Chapter Three: Elevation
I hung there from manacles around my wrists, suspended from a hinged ring mounted on a thick wooden pole ten feet above the ground of the central courtyard. I was able to support the weight of my body, barely, on a thin off cut of wood that was fixed against the pole at the position where my feet would reach. Cruelly the piece of wood was only wide enough to support one foot (although I could rest the other foot on top of the first) and only if I stretched my body taut and touched the off cut of wood with the ball of my foot. Otherwise I would hang there with the weight of my body pulling at my wrists in their iron manacles.
It was agony and I cried and screamed in alternate fits of misery. A pale insipid mist of rain fell in the cold night air, making my suffering worse as I hung there, tormented beyond belief, shifting the weight from one foot to the other, feeling my sore muscles protesting each time. My back was red and bloody from the whipping I had received shortly after I had been dragged from the feasting hall. I had been tied to a whipping post and given twenty lashes. I had then been unable to walk to the pole once the whipping was over, and so I had been dragged by my hair until I had managed to at least attempt to crawl.
I think Simon had been there, and I think he had managed to re-set my nose to help me breathe. I don’t remember for sure. All I remember is being hoisted up by the chains and, while screaming, fixed in place on the pole. I was naked of course from the whipping and I probably begged over and over again for mercy.
And then I was simply left there, to hang suspended until the morning, to suffer for my outburst against the Bitch Queen Cassandra.
I grew delirious with pain, passing in and out of consciousness, hallucinating moments from the past, but always brought back by unrelenting agony whenever one of my feet slipped from its narrow perch due to fatigue or a momentary passing into sleep.
Five years, eight months ago:
I was stumbling and colliding with the door frame as I staggered into the opulent suite of rooms overlooking the vast Sardar mountain ranges that comprised our accommodation, courtesy of the Priest Kings. “I can’t believe how drunk you let me get tonight! Soooo drunk…”
Brinn laughed as he caught hold of my left arm to stop me falling over. “You did drink a lot of ka-la-na, Emma.”
“You gave me a lot of ka-la-na!” I fell into his arms, reached up on tip toe and kissed him. I was so happy.
“I didn’t hear any complaints from this kajira.”
“That’s because I’m a good kajira and I never complain about anything.” I nodded with a very serious expression on my face. “See – this is my good kajira face.”
“Lying little slut,” said Brinn in amusement as he slapped my ass and easily tossed me on to the great couch in the Master bed room. I rolled on the soft sheets and raised myself on my hands and knees. “No, Master, really, I’m the most well behaved kajira a Master could ever hope for.”
I pouted and crawled slowly to the edge of the couch, licking my lips as I gazed up at him. “I need you, Master. I've been thinking of what you'll do to me now, all night.”
Brinn laughed again. “You danced superbly tonight, Emma, in the feasting hall. I was so proud when I saw the look in the faces of all the other men there. You are my kajira. And they all wanted you. I felt like seizing you and throwing you to the tiles for ravishment part way through your dance.”
“Um, like, that’s the general point of the dance,” I laughed as I rolled now on to my back and parted my legs in invitation. I threw my arms back above my head and gripped at the arrangement of shackles that were fastened to the headboard of the couch. “Please, Master, I beg slave rape.”
“It was a good night, Emma. A very good night. I can’t believe the reception waiting for me.” It had been a feast held in Brinn’s honour, hosted by some of the most important men in the Sardar. There was going to be a week of celebrations in Brinn’s honour here and it was rumoured he was going to be offered the freedom of several major Gorean cities, to be presented on our grand tour by the various Ubars.
“They love you,” I said, feeling the warm glow of intoxication. “They all love you! You’re the hero of Fell’s Bane; the man who defeated Kurgus of the Iron Mountains in single combat; the Saviour of the Sardar!”
“That is what they say,” said Brinn as he walked towards an engraved cabinet and poured himself a cup of paga.
“And that’s what you’ll say too, Master. It serves neither of us well if you deny any of it.”
“It is not an honourable path to take. They make it sound like I was grievously wounded when I faced Kurgus who apparently was in full health.”
“Um, I may have started that particular story when I was debriefed by the Priest King agents…” It was true. The story of Brinn’s heroism needed to be built on adversity and challenges. In my telling, Kurgus was at full strength and Brinn had been injured, yet he had fought and won. I knew Brinn now regretted shooting Kurgus in the leg with an arrow, let alone leaving him in the hands of the Panther girls, and the last thing I wanted was him moping around, getting drunk and telling people the truth during his victory celebrations. “You forget how much you did achieve, Master. You fought three men in the back streets of Lydius, if you recall. You got us out alive from the fall of Elysium.”
“I ran from Elysium. I look back now and feel ashamed. I should have stood my ground.”
“You would have died and the Sardar Mountains would have been turned into a radioactive hell hole. You uncovered the plot; you drove us all the way to the Northern Forests to stop it. None of this would have happened without you. It’s not your fault you don’t know how to fly a Kurii drop ship.”
“Hmm. Samos spoke to me during the feast.” Brinn seemed to be in awe as he said that. Apparently Samos was very important, though personally speaking I didn’t like him very much. He had a dismissive way of looking at slaves that got on my nerves. And he was always so miserable.
“I know. I saw him take you aside. What did he say?” I rolled now on to my stomach and placed my chin on my folded arms as I gazed up at Brinn.
“He is…” Brinn couldn’t quite believe the honour that was to be bestowed upon him, “he is going to facilitate a meeting between myself and the actual Priest Kings themselves! They wish to thank me personally!” This was virtually unheard of. No one ever met the Priest Kings. “I am to be taken into their nest. I am to be proclaimed an honoured Protector of the Nest.”
“Master, that’s wonderful. You will be a legend on Gor.”
“But I do not deserve this.”
I choked and cried out as my foot slipped again from the narrow, rain-soaked piece of wood. I felt the weight of my body again against my chained wrists as I scrabbled to regain a foot hold.
I wasn't strong. I couldn't take this. I pleaded and cried out for mercy, but there was no one in the courtyard to hear me.
Five years, four months ago
I flung open the double doors and stormed into Brinn’s office with its panoramic view of the new estate that was being built around this ancient hall. Both doors slammed hard against the side walls, damaging the plaster work, making Brinn look up from his paperwork in alarm. Simon was seated nearby, going through sets of accounts relating to the building materials and artisan costs.
“Emma? Is something the matter?” Brinn rose up from his chair in concern.
“I don’t know! Is something the matter? Perhaps you can tell me!” I stood there with my hands balled into fists looking furious.
“What are you talking about?” asked Brinn while Simon moved his chair round to face me.
“I’ve just come from the physician. Apparently… and this is news to me… I’m pregnant!”
There was silence in the office for a moment before Brinn’s face lit up into a huge smile. He seemed delighted.
