Three weeks later we were in bed together. I insisted on wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and two pairs of knickers and I asked him to turn the lights down. I was scared. Oh God, I was so scared. I warned him that I didn’t know what might happen. I warned him that maybe I might scream without meaning to. I warned him that I might not be able to go through with it. He told me he would stop the moment I seemed distressed.
I was nervous as hell and I think I apologised each time I flinched from his touch. We took our time and Alan was very gentle with me. He told me we didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. I begged him not to hold my wrists or grip me tightly in any way, and he was as good as his word. In the end he didn’t penetrate me either. He simply stroked and kissed me until I was able to relax and steady my hyper active breathing. It was another three weeks before sharing the same bed actually led to Alan penetrating me. I lay there, frightened, stiff as a board, scared of what I might feel, but he was gentle and considerate. He took his time, pausing often to check I was okay. I nodded silently and told him I didn’t deserve him. Alan came inside me and told me that he thought he was falling in love with me.
I didn’t have an orgasm that night but I pretended I had. Alan is a good man. I don’t deserve him.
We moved in together soon after. It seemed sensible bearing in mind the cost of renting in London. How did that happen? I remember that Ladbroke Grove for example was a place for impoverished artists in the early seventies. Nowadays it's gentrified with appropriately gentrified rents.
I would generally have sex with Alan when he asked me to. I owed him that much I suppose. Gradually I became used to his touch and it didn’t scare me, but sometimes I would have flashbacks to Gor and I would wake up screaming in bed, convinced I had been found and abducted again while I slept. The relief when I found I was still in my bed, and not waking up in a slave pen on Gor was absolute. Because I was convinced that ‘they’ would find me. It was only a matter of time. I was an escaped slave. There was nowhere to run to. The Goreans would find me.
Alan offered to buy me a gun so that I might defend myself. It's not easy to acquire a gun in England unless you know people. Alan knew men who would sell them on the black market south of the river. He met some dangerous looking criminals – East European by their accents – in a disused scrap metal compound in October and he bought a used Glock 9 mm with some of my diamond money. He told me not to carry it until he had a chance to show me how to use it safely. What had changed? He still found my story incredulous, but he had gone through his mother’s things and had found some letters from Bea in the year between Emma disappearing and she herself disappearing. In those letters there were mentions of a woman called Udumi. I had told Alan about Udumi, and now he had some, admittedly, circumstantial proof.
“She abducted your sister,” I told him. “She will be on Gor now – a slave.”
Slowly he began to believe me, crazy as it may seem.
“There must be something I can do,” said Alan one night as we lay in bed together watching TV.
“We can find and kill Udumi,” I said. “It’s what I do well. Will you help me?”
Alan began the laborious task of researching and investigating Udumi. Since this involved computers and the internet I was of no use at all. I can just about order a pair of shoes from Amazon. That’s the extent of my ability with this science fiction technology. Circumstantial as it might be, Alan began to find mysterious missing persons cases around about the time that Udumi was visibly in the UK doing her modelling work.
“Believe me, Alan,” I said, “she took first your brother and then your sister. She has to die.”
Alan bought himself a second hand Glock soon after to go with mine. One late November day he took me out into the New Forest where some bikers he knew owned a bit of land. They used it for clay pigeon shooting at times and it was the perfect place for me to practice with a hand gun. I dressed myself in a thick sweater, skinny jeans and heavy boots, not to mention a thick winter coat and I stood there in a private copse of woodland as Alan placed my body in the correct firing stance. “It’s all about remaining calm, well, as calm as you can be in a fire fight. Concentrate, focus and take aim. Don’t blaze away like you see on television. Take carefully aimed shots, and don’t hurry.”
I spent an afternoon shooting at pumpkins on poles. A couple of bikers in their late fifties watched us throughout and afterwards Alan gave them some money.
“Pretty Lady you have there,” said one of the bikers.
“Yes she is,” said Alan.
They took us to a country pub afterwards and we spent the night talking about music from the early seventies – something Alan knew very little about. He watched in bemusement as an apparently 23 year old girl swapped stories about Led Zeppelin and Hawkwind albums with a pair of very knowledgeable middle aged bikers. Mick and Ken were nice men. Their image didn’t scare me, for I had seen Viking like raiders from Torvaldsland on Gor, and these two men were pussy cats in comparison.
