She took the fingers of my left hand and squeezed them tightly for reassurance, as if there was anything I could have done to stall or postpone her slave rape.      

“I am still free...” She whispered, scared now.

“That is obviously a mistake on my part.” Brinn's blood was literally boiling as he gazed down at her. One hand reached for the slip knot at her left thigh. With but a single motion he could have her stripped and ready for use.

“I serve Priest Kings!” she cried.

Brinn stiffened, frustrated, oh, but so incredibly frustrated now. His hand hovered beside the slip knot and then, slowly, he withdrew it, almost cursing. His need was greatly upon him, I could see - his breathing heavy.

“You will serve me this evening,” he said. “You will kneel in attendance at my feet and see to my needs.”

“Your needs?!” Jacinta looked up, startled.

“For food. For wine. Though I wish I could be sure you did not truly work for Priest Kings...”

As Brinn returned to his couch, no doubt with a raging erection under his tunic, I led Jacinta aside and ran through a few things with her, for she was Free and might be ignorant of how to serve. I did not want her cuffed by the back of a man's hand for being clumsy.

“You serve in Tower, because you are free,” I explained. “No will expect you to serve as a pleasure slave.”

“Emma, I'm scared... the way the men are looking at me. They will be drunk later on...”

It was a very good point. Alcohol changes things where men are concerned. “Jacinta, I swear to you I will do my best to draw their attention to myself. If I see a man who is overcome with needs, I will flaunt myself before him and draw his attention away from you.”

“You would do that for me?” She was wide eyed with gratitude.

“Yes, because I love you, Jacinta.” I kissed her forehead. I meant it of course as one girl might love her close friend. Curiously I was not currently aroused by Jacinta's body. Do not get me wrong, I thought she was breath-takingly beautiful, sexy and desirable, and it was pleasant touching her and being close to her, but my thoughts now were on what Brinn might do to me later that night after the meal was over. I needed what Brinn could do to me. Jacinta was simply pretty. If I am honest my generosity towards Jacinta was not exclusively grounded on saving her from the lustful attentions of men, but rather a sort of guarded jealousy that recognised she could easily be a rival for Brinn's desires. I had perhaps done too good a job on Jacinta, and the last thing I wanted right now in the crucial few remaining nights before we reached Lydius, was for Brinn to start lusting after Jacinta and forgetting me. I didn't think she was truly a danger to me for you must bear in mind Jacinta was Free and untrained. No matter how sexy she might appear, she would be clumsy and ignorant in the furs. Brinn would quickly ascertain the difference and perhaps be frustrated with her lack of skill. He would inevitably turn back to me once the novelty of fucking Jacinta a couple of times wore off, but by then we might be in Lydius.

I ran through the positions Jacinta should use, in particular how to hold the goblets towards a man with her arms straight and her head bowed, and how to walk in a sensuous fashion. A couple of times I had to repair her pleasure silks that threatened to slip, exposing her breasts, which were only partially concealed at the best of times. I also had to touch up her eyeliner from where she had been crying earlier.

“Don't make me have to keep doing this,” I said with a mock stern look as I tapped her nose with one of my brushes. “Your eyeliner is perfect. Do not mess it up.”

The evening meal was being served on a large first floor verandah overlooking the pleasure gardens. It was an aviarium of sorts, with large cages on either side containing a variety of exotic birds with colourful plumage. They would squawk and cheep throughout the meal, as they hopped and flew from branch to branch within their confined living space.

Marcellus had invited his officer, whose name we now learned was Halvar, to dine with us. He had selected two of his own girls from the seraglio to join Jacinta and myself. One of the girls, Bella, was here to dance, and she would do so in-between my dances. The other, Yina, would serve in red silks alongside Jacinta. I regarded Bella with the sense of rivalry that often occurs between slave-girls who are in effect competing against one another before their Masters. I could see from her stance and the sultry way she regarded me that she also didn't appreciate me being here. When a girl is the only dancer in a hall, then she need only concern herself with being pleasing before men. But when another girl is sent to dance as well, the first girl is aware that her own dance will be judged against that of the slut. Suddenly the stakes are higher, for no girl wishes to be shown up as the least of the two.

“I am a superb dancer,” whispered Bella to me. “Your Master will only have eyes for me.”

“You are in for a shock then, slut,” I said with a haughty expression. “When I dance, the room falls silent save for the heavy breathing of men who forget everything else but me.”