“Congratulations, Emma! I am so happy. Truly I am.” And before I could say anything, he actually turned to Simon and said, “I have a bottle of very fine ka-la-na on that shelf over there. It comes from Ar and costs a gold tarn. I’ve been saving it for this news. Pour two goblets – we must celebrate, Simon, as men do.” And then he turned back to face me, his arms spread wide, his face lit up with joy. “My Emma, my kajira! The mother of my…”
“I don’t think you fucking understand! I’m fucking pregnant! Pregnant! Isn’t this supposed to be impossible? What with the slave wine in my body? Is there something you want to tell me? Something I should know?”
“Emma, I do not like your tone… what is wrong with you? The matter is quite simple, you were given the antidote to the slave wine two months ago. I have been coupling with you at the most opportune nights during your body cycle and…”
“You fucking did what? Without telling me?!” I stormed over to a cabinet full of scrolls and with a sudden fit of anger overturned it, spilling old parchments across the tiled floor. Simon winced and drew his chair back towards the bay window. He had no intention of being involved in any of this. “You can’t do this!”
“Clearly I can and did. I am frankly perplexed as to your reaction, Emma, and I think you forget your place. You are my slave.”
“My place?! You can’t just decide to get me pregnant without talking to me first! That’s not how it works!” I picked up the gold tarn bottle of ka-la-na and threw it at the bay windows, narrowly missing Simon who dodged rather nimbly to one side, almost as if he was expecting me to do something like that.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” said Brinn as he stood up, looking angry with me now as his precious wine spread in a pool across the floor, mixed in with shards of broken glass.
“Well congratu-fucking-lations, it’s one hell of a surprise, I’ll give you that!”
“Emma, I don’t think you quite grasp the singular honour this is for you. That you, a mere insignificant slave-girl, is accorded the opportunity to bear my children…”
“Right, and on that bombshell I think I’d best be off now,” said Simon as he heard those far from conciliatory words. “We’ll finish going over the figures tomorrow, Brinn. Frankly, I’m out of here, before one of you gets killed…”
“You are the most arrogant, self obsessed, narcissist, unbelievably conceited, selfish…” I was vaguely aware of Simon slipping past me as I unleashed a tirade directed at Brinn.
“Emma, I had a large box of baklava prepared as a gift for you to celebrate this wonderful news,” said Brinn as tried to reason with me. I heard the doors close behind me as Simon exited quickly into the corridor outside. “Perhaps it might calm you down if I give you the baklava now?”
The strain on my calf muscles was too much and I had to lift my foot again. I howled as the iron manacles cut into my wrists once more. I felt blood dripping down my forearms and I clutched at the chains with my fingers, trying separately to alleviate the strain, but it was impossible to exert any sort of meaningful grip with my fingertips alone. Defeated, I stretched my leg again to press the ball of my left foot against the short wooden support.
Where were my children? Would I ever see them again? What was going to happen to me? Why didn't Simon do something?
Four years, eight months ago
“They’re just so incredibly beautiful. I mean, just look at them Brinn, just look at them.”
I lay on a birthing bed, covered modestly in blankets, with my new born babies in my arms in their swaddling clothes. I was welling up with tears and an overwhelming sensation of all consuming love as I cradled them to my body. They were perfect in every way, and I knew at that moment that nothing else in my life mattered compared with keeping them safe.
“My son. My daughter.” Brinn stood there beside me, his face glowing with pride as he gazed down at his children. He took my hand and squeezed it, knowing I had had to endure the pains of child birth.
“I am so incredibly happy,” I said, crying again. “I can’t believe how happy I am.”
I was a Free Woman of course. I had been for just over a week since Brinn had formally freed me. My children had been born to a Free Woman and that meant they would always be free, no matter what happened to me in the near future, for Brinn had made it clear that I wouldn’t remain free much longer. But for now I was no longer a kajira. My neck was bare, and the warriors of the Household bowed to me and called me Lady.
“Are you truly happy, Emma? This is important to me. You are free, remember, you can say anything you like to me now.”
I nodded quickly. “I have never been happier.” I kissed each baby in turn, softly on its forehead. “Marik, Jacinta. I love you so much,.”
“Brinn!” I screamed his name as I felt burning pain tear through all my limbs. There was no relief from the pain any more, and no sense of when it might ever end. “Why have you condemned me to hell!”
Four years, one month ago
The river bank was so close now, and I knew as I ran that if I reached it I would be safe. But already I had been forced to divert, run deeper into the woods when I had been less than 50 yards from the water’s edge, as a man with a capture net had appeared from between the tree-line. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to catch me in his net, preferring instead to enjoy the look of panic that showed on my face as I squealed and turned sharply on my heels to run back the way I had come.
“Run quickly, pretty Emma. I’m coming for you.”
I shrieked, which was a stupid thing to do, since it gave away my position to the other hunters in the wood, but it is an unnerving thing to have a man appear from nowhere just when you least expect it, when you are naked and running for your freedom.
I plunged back through the trees, and movement in my peripheral vision located another man – Rollo – a man from Torvaldsland. He saw me just as I saw him, and with a hearty laugh he ran in pursuit. I began to run without thinking clearly. I didn’t have time to plan a route, I just had to get away, find somewhere to hide long enough for Rollo to lose me. I plunged through some bushes, scratching my skin in the process, and I slid down a slope, rolling in the autumnal leaves, desperate to get away. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I couldn’t concentrate enough to formulate a plan – I just had to run.
I was agile and fit, but I had been running non stop for so long from one encounter to another that I was beginning to tire, and so I didn’t see the third man spring from behind a thick oak tree until it was too late. He grabbed me, threw me to the ground and instantly rolled me on to my stomach.
I sobbed, knowing I had been caught. It was Kristoff – I realised that as soon as I heard his voice.
“Am I your first, Emma?” His hands reached for the red silk scarves secured to my collar ring, such that they fluttered in the wind as I ran.
“Yes Master, my first.” I placed the palms of my hands down on the grass in submission and lay still as he took one of the silk scarves and tied it to his left wrist. I was secretly pleased that Kristoff had been one of the men who caught me, for Kristoff was strong and rather handsome. Rollo not so much. Handsome that is. Obviously Rollo was strong, otherwise he would not be in Brinn’s shield wall.
“I look forward to claiming my prize sooner rather than later,” said Kristoff as he he felt the softness of the silk favour he had taken from me.
“Please have me sooner rather than later, Master,” I said as I moved to his touch. I would of course have said something like this regardless of who had caught me, but in this case I actually meant it. I felt hot and excited from having been hunted and caught like this. My submissive juices were in full control of my body now and I wished the game allowed for Kristoff to claim his prize immediately, but the rules of ‘Running the Slave’ did not allow such a thing.
“You’re a hot little slut, aren’t you, Emma?” Kristoff turned me round to face him and I couldn’t help myself but reach up with my lips for his. He kissed me fiercely – for that much is allowed after a capture, and then he let me go.