“If you ever tire of the young boy…” said Mick to me after his fifth pint of Ringwood Best, “there's always a place for you, Rachel, on the back of my bike.”
When we left in a pretty drunken state, Mick tackled Alan in a rough and tumble head lock and said to him, “you take good care of the nice Lady, you hear, or you’ll answer to us.” It was spoken in jest, but the men did seem to like me. It was easy to forget that unlike men on Gor they didn’t think in terms of stripping and enslaving me on sight.
By early December we made our plans. I was to be the bait for Udumi to come for me. We made contact at a department store where she was promoting some new perfume with her signature on it. I dressed myself up as pure collar bait – precisely the sort of girl a Gorean slaver might want to abduct. I made it easy for her to find me.
We waited and of course she came.
It was important we did it this way. Alan needed final proof, proof that I was telling the truth about Gor, about Emma. Udumi trying to kidnap me with the assistance of an armed thug was a long way towards that.
I’ll give Alan some due – he killed the man outright – three closely grouped shots to his chest. I’m pretty sure it was a Gorean man – he had the look. Alan was taking point on the kills because he had the military training and experience with firearms, whereas I was a rank amateur who was only experienced at shooting stationary pumpkins while two friendly bikers asked me what my favourite Led Zeppelin album was (the third one, by the way – long story, not relevant here). He had told me to stay in the background and only fire as a last resort. He had a shocked Udumi square in his sights with her back to the open doorway and the corridor to the stair well.
“Kill the fucking bitch,” I screamed at him as he hesitated for those precious few seconds. And then Udumi ran. She ran through the doorway, down the short corridor and I screamed at Alan to take the shot. But he froze. Udumi was haring down the stairwell by the time I had told Alan to go fuck himself, and I was in pursuit, my own 9 mm Glock in my hand. I forgot everything Alan had told me and I emptied the clip blazing away as she ducked and dived down the twisting array of stairs. The booms from my gun sounded incredibly loud in the confined area. I screamed at her in rage and frustration as she exited the building and ran straight for a hedge. Her inertia carried her clean through the dense bushes to the other side. It was late at night, dark, and I had run out of bullets. I had a clear shot of her as she struggled through the hedge, stuck for a moment, but I had emptied the gun. Still I stood there, screaming at her while my trigger finger went click-click-clickety-click uselessly on an empty clip.
Udumi was gone.
I screamed at Alan that night, and wouldn't let him touch me. We had come so close. We could have killed her.
I walked out on Alan, packed a single bag and left. He had let me down. More than that, he had let Emma and Bea down. Alan ran after me but when he saw how angry I was, he backed off afraid I might pull a knife or something.
He knew I had a knife. I might have used it.
I moved into a cheap hotel with my shoulder bag and I bought a bottle of Glenlivet whisky and drank it in a single night. I spent the next day being sick in the bathroom.
I felt so alone. I lay on my bed and whispered for Emma to forgive me. I felt like I had nothing left any more. I picked up my knife and I made three cuts on my left arm. Just because. It hurt and there was more blood than I thought there would be, and the sight of it snapped me out of my self pity. I went to a nearby A&E department, admitted what I had done and they cleaned and patched me up. I think they had my details on file and they saw I was on the electoral register with Alan Anderson, so while I waited to be discharged they phoned him up to let him know what had happened.
Alan came to collect me. I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to tell him he had failed me. But I knew I had failed myself. I hadn’t been ready. If I had spent more time to learn how to use my gun…
I let Alan take me home. He slept on the couch that night while I lay in a foetal position on the bed, fully dressed, even with my boots on. I was convinced now that the Gorean slavers would find me. I clutched my Glock 9mm to my chest, which alarmed Alan so much that he unloaded it while I slept, fearing I’d shoot myself, even with the safety on.
The days rolled by, becoming weeks and the Gorean slavers didn’t come for me.
“Let’s go away, Rache,” Alan had said one day as we gazed out at a blustery winter’s day. “Let’s go to America. Get away from here. Start again.”