I could see that Marcellus's other girl, Yina, was telling Jacinta that she, Yina, would be first girl when it came to serving the men tonight. She wagged a finger at Jacinta as she spoke, obviously laying down some First Girl rules for her to obey. Jacinta simply slapped the girl hard across the face, much to Yina's surprise and shock. I do not think Yina realised that Jacinta was free. After all, despite the lack of a collar, Jacinta wore slave bells and pleasure silks.

“Talk to me like that again,” hissed Jacinta, “and you'll be serving ka-la-na to the men with several teeth missing from your mouth.”

I loved Jacinta. I really did. Our eyes caught each other's gaze across the verandah, and I nodded approval to my friend for what she had just done. She smiled back. I think she would be okay tonight, provided I steered the carnal attentions of drunk men away from her with my own body.

I danced the Tether dance first on the area of the verandah in between the great couches where the men reclined with their glasses of ka-la-na. A loose chain was clipped to my collar and fixed to a slave ring set into the tiled floor, and with that in place I danced on my knees and on all fours, tethered in place, turning alternately to each of the Masters. The beauty of this dance is that the girl in question is usually close enough for each of the men to touch, if they but reach out from where they lie, and also the girl is essentially dancing at their feet, which is a marvellous way to focus their attention from the very beginning. I could see Bella watching me closely and scowling as she realised how proficient I was in the dance.

Jacinta and Yina served wine throughout, kneeling before the men – Yina knelt in Nadu, while Jacinta was permitted to kneel in Tower, with her thighs pressed closely together. The men acknowledged the slaves as they offered wine and small bowls of pre-dinner snacks, but on the whole they were engrossed with my dance, which is how I wanted it to be.

“Where did you buy her?” asked Marcellus. Of all the men, his interest seemed the most obvious, though he was not simply lusting after my body.

“The Oasis of the Twenty Three Palms,” said Brinn as he smiled at me, for I was now dancing before him, my long hair brushing his feet as I swayed in very sensual movements, on my knees. “She was a bargain.”

“My Captain has many fine qualities,” said Limidius from one of the other couches, “but when it comes to women he can be incredibly stupid. Can you credit it that he intends selling that girl when he reaches Lydius?”

“Really,” said Marcellus with renewed interest.

“That is my intention,” confirmed Brinn.    

“There is something wrong with her?” asked Marcellus, now perhaps a little concerned.

“No. I just do not keep women for very long. My duties make owning slaves difficult.”

“Of course. I understand. I was much the same when I too served Priest Kings.”

The men spoke of the recent few weeks and Brinn explained in detail about the secret cache of weapons that had been abandoned in the Northern Forests of Gor, and how some of the weapons were essentially Atomics, capable of destroying the Sardar Mountain range where it is said that the mysterious Priest Kings, the de-facto rulers of Gor, live. He explained that Seremides had betrayed Kurgus once he had obtained the co-ordinates from me, and that he now had aligned himself with militant Kur factions who were unhappy at the lack of progress in their war with the Priest Kings.

“It appears the Kur forces on Gor are on the brink of civil war, which would ordinarily be very good for our cause, except that Seremides is very close to the weapons cache. My girl Emma gave him incorrect co-ordinates, but still he is close enough that he will no doubt find them eventually. It is why I need a strong Tarn capable of bearing me North as quickly as possible. My men will follow as soon as they can on kaiilas. We shall rendezvous at one of the exchange points on the banks of the Laurius river.”

“The fate of Gor rests in your capable hands it seems,” said Marcellus as he signalled for Jacinta to pour him more ka-la-na.

“Sadly there is no time to detour to the Sardar and raise additional forces. In fact it may already be too late.”

“You propose then entering the Northern Forests with just three men?”

“Three very experienced men. Numbers are not everything,” said Brinn nonchalantly. “I have a high regard for Limidius and any man he deems worthy enough to serve under him.” Brinn referred of course to the two brothers, Santos and Asheer.

“I understand the numbers of Panther Girls have swelled in recent months. They are common place in the Forest now, hunting and skirmishing as they do.”

“They are only women,” said Brinn. “I am more concerned with the military force that Seremides has almost certainly mustered from either the cities of Lydius or Laura. He will have hired mercenaries, I am sure.”

“Many men underestimate and dismiss the threat posed by the bands of Panther Girls,” said Marcellus with a smile. “Many of those careless men find themselves later in capture nets, struggling futilely, and then staked out in forest clearings at night under the light of the three moons of Gor as the Panther Girls rape them.”