‘Running the Slave’ is a tradition on Gor that is done when a Lord takes ownership of a new piece of land. His chosen favoured slave is set loose with a short head start, and she is tasked with running from one checkpoint to another in sequence, effectively running a gauntlet or obstacle course that snakes through the land. Each time she reaches a prize point (in the current case – the nearby river bank) she is rewarded with a chance to rest and the promise of some treat later on. I had already won some baklava that would be given to me this evening. Meanwhile the men would be encouraged to run after the slave and hunt her. The slave would have a number of red silk scarves tied to her collar ring, and every man who caught the slave would take one. Later the scarf 'prize' could be exchanged once and once only for a night in the furs with the girl, and bearing in mind this would be the chosen girl of their Lord, this was a prize that held status amongst the warriors of the shield wall. The man need only drop the silk trophy in front of the girl at any time after, and she would be duty bound to pick it up in her teeth and follow the man to wherever he wished to make use of her.
I loved ‘Running the Slave’ and I was rather good at it, though I had been unlucky to have been caught so soon after only having reached one checkpoint. I think Kristoff had been clever in working out just where to hide based on where he thought I might run.
I cried and I cried and I cried, until I had no tears left. Then I simply hung there, feeling the tightness in my chest from the way my wrists were pulled up above my head. I fantasised about dying, and how good it would be to fade away from the ocean of pain forever.
Three years, nine months ago
Three new girls knelt in the main courtyard where they had been unloaded from the open topped wagon. I sighed, put down the parchments I had been reading, and rose up from the outside couch where I had been enjoying the sunshine. As First Girl it was my duty to greet the new arrivals, tell them the rules of the house, and make it clear to them what was to be expected from now on. It was a speech I had given far more often than I’d ever anticipated doing, for it seemed that every time Brinn went to the local market he came back with two or three impulse purchases. I was getting a bit fed up of seeing beautiful slave girls appearing every time the supply wagon returned from the nearest town. There was no doubt I was Brinn's favourite girl, but that didn’t stop him furring other slaves when he felt like a change of pace. Only yesterday for example I had slept alone while Brinn enjoyed the pleasures of Candice from the kitchens.
Today Candice happened to be on toilet cleaning duties. What a coincidence. That would teach the little slut to go sniffing around my Master behind my back. After a week of cleaning out the latrine trenches she would realise how unattractive she would be to men while stinking of urine.
As I approached the three new girls I wondered if any of them might eventually pique Brinn’s interest. Presumably so – since he had bid for them all personally. Two of them were Caucasians, but the third was a dusky Taharian beauty by the look of her. I took an immediate dislike to her, because she seemed to be the most exotic of the three, and therefore most likely to wheedle her way into Brinn’s bed sooner rather than later. She was just too pretty for my liking.
“What’s your name, girl?” I asked the Taharian girl as I stood before the three of them.
“Chloe, Mistress.” She didn’t dare look at me and I could see signs that she had been crying, as her dusty face was marked by patches of dried tears. Now that I looked closely I could see she was visibly terrified, far more than usual. My dislike of her began to fade as I realised I was looking at a girl fresh to her collar, probably still numb with terror at what was happening to her.
“How long have you been a slave?”
“Less than two weeks, Mistress. Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
I felt terrible for having thought of her as some sort of threat to my comfort and standing. If I wasn’t careful I was going to turn into just the kind of spiteful and cruel First Girl that I myself had feared in my early days of slavery. What had got in to me? Why had I automatically blamed the girl for being beautiful? I changed the tone of my voice and spoke more softly to her.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Chloe. What was your Home Stone?”
She sniffed and trembled before she replied, “Plymouth.”
“Plymouth? Plymouth, England?”
She gazed up, surprised and then quickly nodded. “You know of it, Mistress?”
I nodded. I would look into her background later, but for now I had things to say to these new girls. “Listen carefully, all of you. My name is Emma, and I am the First Girl on this estate. Those of you who have been owned before by Masters rich enough to own coffles of girls will know what that means. Otherwise, let me tell you, here on this estate my word is law. You do what I say or you suffer the consequences. If you have a problem with that then feel free to complain to the Master, and when you've finished whining, and he's finished laughing, he'll send you back to me and tell you to ask me to whip you.” I smiled. It was important they understood this kind of thing as I didn't really want to whip anyone. “But here's the good news, I'm not a monster. I've been in your position before and provided you do as you're told, you'll find me reasonable and fair. Just one thing. One cardinal rule you do not ever cross. It is very possible that at some point my Master may take a brief liking to one of you and have you sent to his couch one night. Let's be quite clear – I won't be happy about it. BUT, I know that sometimes a girl isn't at fault, and I've learnt to accept that. If my Master furs with you one night, then you tell me. I won't be happy, but I won't punish you, provided I can see it's not your doing. You come to me, you kneel beside me, and you respectfully tell me everything, and then we'll work something out. Don't try to hide it. I WILL find out. BUT, if I ever discover that one of you has been flirting with my Master, trying to attract his attention by being seductive, hoping to be chosen, hoping for special treatment, hoping to wheedle your way into his favour, then believe me you will have placed yourself on my shit list at number one. I will come down on you like a hunting sleen, and believe me, I will make your life here a misery. Do you understand me?”
I glanced at each girl in turn and they all quickly nodded and said, “Yes Mistress.” Whether they truly meant it was another matter, for some slave-girls are inherently ambitious, and the ultimate prize is to win the favour of a rich and powerful Master and oust his current First Girl from her position. A First Girl has to always be vigilant because new girls are always there just around the corner, and men are rarely monogamous on Gor.
“You do not want to test me on this. You have no idea of what I have done to people in the past when I have been threatened.” I thought back to Seremides and to Elizabeth Bentley. “At the very least I will have you sold in some backstreet market. Believe me I can arrange that if I have to. There are ways, and I am very, very resourceful.”
I try to find some position that will give me relief from the never ending pain, just for a few minutes, but I have gone past that point where any position now offers relief. Now it is just a case of which pain is less than the other pain...
Three years, eight months ago
“Look at the size of them…”
Simon gazed in awe at the sight of the four men climbing down from the wagon. It’s fair to say they had upper torsos like bulls, with thick corded necks to match, incredibly broad shoulders and slabs of pectoral chest muscles. Gorean men tend to be strong anyway, at least compared to the average man of Earth (though we compensate somewhat due to the gravity difference) but these specimens were practically oxen. They were naked and secured with heavy wrist chains that were secured to thick leather bands locked around their waists. They were slaves, heavy work slaves that Brinn had bought from the local Sardar markets to add to his work force on the estate. Any one of these men could have snapped me in two with ease if they cared to, probably with Simon tucked under one arm, for Simon was still the skinny Earth man, not yet fleshed out under Brinn’s patronage as he is now.