I was drinking heavily by now. At least a bottle of red wine each evening. Maybe some whisky shots too. I cried whenever I thought about Emma still living on Gor.
Alan’s time in the Royal Marines meant he was able to get freelance security work in the US easily enough, and that was enough to get him a working visa. We flew to Boston and set up home, thinking we would turn our back on all things Gorean. Of course we had no idea how things would develop on Earth over the next few years.
To my surprise I found myself pretty much unemployable in Boston. Despite the fact I was possibly the most resourceful and competent agent the Kurii had ever employed, I wasn’t qualified to do much more than wait on tables in modern day America. I had no qualifications and I was ignorant of even the most basic computer technology that permeated modern life.
“What am I supposed to do?” I said one evening while we watched TV.
“Whatever you like, Rache. You could be the creative force behind a dot com start up?” suggested Alan with a cheeky smile.
“I don’t even know what that means!”
“You don’t have to get a job, Rache. I’m earning enough for the two of us.” He snuggled against me on the sofa and kissed the top of my head.
“I can’t just sit around the apartment all day and go to lunch in cafes. I’ll get bored. I’m used to being active.”
“Take some classes. Learn some skills. Get some qualifications. You’ve got plenty of time.”
Time. Oh yes, I had plenty of time. I gazed at Alan and wondered if he understood really how much time I had. My age had been stabilised on Gor and I could expect to live to maybe an age of 300. I would watch Alan grow old before me as the decades rolled by and I would remain eternally youthful and beautiful while he became an old man and eventually died. I would see the year 2100 and the year 2200. Everyone I might connect with on Earth would grow old and die. And I wasn't sure whether I could have children. I knew Alan would like to have children, but Brinn had given me slave wine when he had enslaved me, and that had made me infertile. The effects didn't last forever, but I didn't know how many years had to pass before the serum lost its effect. I had never told Alan of that, for fear he might leave me for a woman who could give him children. One day we would reach the point where he would want to try for a family and I would have to tell him that I didn't know whether I was able to conceive and that we might have to wait for an indefinite period. I dreaded that day coming. Would he stay with me, knowing I didn't know when or if I could give him a family? And if he left me, then what? Would I be able to form a relationship with someone else? I carried so much emotional baggage with me after all.
“Maybe I could wait tables or something. Work in a book shop maybe. Just to keep busy.”
“Whatever you want, Rache. Whatever you want.”
I got a job working at a fancy coffee shop but soon became bored and I walked out on the third day when a customer started giving me a hard time and my manager told me the customer is always right.
He was one of those hipsters in his late thirties, wearing tweed and and he had an Elizabethan beard and he must have not liked my resting bitch expression as I made his stupid coffee to ridiculous instructions because he said, “hey, smile pretty girl, it might never happen.”
“It did happen,” I said, and apparently by saying that and by not smiling to command I ruined his 'coffee experience.”
I hate those sort of men who expect us to smile all the time to make them feel better.
I'd only taken the job to make some friends, but I quickly found I had nothing in common with women of the same age that I looked.
“You don't know who Little Mix is?” said Anna incredulously on day one.
“No I don't.” And then she proceeded to play it to me on her tinny phone.
“Sounds dreadful,” I said.
I got a job in a small bookshop in Boston, and that was fun. For a while at least. Unfortunately I didn’t know any books or authors since about the mid-seventies, and surprisingly many of the authors and books I did know were no longer in print. I soon found I was unable to answer questions from customers who wanted recommendations for which Cormac McCarthy book to buy.
“Try under ‘m’,” I said. “I’m afraid I haven’t read any of them.”
As well as new books we sold second hand books. One day a middle aged man came in with three carrier bags of old SF paperbacks to sell to us. We gave him thirty dollars for the lot. The owner told me to put them out on the bookshelves. In amongst lots of space opera were two Gor novels: Hunters of Gor and Beasts of Gor. The spines of both books were cracked in several places. The pages fell open naturally enough at well read chapters where free women were enslaved by Tarl Cabot.
“We don’t see those books very often,” said the owner as he watched me unpack the carrier bags. “Price them at ten dollars each. They’ll sell easily enough.”