“I do not consider myself careless,” said Brinn with a smile.

It interested me to hear how the Panther Girls often captured men. It seemed the complete opposite to everything I had experienced to date on Gor – against the natural order of the sexes here. But I knew it to be true. Even so, the thought of brawny men like Brinn, made helpless in nets and then secured in bindings and slave steel, to be then raped by women in panther skins... For a moment I pondered what Brinn might look like, staked out on the ground in an 'x' shape, his wrists and ankles bound, as fierce Panther Girls took him for their pleasure. I giggled, interrupting the flow of my dance, and I received stern looks from the men as a result. I quickly composed myself and continued with the dance.

“So, about the Tarn...” said Brinn.         

“My Tarns are valuable to me,” said Marcellus.

“So, surely, is the fate of Gor. Your loyalties must still lie with us?”

“Perhaps.” 

I surrendered the floor space to Bella, as she unfastened me from the chain tether. “Not bad,” she whispered, “but watch and learn, slave-girl.” Now she took her place before the Masters as I knelt and watched from the sidelines. Bella chose to dance the Sa-eela which is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slave dances of Gor. It is frustratingly a dance I had never been taught, and so I watched with envy as Bella performed it perfectly. It belongs to the repertoire of dances referred to in training pens as the 'dances of the love-starved slave-girl', for it works on the theme of a slave-girl desperately attempting to call attention to herself and earn the touch of a man. I frowned as I saw her crawling before the men, desperate with need, striking her small clenched fists on the tiles, scratching her fingernails at the smooth surfaces, turning her hips, flaunting her thighs. I watched her turn her head, shaking her hair from side to side as she rolled on to her back, whimpering, in misery, as if struck down. She writhed seductively there in time to the soft delirious beats of the music and I saw the men pause in their conversation to gaze hungrily at her body.

She was, to my annoyance, rather good.

Furthermore it was a dance I could not myself perform. I sniffed, pouted and regarded my Master. The look on his face told me all I needed to know, as did the way he gripped the stem of his goblet hard enough to leave the knuckles of his hand white. I wanted to crawl to my Master, kiss and lick him to draw his attention away from the slut who performed the Sa-eela so exceptionally well, but I knew I was not allowed to break position and detract from another girl's dance, and so I waited, feeling frustrated and angry with the bitch.      

“Does your hospitality tonight, extend to the use of this girl?” asked Brinn.

“Of course, Her name is Bella. I will send her to your room, with a bottle of paga when you choose to retire for the night,” said Marcellus.

Now I really hated that slutty bitch! One less night to win Brinn over into changing his mind once we reached Lydius. And where would I sleep tonight? In all likelihood I would share someone's furs tonight, though I would not have any choice in the matter of course. Perhaps Limidius would take me. He had already tried to buy me at least once. Limidius was skilful, I supposed. It would not be such a terrible thing to have to sleep with Limidius tonight. I decided that in my next dance I would concentrate very much on attracting his attention when it came to the personalised parts of my routine where I addressed myself to particular men in the audience.

Bella's body was slick with perspiration by the time she finished. Her hip deliberately brushed mine as she left the dance floor in triumph.

“Your Master is mine tonight,” she whispered. “Mine!”

Oh, how I hated her!

Bella and I danced another dance each. She performed a Taharian variation on the basic Submission dance which was interesting to watch, as I knew the original form of the movements well enough, but thought the interpretation she applied was most exquisite, while I performed the Virgin dance in which I played the part of a nervous inexperienced girl who knows she is to be ravished, and to her horror realises she has to be pleasing and complicit in her use, but fears to do so. What I like about it is that it reminds Masters of the thrill that is to be had in taking and breaking a new girl to their will, and also that it is an incredibly teasing dance in which I swayed close to each Master in turn, pouting, jingling my bells and bracelets, and as each man in turn tried to seize me, I would draw back in alarm, apparently frightened, whirling and skipping, in a swirl of silk away from them to, apparently by accident, the next man. I paid particular attention to Limidius, and saw him reach out to grasp me time after time. Of course he understood that he was not supposed to actually make too much of an effort to grab me, for if he did the dance would be prematurely over, and all the other men would be most displeased if that were the case. But even so, his motions were driven by a genuine desire to have me there before him on the tiled floor.

“You won't be using Emma tonight, will you Captain?” said Limidius.