“They have to be strong. They’re going to be working ten hours a day in the hot sun,” I said as I held a slave whip in my right hand. I was First Girl here on the estate, and that meant I was in charge of all the slaves, male ones included. Simon was by now the administrator and estate manager answering only to Brinn who now watched the proceedings from a stone veranda twelve feet above us. He leant against a series of ornamental balustrades with a thick bread roll in his hands, slowly tearing away bite sized portions of the bread and thick bosk steak that I had made him for his lunch.
“I’d feel more comfortable if Brinn was talking to these men,” said Simon with a trace of anxiety in his voice.
“Brinn has faith in you,” I said. “You’re in charge of everyone on this estate. He wants you to look after the day to day functions, especially when he’s away working for the Priest Kings. And they’re only slaves,” I added.
“Enormous slaves you mean. Christ, will you look at them? They’re practically monsters. Where did Brinn find men like them?”
Simon had seen very little of Gor to date and probably wasn’t yet aware how common men like these were. I had no idea how they had fallen to the collar, maybe they were criminals, or plunder taken from the fall of a city, or maybe they had been caught by the Panther Girls in the Northern Forest and sold at one of the trading posts that lined the banks of the Laurius river. I remembered the proud, savage, beautiful Panther Girls and how they stalked and hunted men who entered their realm.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to them,” said Simon. “Public speaking terrifies me.”
I sighed. Already the four men were gazing at us with expressions that could only be called aggressive and challenging, for after all what did they see? A petite slave-girl holding a whip and a floppy fringed Earth man with the muscular build of a nineteen year old girl. We hardly made for an intimidating welcome.
The new slaves on the other hand had faces that looked like they had been flattened with shovels. Stub noses, cauliflower ears, thick stubble, shaved heads, violent looking eyes and the sort of creases and lines that came from hard graft, and lots of it.
“Welcome to the estate of Brinn of the Sardar,” said Simon as he stepped forward. I winced inwardly as I knew this wasn’t a good start. “My name is Simon and I’m the administrator in chief here and the man who will be directing your work over the coming years. You will find that I am a fair but firm Master, so if you work hard, don’t cause any trouble, you may find that your slavery here is one that will not cause you undue…”
“Fuck you,” said one of the men. He lifted his hands slightly and gazed down at the heavy manacles. I felt sure that if he wasn’t chained he would probably have stepped up and killed Simon by now. He looked extremely violent. “You look like a girl.” The man spat on the ground. “A weak girl at that.”
I felt Simon stiffen next to me. The man had insulted and challenged him, but Simon was unsure what to do about it.
“I will overlook that remark this once, but if…”
Now all four men began laughing.
“Quiet!” barked Simon, but no one took any notice of the order. “You are under my authority here. Mine and Emma’s.” He motioned towards me, and this only made the men laugh even more.
“If you don’t stop laughing,” said Simon, “I will have Emma whip you.”
Now they were in hysterics, and I felt really embarrassed for Simon. I think he too felt like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.
“You’re going to have that slave-girl whip us? It’s a good job then that we’re not ticklish,” laughed the lead man. “Mind you, it’ll probably hurt more than if you held the whip.”
And then the laughter began to die away, or rather it became stilted and no longer quite so confident. I glanced round and saw the tall, imposing figure of Brinn, dressed in the scarlet tunic of the warriors, his lunch baguette still in his right hand, walk slowly down the stone steps from the veranda. All the while his eyes were locked on the loud mouthed slave. Gradually as Brinn neared the bottom of the steps, the man’s laughter died away and he stiffened and readied himself for what Brinn might say or do.
But Brinn said nothing. He said nothing as he walked slowly around the group of chained men, taking occasional bites from his lunch.
He said nothing as he handed me the remains of the baguette and, with his hands free, flexed his fingers.
And then he said nothing as he picked up the long handle of a construction lump hummer that rested with its handle against the stone wall. With a single one handed swing he struck the man on the side of his head with an upwards blow. There was a sickening crunch as the slave flew back to hit the ground with a thump. I was aware that a woman was screaming, and then I became aware that the screaming woman was me. The loud mouthed slave lay there in a pool of blood, still barely alive, his neck probably broken, his body shaking in convulsions as Brinn then brought the lump hammer down on his head twice again, breaking and pulping the man’s skull until it splintered across the flagstone paving slabs.
There was silence except for my sobbing as Brinn threw the lump hammer aside, retrieved his lunch from my trembling hand, nodded once at Simon and climbed the steps back up to his veranda.
I want to die...
I want to die...
I want to die...
Please God, just let me die!
I can't take the pain any more... I can't... Please make it stop!
Two years, eight months ago
“Hello, Simon,” I said as I lay feeling content and happy in Brinn’s heated pool. Brinn and I loved to relax and unwind after a long day in what was essentially a purpose built Jacuzzi without the bubbles. The caste of builders had constructed an elaborate series of pipes that channelled heat underneath the surface of the pool, keeping it warmed to a cosy level. The pool was built indoors in one of the marbled cloistered spaces on the ground floor, and it was large enough to hold a medium size orgy in if required. I jokingly referred to it to Brinn as our ‘fucky pool’, though he didn’t really like me saying the word ‘fuck’ once he understood its meaning, possibly because he associated my use of the word with what he called ‘my tantrums’.
But still, it was our 'fucky pool'. I lay in the warm water, Brinn’s arm around my waist, snuggled close to him as he fed me peeled grapes from a tray. There was a crystal stoppered jar of rich ka-la-na wine on the rim of the pool. The jar was transparent with a wide base so that it couldn’t easily be knocked over by, say, thrashing limbs in the heat of a moment. A couple of flat stemless glasses sat on a silver tray beside the flute. Brinn had already enjoyed two glasses of the wine that he had shared with me, though I wasn’t permitted to touch the glass with my hands. Brinn would instead put the glass to my lips and allow me to take mouthfuls of the wine at his pleasure. I loved our fucky pool. Especially when we fucked in it.
We were both naked of course, though I still wore my earrings and jewelled ornamentation on my wrists and throat. I wore my hair in a pony tail to keep it under control for Brinn had a habit sometimes of dunking my head under the water if he felt like I was being disrespectful in some way. Disrespectful tended to mean me having an opinion contrary to his own. Men are like that on Gor, though by and large they are interested in a slave’s opinion provided she doesn’t argue it too fiercely. We had been discussing art, and whether or not there was any requirement for art to uphold moral standards. Brinn believed there was, and that art should play a part in educating and upholding a healthy and proper society, whereas I believed that art had no moral imperative to do so, but rather its chief purpose was to stimulate, entertain and broaden the minds and experiences of its audience.
Brinn of course told me I was wrong and that he was right.