I bought Beasts of Gor myself. The pages had fallen open at a name I recognised – Sidney Anderson, presumably no relation to Emma or Alan. I had actually known her on Gor. We had trained together in the seventies and she had been sent to the polar basin in northern Gor to command a Kur installation there. I read the chapters – Tarl Cabot’s account of what had occurred, ostensibly fiction, and I shivered, knowing this was probably more or less the truth. I had known so many female agents of the Kurii in my time on Gor. None of them had remained free the way I had.
Tarl Cabot was the bogeyman that we all feared would come for us in the night. If you were a woman and you opposed him, you would end up in his chains.
I had asked Kurgus what I should do if I ever encountered him. His advice had been simple.
It was good advice I think.
Things remained difficult between us for quite some time. Try as I might I couldn’t forgive Alan for freezing when he could have killed Udumi. I told him that it was because she was a beautiful woman and he found her desirable and wanted to fuck her. Alan told me that had nothing to do with it, that he simply wasn’t the sort of man who could kill a woman in cold blood, but he didn’t know that until he tried to.
We didn’t have sex for a long time. Whenever he broached the subject I told him to find someone who looked like Udumi and fuck her instead.
“Maybe I will,” said Alan one night when I was steaming drunk and abusive.
“Go on then!” I said and I ripped out a page from a local newspaper that had classified ads for escort services. “Ring them up! You’ll find one eventually!”
Alan told me I needed to cut down my drinking. I told him to go fuck himself as I opened another bottle of wine.
Alan never left me. Alan never fucked an escort.
I don’t deserve him.
I hate myself and I wish I was dead.
Alan stayed with me and he put up with my moments of self loathing. He took me to A&E whenever I tried to do something stupid. He told me over and over again that he loved me.
Then one night Alan told me something in confidence that changed everything. He was always talking to me, trying to get through to me. He thought talking, even if it was a one sided conversation was good therapy for me. And so he would open up about things in his life, perhaps in the hope that I would respond and open up myself, for I kept my feelings bottled up until they would eventually explode in a fiery drunken rage.
And then one night he told me that shortly after Eric had been abducted and had been taken to Gor to be turned into Emma, he had gone round to his brother’s flat after the police had finished with it as a potential crime scene. Emma’s secret was out by now and it was in all the papers – the story of the secret cross dresser with a wardrobe full of dresses and wigs who went missing one day. Another thing for his family to deal with, said the Sun newspaper in less than helpful sympathetic tones.
Perhaps Alan had wanted to understand what his brother had been thinking, or perhaps there was some curiosity in Alan too, but one night he tried on some of Eric’s clothes. He played around with makeup badly, put on some of the wigs and tried to get into his brother’s mindset.
Afterwards he felt ashamed and disgusted with himself, but a few weeks later he was drawn back to dressing up again. Maybe it was a way of connecting with his big brother, the brother he had always looked up to. Alan doesn’t really know to this date why he did it, but the cycle repeated itself for several months until he met me. Always going back to the collection of dresses (which were now in storage) and always afterwards the feeling of self loathing that he had done something wrong.
For the first time in ages, something Alan had told me had struck a chord through my mist of alcoholic depression.
“Show me,” I had said.
“What do you mean?”
“Show me what you look like as a girl.”
Alan wasn’t sure about this. He said it was something he had experimented with and left well alone once he had met me, but I insisted, and seeing that at long last something he had told me had penetrated through my defensive walls, he agreed to let me dress him up and make up his face.
I lent him a pair of knickers and a bra, and some hose. I dug out a pink and white silk wrap that would fit him, and I bought a blonde wig from an Afro-Caribbean wig shop three blocks away. None of my shoes would fit him so he stayed barefoot. I told him to shave his face and he did so. Then I told him to shave again, only closer. He did so. He was a little breathless and nervous as I did his makeup.
“Do you like this, Alan?” I said as I did his eyes. He admitted he felt turned on by the thought of my dressing him up.
“Yeah, but everything about me seems to turn you on.”