“No, I will have the girl Bella chained to a ring at the foot of my couch. Why do you ask?”

“I want Emma,” said Limidius as he devoured me with his eyes.

Brinn chuckled. “You really do have a thing for her, don't you? Be my guest. Emma,” he addressed me now. “Please Limidius tonight, and do so well, as if he were me, or else you will be beaten in the morning.”

“I will please him, Master!” I was actually quite excited. Limidius was skilful, as I had learnt that night by the campfire.

“See that you do.” He turned back to regard Limidius after speaking to me. “A word of advice, my friend. Good as she is anyway, Emma is spectacular if you give her a shallow pan of ka-la-na to lick clean before she enters your furs. It loosens the little slut up no end.”

I blushed, knowing Jacinta could hear them speak of me that way.    

“In that case she'll have plenty of ka-la-na tonight,” laughed Limidius. “But very little sleep!”

I purred softly as I gazed at Limidius and flaunted myself just a little to remind him what he had to look forward to.

With the four dances finished now, food was served. My mouth was watering as I saw a matching pair of slaves in slashed silks carry covered plates on to the verandah. The first lid was removed to reveal a large bowl of steaming shawarma, which is basically meat slow-roasted on a turning spit, exceptionally juicy and tender, seasoned with a tangy blend of Tahari spices that adds to the smoky, meaty flavour. It is traditionally eaten wrapped in a laffa with side dishes of vegetables, and so it was here. The side dish offered was a bowl of tabbouleh – green herbs, tomatoes and bulgur mixed together, and to my delight there were baklava sweet pastries too! Oh God, I so love baklava. It is essentially thin sheets of phyllo dough layered between a filling made from a type of nut that's coarsely ground and mixed with honey, sugar and spices. It's topped off with a drizzling of sticky sweet syrup and is as unhealthy as it sounds, but oh so delicious. I think the men must have seen my eyes light up at the sight of the baklava as they laughed, and Limidius picked one out to feed me, on my knees, by hand. I licked his fingers clean when I had finished and allowed him to dry them in my hair.

“Emma will do anything for a piece of baklava,” laughed Brinn. “I gave her the very first piece she ever tasted in Patashqar and you should have seen her face when she chewed it. I swear she almost had a slave orgasm!”

A slight exaggeration perhaps, but I do really love baklava.


While the men ate I crouched down beside Jacinta and touched up her makeup with my brushes.             

“How are you holding up?” I whispered. She had been serving for an hour and a half now.

“I feel so ashamed,” said Jacinta. “I'm used to being powerful and in control. And now this...”

“Just concentrate on serving the men to the best of your ability. They know you're inexperienced and will not expect too much from you. They are not cruel men. Just see that they have food and drink before they even know to ask for it.”

Jacinta nodded. “You will be serving Limidius tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I can't imagine doing something like that. It is unthinkable.”

Sometimes Free Women can be incredibly stupid. Of course it is not unthinkable. It is quite natural for me. I was looking forward to Limidius having me in fact. He was not Brinn, but he was skilful and knew how to get the most out of me. “I understand, Mistress,” I said as I dabbed some translucent setting powder on her forehead, and the tip of her nose. When Free Women say stupid things like that it is best if slaves just demurely agree with them. 

“I really don't think I could do what you do. I just couldn't.”

You would after you had been whipped a couple of times, I thought to myself. Then the next time you were commanded to the furs you would crawl quickly there and eagerly and open your thighs to your Master. But I didn't say any of that to Jacinta. Instead I simply put away my brushes and replied, “of course you couldn't, Mistress.”

“How do I look?” asked Jacinta. I held a small hand mirror up to her face and watched as she gazed at herself. “Oh!” Again she was astonished at how sensual I had made her look, earlier on in the seraglio. “Even on Earth I didn't wear this much makeup.”

“It suits you, Mistress. It brings out your cheekbones – see.” I indicated the contouring with the tip of my brush.

Bella and I were ordered back to the area where we had danced – that central spot between the couches on which the men reclined while eating and talking. Chain leashes were attached to our collars and they were then locked to the iron slave ring set into the floor. We lay on the tiles on our sides, close together, with our chains resting between our breasts as the men rewarded us for our dancing with pieces of laffa wrapped shawarma. I took each offering eagerly, thanking the man who fed me and licking my lips to show when I had finished it. Jacinta and Yina would eat much later, for their service tonight would continue until the men tired of food and wine.I regarded Bella and smiled for I could see I was more beautiful than she was. I think she realised it too. She had however danced better than I, partly because she had taken the time to improvise variations on standard movements, and originality always enhances a performance. Nevertheless I had danced very well, hardly putting a foot wrong. I yawned softly and stretched my body as the last rays of the setting sun warmed my skin. It was beautiful this time of the evening, just before it grew dark, when the air was still warm, but not overbearingly so. Jasmine scented air drifted up from the gardens below. Elysium was a beautiful place, and I could happily have stayed here for many months.