Being naked in a warm pool of water with a luscious slave in his arms, Brinn was naturally enough permanently erect, something that was probably all too obvious to Simon as he arrived in the pool chamber. Brinn had sent for him, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Brinn’s erect shaft peaking ever so slightly out from the water’s surface like some sort of pork periscope, he grew rather awkward and did that thing where he looked at us without really looking at us. I think my nakedness was also distracting as he did look at me several times in that way men do when they’re looking at you without obviously looking at you. I was like that on Earth some times back when I had been a man. I remember once walking down a road in central London and catching sight of the most beautiful girl wearing a micro length mini-skirt and calf high leather boots. She had the perfect figure and legs to die for, and I kept sneaking guilty glances at her, only to quickly turn my attention away every time she looked in my direction. I felt ashamed to be staring at her in a sexual manner, treating her as some sort of sex object, and her aloof expression seemed to warn me that she would not tolerate such a thing. On Gor of course men would have looked at her with impunity, and made no secret of it.
“I received a message that you wanted to see me, Brinn,” said Simon as he found something of interest in the marble floor tiles close to the rim of the pool. His eyes flickered for a moment over my wet, partially submerged naked body, and he thought I hadn’t noticed. I pretended not to, as I stretched seductively beside Brinn.
Shannon had followed Simon into the bathing hall and stood smiling a few feet behind him. She gave an almost imperceptible nod to Brinn as she untied the slip knot that held her skimpy garment on her body. It was a brief bit of silk that came away easily once the slip knot was undone. As garments went it was usually worn in the evenings in the feasting hall or when working as a bathing slave where nudity might suddenly be required before entering the water.
“Shannon, Simon, come in, the water's lovely,” said Brinn as he indicated the marble steps leading down into the shallow pool.
Rather reluctantly, Simon removed his tunic, and slipped as quickly into the water as he could while both Shanon and I gazed at his muscular torso and, to be completely honest, his penis. Once he was settled in the water, with his hands clasped over his groin, he seemed a little more relaxed, that is until Shanon slipped into the water and nestled in beside him. Brinn of course noticed this display of modesty on Simon's part and he shook his head for a moment, as if it only confirmed his greatest fears.
“I’m getting straight to the point, Simon. I’m concerned,” said Brinn as he leaned forward in the pool.
“Concerned?” Simon shifted a little, sensing how close the tempting naked form of Shannon was. “Have I done something wrong?” There was a momentary glimpse of fear in his eyes, for after all Simon was essentially stranded on a cruel and primitive world where in all likelihood he would have died had Brinn not looked after him after the events at Skaffel Peak.
“Your work is exemplary, Simon, and I consider you a good friend – do not fear in that respect,” said Brinn as he continued. “No, my concerns relate to how well you’re adjusting to being Gorean.”
“I think I’m coming along quite well,” said Simon. “I’ve put on a lot of muscle since I’ve been following your training regimen, and my studies in Gorean medicine have gone well. I’ve been studying Gorean history and culture in the evening and…”
Brinn dismissed all of that with a wave of his hand. “That’s not what I mean. You’ve lived on this estate now for two years. Tell me, Simon, in all that time have you enjoyed a woman?”
“What?” Simon looked bewildered as the question sunk in.
“Have you tasted the delights of any of the slaves on this estate? It’s a very simple question,” said Brinn as if he had just enquired what was Simon’s preference for supper tonight.
“It’s also a very personal question,” said Simon with a flush to his cheeks that wasn’t solely due to the temperature of the water.
“Personal question? How can that be a personal question?” Now it was Brinn’s turn to seem perplexed. “I simply asked you whether you’ve had sex with any of the slave girls yet?”
“I… Brinn… I’m not really comfortable with…”
“I thought so.” Brinn leaned back against the side of the pool as I rested my head on his shoulder and kissed his neck. “It’s been two years, Simon! Two years! I wouldn’t go without female flesh for a week, let alone two years! You do like women, yes?”
“Of course I do.”
“Because it’s not unheard of for some men to prefer the company of their own sex. It’s particularly prevalent in certain regiments in Thentis during those long winter months in lonely mountain garrisons, or so I've been told. Why, Titus of Brundisium – that big bear of a man in my personal war band – the one with a very impressive beard, a bald head and lots of striking tattoos - he has a liking for handsome men like you. I could mention you to him if…”
“No! For fuck’s sake, Brinn, no, I’m not that way inclined! I don’t fancy Titus! Or any man for that matter!”
Brinn sighed and shook his head. “I’m just trying to help, Simon. It’s not natural that a Gorean man should deprive himself of sex. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? We’ve talked about this before, Brinn. They’re slaves! They have no choice. At best it’s some form of Stockholm syndrome where they’ve just given in and at worst they fear the consequences of being displeasing. It’s practically rape!”
“You make rape sound like some sort of bad thing,” said Brinn in bemusement as he reached for his ka-la-na wine.
“That’s because it is! Don’t you understand that? Why does no one on Gor understand that?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous, Simon. The slaves enjoy their rape.”
“Everyone on this fucking planet is insane…” muttered Simon quietly. “It’s wrong, Brinn. I can’t just order a girl to my bed.”
“Why not? Of course you can. You're a Free Man and they're slaves. They have to obey you. Besides, you’re a handsome man, Simon, and you have some muscles at last. And you’re an important man in this household. Girls would fight amongst themselves to fur with you. Take Shannon for example.” Now Brinn turned his attention to the girl from Vonda. “Would you be happy if no man ever touched you ever again?”
“No Master, I wouldn’t.”
“See, Simon. Shannon is a healthy girl with a healthy sex drive.”
“Enjoying sex isn’t the same thing as enjoying sex with anyone who demands it, Brinn. She has no choice who has her.”
“Shannon, would you like Simon here to chain you to his couch and have you?”
“Yes, Master,” said Shannon with a pleasing smile as she turned to face Simon. “I can give you pleasure, Master. I am superb in the furs.”
The pained expression on Simon’s face as Shannon presented herself to him in the waist deep water spoke volumes. I could see that the presence of the girl, and the erotic possibilities had given him an erection in the water that was obvious to Brinn too. Brinn seemed relieved at the sight of Simon’s excitement.
“See! You do want her, Simon!” Brinn pointed to Simon’s penis. “That's a healthy reaction for a man to have when he is close to a beautiful slave like Shannon. It's reassuring to see.”
“For God’s sake, Brinn, this really isn’t an appropriate conversation.” Simon was acutely embarrassed and raised one thigh to conceal his state of arousal. “And I'd rather you didn't talk about my penis in front of the girls!”
“You’ve got to get past this unhealthy Earth behaviour, Simon. It will cripple you until you do. I’ve had Shannon myself two nights ago and I can assure you she’s very good.”
I looked up, startled as I heard Brinn say that, and then I shot a furious glance over at Shannon and furrowed my brow. The girl looked mortified and couldn't meet my gaze. We would be having words after this, that much was certain. Oh yes we would.
“Brinn, she says that because she’s afraid of the consequences of saying anything that might displease us. Look, what would you do if she told you she didn’t want to have sex with me?”