We both laughed at that because it was true. Alan would get an erection just at the sight of me taking my jeans off to go to bed in the evening. I remember once just catching him staring at my legs while I pulled the jeans away. I was wearing cheap cotton knickers and stripy socks, and a floppy jumper, and my hair was a mess because I hadn't washed it for a couple of days, but when I peeled my jeans away he just cupped his chin in his hands and gazed at me as if I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“What?” I said, feeling a bit nervous at such obvious attention.
“I love you. I just so fucking love you, Rache. You are so very beautiful. I’m so lucky.”
I helped Alan get dressed and then when I settled the blonde wig in place, a curious thing happened. I was suddenly reminded of Emma. He didn’t look anything like Emma of course, but seeing him there dressed in my clothes, with good makeup and a decent wig style, I had to admit he didn’t look bad, and it made me think was this what Emma had been like when she was a confused, unhappy man living on Earth before she became the beautiful Gorean agent of Kurgus? I saw how nervous Alan looked, afraid of what I might think, and again I wondered if this had been what Emma had been like in those early days when she desperately longed for a female body and tried her best to emulate one. He made me think of Emma and my heart melted a bit.
“Take me to bed,” I said to his surprise.
“Rache?” He could hardly believe his luck. I had not slept with him for over a year.
“You can have sex with me if you want,” I whispered. “So long as you pretend to be a girl for the night.”
And so he did.
As always I told him that I had enjoyed an orgasm. This time though I actually had.
That was then, this is now. These days I can stand Alan touching me, but only when he dresses as a girl. He does so because he knows it makes things easier for me. He does so because he thinks he rather enjoys it too, every once in a while, though unlike Emma he feels ashamed and guilty when the sex is over. Unlike Emma he has no desire to be a girl for real. Then he is keen to remove the makeup, quickly change back into men’s clothing. Sometimes I beg him to stay the way he is for a while longer, and I curl up next to him, feeling the softness of his feminine garments against his body, and I feel safe and loved in a way I don’t when he looks like a man.
I don’t deserve him.
I call Alan 'Ellen' when he is dressed up. He seems to like the name and it is close enough to his own real one. Since that day when he first allowed me to make him up, Alan has learnt to dress and prepare himself. Part of the ritual is that he surprises me with the way he will look. When he emerged this afternoon on Christmas Eve he wore a stretchy dress with three quarter length arms and a hem line cut to just above the knee. It had a paisley like design and a wide black buckle belt to accentuate his figure. Underneath it he was wearing a corset, tightly laced to give him the feminine figure I liked. The corset had suspender clips to which he attached stockings. His makeup was good without being over done and his wig was blonde like Emma’s. He stood in the doorway to our bedroom and struck a pose. He wore court shoes with a three inch heel and some costume jewellery from a department store. His lips were brightly painted with a deep cherry red that made him look sexy.
“Rache…” he said, hoping I liked what I saw.
“Sexy bitch,” I said as I walked slowly towards him. I saw Alan smile as he beckoned me towards our bed.
“Sexy lesbian bitch, don’t you know,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed his legs at the ankles. He tilted his head to the side, offering a coquettish expression that always made me giggle. Alan loved to see me smile.
“Oh, so you like girls, do you, Ellen?” I said as I now struck a pose too. I stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the living room. I still wore my sheath dress from lunch and the layers of foundation garments underneath it.
“Only one girl,” said Alan with a smile. “Come over here and I’ll show you how much I like her.”
“You’re going to have to help me out of this dress first. I’m so tightly laced in these days that I can barely dress myself.” I beckoned him over with my little finger. “Do it slowly. I want to feel each and every moment with your fingers.”
I breathed softly as Alan’s fingers drew the zip at my back down slowly, very very slowly as those cherry red lips kissed the nape of my neck.
“Emma,” I whispered in my head, imagining Alan was now her. I felt that electric tingle down the back of my neck which is always the sure fire prequel to sexual arousal on my part. I sighed and half closed my eyes as Alan proceeded to follow the trail of the zip, kissing me down past my shoulder blades. I could smell his perfume – so very fragrant and feminine.
“You are beautiful, Rache. So very beautiful.”