“Would you like some ka-la-na, Emma?” asked Limidius with a wink.

“Oh yes, Master! Emma would purr for some ka-la-na!” I looked up, all excited as Limidius laughed and poured a little of the white wine into a shallow pan. He placed this beside me where I lay and motioned for me to drink. I did so without using my hands, lapping at the wine with my tongue.

“Good girl,” he said. “I like you, Emma. I like you very much.”

“Thank you, Master. A girl is happy to be pleasing.” Bella hadn't been give any ka-la-na, so I wrinkled my nose at her as if to say, 'hah!'

The men talked some more as they ate. The topic of conversation turned to stories of times passed, and Marcellus entertained the men with a story of the Tahari in the days when a woman, Tarna by name, commanded desert raiders and set about terrorising the sands, even so far as destroying wells, which is possibly the most serious crime you can commit in the Tahari.

“She is now a slave,” said Marcellus. “She passed through many hands and is now in my seraglio. Once she rode a kaiila and fought with a scimitar. These days she dances for our pleasure.” He indicated the slave-girl, Bella, who lay beside me.

“YOU were Tarna?” I said. I had heard of Tarna of the Tahari.

“It was a long time ago,” she said.

“But the stories say you were enslaved by Tarl Cabot?”

“I was. He was the first man to use me as a slave.”

“You've met Tarl Cabot?” This was incredible. I had at last found someone who had once met him. Of course this had been, by Macellus's account anyway, back in 1976. So if my theory was correct, that would have been about the time of the second Tarl – the man called Bosk. “You must tell me about him? What was he like? What happened exactly?”

“I don't have to tell you anything, slave.”

Now the men were talking about their past service with the Priest Kings. Brinn had never known too much about Marcellus's days as an agent, but he was happy to detail them now. I listened as Marcellus confirmed what Brinn already knew – that he was an Earth-man recruited into the service of Priest Kings, much like Tarl Cabot had been.

“That was forty years ago,” he explained, “when I was simply Marc Anderson, twenty one years old and I lived in London. Just over twenty years ago I fought and killed a Kur warrior and was maimed in the process. I trained to use the great war bow soon after and continued in the service of the Priest Kings for a time after that, but my best days were now behind me.”

“You are still spoken of in high regard in the Sardar,” said Brinn. “I for one salute your many deeds.” He raised his goblet of ka-la-na, as did the other men.

“If I were a cynical man,” said Marcellus, “I'd think these compliments are a prelude to another request for one of my Tarns...”

“Perceptive as well as valiant and brave!” said Brinn with a broad smile. “Now about that Tarn?”

“Yes, about that Tarn and the twenty five armed men I'm considering lending you for your expedition into the forests.”

“Now THAT is the Marcellus of old,” said Brinn as he suddenly sat to full attention on his couch. “I think this calls for more ka-la-na! Jacinta!”

Jacinta hurried over with a fresh ka-la-na bottle and dropped to her knees in elegant Tower before her captor. With head bowed submissively she refilled his glass and then turned to do the same for the other men. I thought she was doing quite well for a novice girl with no experience of serving men. The fact that no man had chosen to beat her suggested my opinion was probably the universal one here. It seemed that the men would be pleased with Jacinta's obedience tonight, and would probably feed her, she on her knees of course, being fed slowly by hand, morsel by morsel, with the leftovers from the meal. This would be an important turning point for Jacinta as until now she had been fed on slave gruel. Psychologically speaking it was likely to have a profound effect on her, as she would understand that the delicious leftovers were a reward for complying with Brinn's wishes. Would she wish to go back to eating slave gruel the next day? I think not. I think rather that Jacinta would at least pay lip service to submitting in part at least to Brinn's instructions as her captor. Resistance would achieve nothing but a reversion to the morning and evening meals of slave gruel, and by now I think Jacinta understood that was something to be avoided. It was possible that in Lydius she might well be identified as an agent of Priest Kings, in which case her ordeal would at last be over. But like Brinn, I could not be sure she was telling us the truth. The only thing I knew for certain was that if she had lied, she would face a whipping and the kiss of the branding iron.