Brinn seemed confused by the question. “Why would she ever say that?”
“It’s a hypothetical question, Brinn. What would you do? How would you react?”
“Well, I’d whip her of course, Simon. And have her caged for a week in the cellar until she begged to be let out to be pleasing.”
“See!” said Simon in triumph.
“No I don’t see, because Shannon wouldn’t say that in the first place, so it’s not a relevant question. Shannon, would you ever refuse to have sex with Simon?”
“Oh no Master, I wouldn’t!” She shook her head quickly.
“I really don’t believe this… Brinn, do you really not understand…”
“What I understand, Simon is that you’re refusing yourself what you desperately want and what you need. I’m going to help you now, because we are brothers. It's what brothers should do for one another.”
“Hey, look, you can’t make me have sex with Shannon!”
“Of course I can’t. But what I am going to do is have Emma chain Shannon to the slave ring at the foot of your couch tonight. She will be perfumed and dressed in pleasure silks.”
“Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor. She can have the couch.”
“What you do is up to you, Simon. But in the morning if Shannon has not been sufficiently pleasing to you that you have had recourse to enjoy her as a Gorean man enjoys a woman, then I will sell her. Then next week I will try you with one of the other girls from the estate and if she too is not pleasing to you then I will sell her too, and so on until we find a girl you do eventually find pleasing.”
“Please, Master, please, no…” Shannon looked horrified at the prospect of being sold tomorrow. Her life here on this estate was about as good as any slave-girl could ever reasonably hope for. No girl would want to be sold to another life that would almost certainly be miserable compared to this one. “Please, Master, do not sell Shannon. Please! I will give the Master pleasure. I will!”
“Brinn, you bastard. It’s not the girl’s fault. You can’t do this!” said Simon. He too looked shocked.
“Any girl who fails to please my friend has no place on this estate,” said Brinn with an innocent yet smug expression. “I will personally blame Shannon if she is incapable of seducing you. It is always the slave’s fault. You know that by now, Simon.”
“It’s nothing to do with her! She’s beautiful, sexy even – of course she’s pleasing. This has nothing to do with whether she can please a man in bed!”
“That will be all, Simon, That will be all. I'll see you at dinner tonight.” Brinn turned his attention back to me, and waited until Simon left the pool, with Shannon trailing slowly in his wake, unsure whether she should approach him or not, as he exited the chamber
“You're not seriously considering selling Shannon! You can't do that! She looks after our children when I'm busy!” I cried out as soon as Simon and Shannon were gone. “Marik and Jacinta are really fond of her!”
“Of course I'm not going to sell Shannon,” said Brinn with a smile. “I won't have to – Simon is going to take her in his furs tonight. Of course he is. You saw his penis.”
“But only because he can see how frightened she is at the thought of being sold! The poor girl is terrified!”
“Not really,” said Brinn as she poured himself some more ka-la-na. “After all, this was all her idea in the first place.” He winked at me as I just stared in surprise. “I'm often astonished at how crafty slave-girls can be at times when they are attracted to a particular man.”
“You bastard,” I said as I began laughing. “Poor Simon...”
“Poor Simon,” said Brinn with mock sympathy as he placed the cup of ka-la-na to my lips.
I've been screaming over and over again that I will be an obedient slave, that I will be pleasing, that I will do whatever my Mistress says, but no one is here in the court yard and no one can hear me.
I am alone, and the nightmare will not end.
I promise I will never dare to displease my Mistress again.
Please! Please! Please!
And still the cold rains falls.
One year, nine months ago
“Hold still, Mistress, I'm trying to paint your nipples!” Of all the things Chloe has ever said to me, that phrase sticks in my memory more than anything else. And she was indeed painting my nipples in a series of concentric patterns to complement the clothes she had designed for me. This was her particular talent. If I was great with makeup, she was equally great when it came to designing and sewing clothes. It seems our Chloe had worked in the fashion industry back on Earth before she had been abducted and taken to Gor and it showed, for on Brinn's instructions, she had created an outfit for me that was totally original on Gor. Influenced by ancient Minoan fashions, it consisted of a tight red mini-skirt not much wider than a belt to be honest, from which draped four ankle length strips of decorative fabric in alternating colours that offered a little modesty for my sex, but showed off every inch of my legs. Combined with this was a close fitting sleeveless blouse of sorts that was cut away at the front to completely expose my breasts. And just so that no one could possibly not notice those breasts, they were painted with red henna designs.
“Chloe, I feel more naked than naked. You do realise there will be Free Women watching in the arena? They're not going to like this.”
“Your Master told me to make you sexy and desirable. So yes, you're going to be sexy and desirable, Mistress,” said Chloe with a wink. “I've seen what Brianna is wearing – just ordinary slave silk. You're going to blow everyone away in comparison.”
“But the Free Women... Cassandra and her stuck up friends...”
“...shouldn't be watching in the first place if they don't want to see semi-naked slave-girls standing there as prizes for the fighters,” said Chloe.
I was to be a prize, or rather a potential prize if Brinn's fighting slave lost today. The other prize was to be Cassandra's First Girl, Brianna, a woman who seemed to resent me to almost the same degree as Cassandra did. It had always been Brinn's ambition to build a modest size fighting arena on his estate and train up some fighting slaves as a hobby and investment, much like Earth men might breed and train race horses. With his new found wealth that had been easy enough, and over the last year or so Brinn had established a stable of three or four prize fighting slaves – collared Gorean men proficient in the art of brutal violence. Cassandra too had indulged herself in collecting a few such slaves back in Vonda, and during her recent visit she had suggested a competitive bout over glasses of ka-la-na with Brinn. Brinn had never been one to back down from a challenge, and he was only too happy to stake me against Brianna in the contest.
Slave-girls of sufficient value were commonly used as rewards for the fighters in the arena. A male slave who won a bout for his Master or Mistress would be rewarded with a girl for the night. As most male slaves are usually not permitted to touch slave-girls, and as most male slaves have high sex drives, you can understand what a considerable reward this was. The custom was that if Cassandra's slave won the bout, he would have me serve him after the fight, and if Hathor, Brinn's champion, won, he could expect Cassandra's First Girl to be given to him in chains and pleasure silk.
We would stand as prizes within the arena itself, chained to and displayed on a vertical pole on a raised podium where the fighting slaves could see their potential reward. It tended to bring the best out of them when it came to fighting.
I was feeling nervous of course, for the stakes were very high for me personally. I did not want to be thrown into the cage of Cassandra's pet pit bull, and I guess Brianna felt the same way about being given to Hathor.
“Hathor had better win today,” I said as Chloe finished off the second of my nipple designs. “Fucking Brinn and his fucking arena! He'd really do it... he'd really give me to some fighting slave for the night if he was to lose the wager.”