I suddenly heard my name being mentioned and so I looked up.

“I ask only one thing in return for the Tarn and the contribution of armed men to your cause,” said Marcellus as he held his glass towards Yina to be refilled.

“Ask, and if it is in my power, it will be granted,” said Brinn. Twenty five armed men would make a significant difference to his expedition and might be sufficient to turn the tide of battle in the Forests.

“I ask you to give me your slave-girl, Emma.”

There was silence for a moment as all the men in the room turned to look at me. Jacinta broke the silence with a gasp, and quickly placed her hand over her mouth as she too looked at me.

“You want Emma?” said Brinn with a look of confusion and concern on his face.

“Yes, that is my price for my help.”

“But why? I mean, she is beautiful, yes, but there is no shortage of beautiful women on Gor.”

“She interests me.” Marcellus sipped his wine and made a point of not looking in my direction.

“I confess to being surprised,” said Brinn.

“Does she mean something to you? I take it she's hardly your love slave?” Marcellus chuckled at the notion. “I mean, Brinn of the Sardar Mountains would hardly have feelings for a slave-girl?”

“Of course not.” Brinn stiffened where he sat, apparently insulted by the very idea. “She is good in the furs. I am fond of her at times.”

“That is all?” said Marcellus. “I would not wish to deprive Brinn of the Sardar Mountains of his... love slave...”

“Take her!” Brinn motioned with his hand. “She is just a slave-girl. I shall acquire another.”

I choked back a feeling of light headed nausea. And just like that, with a few words and a sweep of his hand, Brinn had given me away. I didn't look at him. I would never look at him again unless I was explicitly commanded to do so. So I meant nothing to him? So be it. I felt Jacinta kneel beside me and suddenly she had her arms around me.

“Emma... I'm so sorry...”

“I don't care,” I said, “this is my life from now on – to be sold, exchanged, given away, discarded, without any warning by men who see me as just a slave-girl. This isn't the first time and it won't be the last.”

“Emma...” Jacinta whispered now. “Brinn can't bring himself to look at you now.”

“Good. Good.” And I wouldn't look at him either. 

“And Limidius looks really upset. I think he was hoping to buy you.”

“I don't care. I hate men. I hate them all.” I was whispering of course while the men discussed details of numbers and supplies. And then it suddenly struck me. I was never going to see Jacinta again. She would be taken north to Lydius and I would never see her again. It had been the same with Kara – I had been bought in the Oasis of the Twenty Three Palms, and she had not. Where was she now? I would never know. And then there was Erin too. Oh, but I hated men right then and there. This would be my life from now on – finding friends in my slavery and then losing them forever at a moment's notice when one of us was sold or given away. I think that is the worst part of being a slave. Losing the people you love because of the casual whim of a man.

“I'll find you, Emma.” Jacinta took my head between her hands and forced me to look at her. “This is not the end. I will find you, and I will buy you.”

“You'll have to win your own freedom first,” I said as I held back the tears.

“That has never been in question.” She fixed her gaze on me. “And when I'm free again, I will find you and I will buy you.”

“I'll be free again...” I smiled softly, trying to imagine it.

“Well, I didn't say that. I'll probably keep you in a collar... slut! But I will buy you.” She winked, and we both laughed.

And then Halvar separated us, unlocked the chain from my collar and escorted me back into the seraglio that I would now call home.



I knelt in a side room adjacent to the seraglio, still in my pleasure silks, but with a new collar and a new chain locked to my collar, and then to a slave ring set into the floor. Halvar had left me there but had returned an hour later to bring me water. He had informed me that Limidius and the two brothers had left Elysium on fresh kaiilas, with twenty five of Marcellus's warriors. Apparently Limidius had not been in a good mood after I had been taken down to the seraglio, and he had drunk several more glasses of ka-la-na before he had said something sharply critical to Brinn. There had been an argument, and a fist fight, and then Limidius had apologised. Ashamed that he had struck his Captain, Limidius had claimed that duty meant he should ride that night for the Northern Forests without delay. Brinn had accepted that decision and had said he would saddle a Tarn and fly ahead of them early next morning. The atmosphere on the verandah had felt strained after that, and so Marcellus had bid them all good night.

I knelt there, knowing what was going to happen, what was going to be said in this room very soon. I waited for Marcellus to arrive, as I knew he would, and I felt nervous, for I knew things were not going to go the way he thought they would, but I had no idea what his reaction would be.    
   
For you see, I now knew something that Marcellus, Jacinta, Brinn and Limidius didn't know. And for me at least, it was a game changer. I had known it for an hour or two, but until now I had not known what I would truly do with the information.

“Tal, Emma.” Marcellus entered the small room with the aid of a walking cane. He was dressed now in a flowing robe, and I guessed he was probably naked underneath. I imagine he was looking forward to having me in his furs. That wasn't going to happen. It was strange. All this time on Gor as a slave and I had never had a say in things. Well now I did. I looked at him and I despised him.

“Marcellus,” I said.

He looked at me and frowned. “I own you now. You call me Master.”

“I might call you many things, but never that.”

He was genuinely shocked. He was the undisputed Lord of this villa and the desert sands that surrounded it, and here was Brinn's meek slave-girl showing an improbable level of defiance.

“This is the only warning you will get, girl.” Marcellus placed his stick by the doorway and regarded me. Then to his surprise I stood up, with a clinking of the neck chain. “I did not give you permission to stand.”

“No, Marcellus, you didn't,” I said, as my hands clenched into fists.

“Do you have a death wish, Emma?” Marcellus was growing very angry now.

“You're not going to kill me.” I was unbelievably calm and confident and filled with righteous fury.

“You will be whipped. You will be whipped until your back is bloody and torn and you will crawl begging to my...”

“Why do you want me so much?” I stood there, weak, helpless, chained. But not afraid of him. “You could have any pretty girl, but you desperately want me. Why?”

“Since you want to know, I'm dying. I have been for some time. My cellular tissue is deteriorating – a gift from the Priest Kings. Their stabilisation serum never truly worked on me and now repeated trials have caused irreparable damage. I will be dead in a year.”

“Good. I hate you.”

“Are you insane, girl? Are you in love with Brinn? Is that it? Are you suicidal because he gave you away?”

“I don't care about Brinn. Brinn can go fuck himself for all I care. As can you.”

“You have no idea what the whip will do to you...”

“You won't whip me.” I stared him down.

“You are insane. No wonder Brinn was going to sell you. Kneel in whipping position.”

“No. because you're not going to whip me. What have I got to do with your illness? Tell me, because I think I can guess.”

“What do you mean you can guess?”

“There was a physician. He did many tests on me. He seemed excited. You think you can make a cure from me, yes?”

“Yes. There is something very unusual about your DNA. It is perfect. I don't mean that as a sweeping statement, but it is perfect. Flawless. Not a single thing wrong with it. And it is DNA compatible with my own. Alaric thinks he can use your blood to stabilise me with regular transfusions every month.”

“How wonderful for you. I'm going to be a living blood bag.”

“Oh, more than that,” said Marcellus. “I said your DNA is perfect. I want to leave a legacy behind me. I want children. Any children conceived with you will apparently be perfect.The strongest sons, the most beautiful daughters. All inheriting your natural immunity to most diseases. Brinn had no idea what he owned. I will have children.”

“Why? Were your original children such a fucking disappointment to you then?”

Marcellus stared at me, startled to hear the English swear word after so long. “How dare you talk to me like that, girl. Are you begging for the whip?”

“Oh yes, go ahead and whip me, why don’t you,” I suddenly screamed. “It can’t make things any worse!”

“What are you babbling about?”

“God, I hate you so much!”

“What is wrong with you? I haven’t even touched you yet!” snapped Marcellus. He was in no mood for this and so he walked with difficulty to the wall where a slave whip hung from a hook. As his right hand touched the custom leather handle, I shouted out, “Your name is Marc Anderson, yes? That's what you said at dinner. So that means you lived at number 47 Dunbar Road, and watched the X-Files each week on BBC TV. You drank bottles of Stella Artois in the evenings and Jim Beam whisky on Friday nights. You had a cat called Gizmo and a wife called Leanne that you met in a bar in Bristol one night when you were back from a tour of duty in the Yugoslavia.”

Marcellus turned round and stared at me. “How do you know that?”

“You have three children, none of whom matter in the slightest to you, do they, because you walked out of their lives over twenty years ago. Your daughter Bea, and your son Alan, both miss you very much!”

Now Marcellus strode forward, still stunned by what I was saying. “How do you know this? Who told you?”