“I'm sure Hathor will fight well, Mistress,” said Chloe as she put away her henna pots. “He will want a girl for the night, remember? He has an incentive to win.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but still...”
A loud cheer filled the arena as I made my entrance through the slave gate. It was a Gorean cheer from the men so it consisted of the striking of shoulders with a fist and this was accompanied by shouts and ribald cries pertaining to my desirability. I smiled because it is truly thrilling to make an entrance like that knowing that you have a hundred or so men (the full capacity of Brin's arena) transfixed by your beauty, longing to have you. I was suddenly the centre of attention and I confess I basked in it, knowing the power it gave me, for these men would under different circumstances fight over me if the opportunity presented itself. Blood would be spilled. Not here of course. Not on Brinn’s estate, for I was property that belonged to Brinn of the Sardar, and no man here would dare to cross him in that respect. But oh, how they wanted me. Chloe had been right. There had been a thunderous applause for the entrance of Cassandra’s First Girl, but she had been dressed typically in a tunic of pleasure silk – they had all seen such garments before. But my Minoan design with its loose skirt of free flowing strands of fabric, and my bare breasts highlighted with dark henna around the nipples, this was new and exotic, and it made me stand out. Within a few moments many of the men had sprung to their feet and were crying out my name as they applauded. I smiled again as I walked across the warm sand towards the wooden podium on which Brianna already stood with her back to the tall post. She didn’t look very happy. She could sense that I had won the first round in the slave-girl competitiveness that attends functions such as this. On the way to the podium I turned twice to present myself to the full circle of tiered seats, allowing everyone there a good look at me. It was after all one of the things they had come to see.
But of course not everyone in the arena was cheering. There was a private stand in which five Free Women sat, Cassandra being one of them, and they were silent as the grave. I couldn't really see their eyes over their opaque veils, but I could imagine how they might be furrowed and disapproving right now. Well fuck them, I thought. They already hate me – how much worse can it get? I lapped up the approval of the men in the arena, knowing how much the Free Women would resent me for it.
“I hope you're ready to be thrown into Rogan's cage tonight,” said Brianna softly as I climbed the four wooden steps onto the platform. Rogan was the Lady Cassandra's Fighting Slave – a man who had won numerous bouts in Vonda over the years, and had enjoyed many beautiful slave-girls as his reward. I glanced back towards the sand where Rogan stood watching me with interest. He was big, muscular, his scarred skin buffed and gleaming with oil from a pre-match massage. He wore a simple breach cloth and laced sandals and had strips of leather wound about his fists to protect them during the fight. This was generally allowed in much the same way as boxing gloves were permitted on Earth. He was an ugly brute of a man, with a face that had been beaten and broken many times during his career. As was the case with most fighting slaves, his head was shaved, to prevent an opponent from grabbing him by the hair. “He will break your champion and make you serve him afterwards like the slut you are.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I said as I stood now beside Brianna and raised my arms in welcome to the men once again, before men would chai me beside the girl. This action lifted my bare, painted breasts and produced another resounding cheer that would annoy Brianna more than any insult might. I looked down now to where Brinn's Fighting Slave stood. Hathor was slightly shorter than Rogan, but just as broad shouldered. His head wasn't shaved, but the hair was cropped very short, leaving not enough length for anyone to seize hold of. His body was also scarred but his face had taken less of a beating over the years, and he still retained his original good looks. I knew for a fact that Brinn had refused Hathor any women for the last three weeks in anticipation of the bout, and Hathor was by now practically pacing his cage at night, grinding his teeth in frustration at not having a slave-girl penned with him. Fighting slaves tend to enjoy certain privileges not enjoyed by the manual working slaves who toiled in the fields. They were given good food, kept in good condition, and were often rewarded with women, provided they won matches. Hathor had never been given me of course, for I was the First Girl, but he had made it clear from time to time that he would have liked to have had Emma of London thrust into his cage for the night.
Knowing this I sometimes teased him, and it amused me to flaunt myself before then reminding him he was subject to my discipline. He didn't like that, but then few men of Gor do.
If Hathor won, Brianna would be his tonight, serving him in his cage until the morning. If Rogan won, I would be the prize given to Cassandra's man. I had therefore spoken to Hathor earlier in the day when Shannon and Candice were oiling his muscles and he lay on a couch, enjoying the attention of their hands on his shoulder muscles.
“You have to win today,” I told him as I stood there, holding the coiled whip that was the symbol of my authority on the estate.
“Oh?” he had said.
“Yes. It is important to me that you win this match.”
“I am not sure I am particularly confident to be honest,” Hathor had said with a wry smile as Candice began massaging his thigh muscles. “The Lady Cassandra's fighting slave has an enviable reputation in the fighting pits of Vonda.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You can easily beat him, Hathor. You've won your last three matches with ease.” It was clear to everyone on the estate that the only person who wanted Hathor to win the contest more than Hathor himself, was me. I did not want to be Rogan's prize tonight.
“Perhaps my confidence deserts me today, Mistress,” said Hathor as he lay back on the couch and regarded me. “Every man can have an off day.”
“I want you to win. You have to win. I will have a bota of paga sent to your cage tonight if you win. And I will grant you complete whip rights over your First Girl prize. You may treat her as you wish without reprimand. I have given instructions to the guards to permit it.”
“Mistress is very generous,” said Hathor idly. “But still... Rogan is said to be very strong...”
“I will also arrange things so that either Candice or Shannon will be penned with you for the next five days. You can choose either of them for your pleasure.” I gestured to the two girls who glanced up in surprise. “That is over and above your use of the Lady Cassandra's First Girl tonight.”
“Mistress is becoming even more generous,” said Hathor with a smile. “But it would be hard for me to choose between two such ravishing beauties...”
“You may have both of them, Hathor,” I said with a measure of impatience and a sigh. “For five nights. I will grant you that. You just have to win. Can you win?”
“Strangely enough my confidence is now beginning to grow,” said Hathor with a smile. I noticed how Shannon was now nervously looking at the man, knowing she might be his cage slave for the next five nights.
“Good. You must win today.” I stood there with my hands on my hips. “It is important to me.”
“Oh? But of course...”Hathor stretched his muscular body as he considered that. “I had forgotten that my Mistress stands to be the prize thrown to Rogan tonight should I lose.”
“That mustn't happen.” I shook my head.
“I understand that Rogan can be quite strict and cruel to girls who are given to him. He breaks even the proudest of slave-girls...”
“I wouldn't know,” I said quickly, “So you feel confident you will win?”
“My confidence has risen remarkably, but one further thing may sway it for certain.”
“Name it, and if it is in my power I will grant you it.”
“Breakfast brought to my cage each morning for those five days by a slave-girl who will serve it with humility and obedience, referring to me as Master until she is dismissed when I have finished.”
I smiled and nodded. “You do not ask for much. Very well,” I was about to turn and leave.
“The slave girl who will serve me breakfast and call me Master for five days will be Emma of London of course,” said Hathor.
“No. Absolutely not. The First Girl on this estate does not serve breakfast to male slaves!” I glared at him. How dare he!
“A shame. Already I feel my new found confidence fading. But who knows? Maybe my Mistress will reconsider later on. Should you decide to grant me this while I fight, you need only nod at me when you catch my gaze in the arena.”
“Don't hold your breath,” I said with a hiss as I stormed away.
Brinn had delivered a short, boring speech about the great honour in men punching one another in the face before the two fighting slaves took position and, at the sudden lowering of Brinn's right hand, had commenced trying to beat one another into a pulp. This was a savage fight, and Brianna and I looked on as the men punched one another with a ferocity on a par with illegal cage fighting on Earth. Brianna and I were both chained by our wrists to the central pole as enticing prizes openly displayed, ready to be claimed. A single key hung from a hook where neither of us could reach it. The key would unlock either one of us at the conclusion of the fight. Neither of us of course knew who that might be. I bit and chewed my lower lip as I gazed in agony at the pounding Hathor was taking. Although he was putting up a good fight and had delivered several well timed blows, Rogan seemed to have the decisive edge and was cutting through his guard far too often. I saw a particularly powerful punch land and knock Hathor backwards. Brianna hissed in triumph, excited by the potential outcome as she sensed victory for her Mistress.
I could see Brinn's troubled expression where he sat on the central seats of the arena, flanked by a few of his senior warriors. Cassandra would of course be intolerably smug to her brother if it turned out that her fighting slave won.
Hathor landed two punches of his own but was then knocked down by a swift upper cut from Rogan's left hand. The men in the arena seats were roaring with admiration for the fight, and they cheered loudly as Hathor, despite the savage blow, pulled himself back up onto his feet. But I could see his legs were trembling now and it was clear he wouldn't be able to take that sort of punishment much longer.
“Too bad, slave-girl.” hissed Brianna. “You'll be sucking Rogan's cock tonight, and feeling his whip if you don't do it well enough.”
I stared at Hathor and willed him to keep standing. The nightmare scenario was coming true and I would be soon finding myself at the mercy of Cassandra's savage pit bull. No... that couldn't happen. I pulled at my wrist chains in my misery and shook my head. I suddenly felt very scared.
And then Hathor gazed up at me with a questioning look. His eyes met mine and he mouthed a silent “well?” Before I knew what I was doing, I nodded quickly, urgently. Yes! Yes! I screamed and suddenly he grinned and turned on Rogan.
Now Hathor's punches seemed blindingly quick, unrelenting, as he struck hard time and time again, knocking Rogan to the left and right as he struggled to react. Soon Cassandra's man could do little more than protect himself until, with a final punch, the battered and bloodied Hathor punched Rogan to the sand where he tried twice to rise before collapsing in a broken heap.
“Yes!” I screamed loudly to the accompaniment of the cheering men. “Fucking, yes!” I pulled at my chains in absolute joy, shaking them. Yes, I'd have to bring Hathor his breakfast for the next five days and call him Master while he ate, but really that was a small price to pay for escaping the clutches of Cassandra's pit bull. And the thought of Brianna having to pleasure Hathor tonight... I turned to face her with my wrists chained above my head to the upright pole.
“Who's going to be the cock sucker now, slave-girl?” I hissed back at her. “You'd better please Hathor or he'll whip you. For your information, I accorded him whip rights over his First Girl prize if he won, and believe me, he'll use it.”
Brianna whimpered something at the thought of that. Like me she was no doubt accorded authority over all Cassandra's slaves, and was used to male slaves living in fear of her whip. Well now the whip would be in the other hand. “Please have mercy,” whimpered Brianna.
“Fuck you. Would you have shown mercy to me if Rogan had won?” There was no love lost between rival First Girls belonging to Brinn and Cassandra.
I watched Hathor walk towards our platform with his eyes locked on Brianna's lovely body. I smiled at him as he caught my gaze and I nodded my appreciation at his victory. With a slight smile back, no doubt thinking of the breakfasts I'd be bringing him over the next five days, he saluted me and climbed the four steps to our platform.
“Well done, Hathor!” I said with joy. “You were magnificent.” I stood there, helpless before him of course, chained by my wrists to the central pole; Brianna, his prize, standing beside me. She couldn't meet his gaze. Hathor was a mess. His face was caked in blood and he looked like he had been fighting a steam roller. But the thought of having a woman tonight as a prize filled him with adrenaline still. “Claim your prize, Hathor, and know that I have granted you whip rights over her for the night. Make your slut of a First Girl please you as you wish.”
“I will, Emma,” said Hathor as he reached for the key that would unlock a set of wrist bracelets. He had won, and he was entitled to claim Cassandra's First Girl. He shouldn't really have called me Emma, but I was so relieved at his victory that I wasn't about to quibble the point now. I might remind him at the end of the week that he had overstepped the mark in using my name, but now was not really the time. I sighed with relief as I lay back against the pole. I was looking forward to Brinn releasing me after the audience had dispersed, and then I would enjoy a long bath in Brinn's fucky pool. Brinn would undoubtedly give me some ka-la-na tonight, and maybe even some Baklava. As for Brianna, I decided I'd visit the cage later on that night and see how she was doing under Hathor's discipline. Yes, that would be fun.
I looked up, startled, as I felt Hathor place the key into the lock on my slave bracelets and, turning it, free them from the pole.
“What are you doing? You're only supposed to free your prize for the night? You're not supposed to free the other girl!” Surely he knew that?
“I'm not going to free the other girl, Emma,” he said with a smile. He removed the bracelets from first my left wrist and then my right.
“I decline Brianna, First Girl of Vonda,” said Hathor with his bloodied face as he raised my right arm with his left. “Lovely as she is, she is not Emma of the Sardar. I claim Emma of the Sardar instead as my cage slut for tonight!”
“Hathor!” I yelled in fury as I heard roars of laughter from the men in the audience, all of whom seemed to think that, unconventional as this was, it was hilariously funny. “You can't do this! Brianna is your prize! Not me! Not me!”
“I fought well today, Masters!” Hathor shouted to the warriors in the arena. “Will you give me Emma of the Sardar tonight?”
There was a roar of approval and the striking of shoulders, and to my dismay I saw Brinn nod briefly at his fighting slave, before turning his attention back to Candice who had been serving him during the match.
“No!” I cried as I realised what was happening. I, not Brianna, would be Hathor's girl tonight!
“On your knees, Emma, before your Master. And remember, I have been given whip rights over my First Girl prize tonight...”
The rain continued to fall and I lost all sense of time. All I knew was the burning in my arms and legs and the strain on my tired muscles.
I was in Hell and Hell was never ending, and my suffering seemed eternal.
Until through my delirium I heard a man's voice early in the morning saying, “That's enough. Bring her down.”