“And you have another son who never understood why you left him when he was five years old, and he grew up watching his mum struggle alone to raise the children she loved, and that son grew up to despise you. Oh God, how he despised you. Sometimes he lay in bed wishing his father had died heroically in a war somewhere rather than come back home with a shrapnel wound in his leg that made him bitter and resentful, and made him disappear one day. Only it wasn't a fucking shrapnel wound, was it? It was from fighting a Kur!”

“Who are you, girl!” Marcellus grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the wall. He began to choke me in his grip.

“I’m your eldest son! I’m Eric – Eric Michael Anderson! And you walked out on me, Dad, when I was five years old! I didn't recognise you to begin with because you're older, a lot older, and virtually all my memories of you are from when I was three years old.”

“What?” Suddenly I felt his hand leave my throat and I slumped the the ground, gasping for breath. “This is impossible…” he gazed down at me, at my slim, beautifully feminine body. “This is some sort of trick.”

“When I was three years old you saw me playing on the floor with Bea’s Barbie dolls, and you went out and bought me a toy sword. That day we played in our back yard together – one of the few times you ever played with me. We pretended to be pirates and, and…”

“And the next day you were back to playing with Bea’s Barbie dolls again.” Marcellus nodded. “I remember.”

“I loved those dolls.” I wept.

“This is…” Marcellus began to limp around in meaningless circles. “How… how can you be a woman? You are a woman?” he looked questioningly at me. “I assume you don’t have a penis in there… I would see it through your silks.”

“I’m a girl, Dad! I’ve been a girl since I came to Gor.” And so I told him. He sat down in a curule chair and listened as I detailed the events of my abduction, my awakening in Corcyrus in a female body, and everything I had seen, heard and felt since. I told him it all – the ecstasy, the pain, the fear, and the suffering. And when I was finished I just lay there, slumped, with my back to the stone wall, with a chain leash attached to my slave collar.

“So there you are, Dad. Congratulations – you lost a son and you've got a new daughter. So what are you going to do now? Kill me? Whip me? Fuck me? Or has your erection gone down now that you realise you'd be fucking one of your own children?”

Marcellus stared at me in horror. “Eric...”

“It's Emma now. I always wanted to be a girl, from as far back as I can remember, not that you care. So call me Emma.”

Marcellus didn't speak for quite some time. He placed his head in his hands and as I watched, his body seemed to shake. “I regret leaving you all,” he said eventually. “Not a day goes by that I don't regret that. I also regret the long months when I was away from my family, fighting for the Priest Kings on Gor.”

“I really don't understand that. Brinn says you came to Gor forty years ago. I'm twenty eight and Bea is a few years older. So how?”

“I can come and go as I please. Or so I did.” Marcellus reached in a belt pouch and produced an unusual looking ring of red metal. “This was given to me forty years ago. A similar ring was given to Tarl Cabot in the late sixties. If you travel with the ring to a remote location, preferably high above sea level, and you concentrate hard, a silver ship of the Priest Kings will come. You will never see the creatures who pilot it. They will never speak to you. But if you are on Earth and you wear the ring of red metal you will be transported to Gor, and if you are on Gor, you will wake up in a field in England. I made many trips backwards and forwards through space. All the time you thought I was serving overseas in the British army, I was on Gor.”

“Mum knew this?”

“Yes. Oh, Eric, this is such a long story. What your mother knew was...”

“Never mind that. That ring can transport someone back to Earth?”

“Yes it can. But it only has a single charge left. Just one, which is why I could never return to you again, because to do so would mean I could never again travel back to Gor.”

“You love this planet so much that you sacrificed your family for it?”

“Its not that simple, Eric. There was my duty.”

“Oh, but it fucking well is simple to me, Dad!” And then I suddenly realised what it was he had said. “Your ring... it has a single charge left? I could return to Earth with it? I could return to Earth!”

“Eric, I...” Marcellus was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open rather too abruptly. The officer, Halvar, stood there in the doorway, looking anxious.

“Captain...”

“What?” Snapped Marcellus. “This is really not a good time.”

“My apologies, Captain. I would not interrupt your pleasure with your slave-girl except under the gravest circumstances. Kurgus has found us.”

“I see.” Marcellus placed his hand on the hilt of his short sword and smiled.

“He has brought men. A lot of men.”

“I see.” His smile broadened.

“And he has a great Battle Kur with him, arrayed for war.”

“Ah...” Now Marcellus no longer smiled.


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