“Shut up, slut, and kiss me properly,” I said with a soft giggle as I shrugged off the dress, letting it spill around my ankles. I turned to face him and ran my fingers through his long blonde wig. I always insisted he wore blonde wigs. Blonde wigs in the same shade of Emma's hair. I will never forget the colour of Emma's hair. So golden, so soft.
He pulled his stretchy dress up over his head and he threw it on the floor, revealing a soft peach slip of silk worn beneath. It was actually one of mine, but because it just had thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders he was able to wear it too. Alan kissed me, and I felt his hands go around my waist and to the small of my back as he did so. Alan is taller than me. I was wearing high heels, but so was he now, so I had to lift myself into the kiss. It tasted glorious now that Alan outwardly resembled a woman.
“So I'm a slut now, am I?” he said with a laugh.
I nodded quickly. “On Gor I'd train you to be my pleasure slave.”
“Oh, would you? You are so kinky at times, Rache. God, you turn me on something bad.” It was true. Even with the restraining effect of two very tight pairs of knickers on, Alan's cock was pressing hard to get free.
“I would! I'd put you in pleasure silks and have you dance on the tiles while I lounged on a soft couch watching you hungrily with kohl rimmed eyes.”
“You know, for a girl who has nothing good to say about Gor, you certainly fantasise about it a lot.”
“Hush. Why are you still talking when you could be licking instead? Get down there, now!” I pointed to my sex and gave Alan a dominant stare. “Bear in mind I’m experienced in spanking girls who turn out to be displeasing.”
Alan moved between my thighs with his face and I sighed. “Oh yes… mmm… now that’s so much better than talking…”
“You are so going to be fucked tonight after Harschmort...” he said as he began kissing me furiously again. I tasted lipstick and the scent of my own sexual arousal from his mouth. My breathing grew ragged and I squeezed my eyes shut again, imagining him as Emma, imagining Emma doing these things to me. It was my dark secret – I could never tell him I fantasised about his sister.
I was on the bed now, on my back, and Alan was wrestling with my support garments. I squealed as he turned me on to my belly to get at the laces of my insufferable corset. And then he stopped, said “fuck it, this is too fiddly – you can wear it while we have sex,” and he simply pulled down my knickers instead. I managed to wriggle one foot free of them, but left the panties around my other ankle. I was breathless and yes, aroused, as he began kissing me between my legs. I moaned softly, knowing Alan loved the sight of me in a corset, seamed stockings, suspenders and all the rigid 1950s paraphernalia I was expected to wear now. He would be very hard because of it. His tongue and mouth touched my sex and I raised myself up higher on my knees to make it easier for him.
“Oh God, yes...” I sighed, gripping the headboard with both hands. “Fuck me like that, Ellen. Fuck me like a girl!”
And he did, rolling me onto my back, spreading my legs wide and addressing himself to my pleasure. I felt his mouth on me, his soft blonde wig hair touching my inner thighs. I crossed my wrists above my head, wishing now they were bound together, wishing now that Emma had bound them together.
“Please don't tie me,” I would say to her to her in my fantasies, as I imagined her gazing down at me with a switch in her hand, like that time when she had forced me to learn basic slave positions and to dance on Brinn's orders. I had been angry with her at first, but then over time and to my shame, I had grown turned on by her surprising dominance as a First Girl. I think that had been the first moment I had actually wanted her and the feelings of arousal had frightened me very much.
I came beautifully.
I felt Alan part my thighs further as his right hand reached down under his silk slip to pull down his knickers and free his penis.
“No Ellen, no… not like this…” I said as I felt him press the tip of his sex against mine.
“Rache, I really want you…” his breath was heavy with need.
“Not like this…” I drew my thighs together, forcing the tip of his penis away.
“You haven’t let me fuck you in ages, Rache…”
“You do fuck me. You fuck me beautifully, Ellen, with your mouth and your tongue.”
“You know what I mean. I want to fuck you with my cock.”
“Girls don’t have cocks, Ellen.” I had my thighs tightly together now as he ran his hands over them. There was slight pressure as he tried gently to move them apart, but I shook my head. “No, Ellen, I mean it.” He was excited – very excited now and rather out of character he tried rather more forcibly to separate my thighs. “I said NO!” He shrank back, upset, as I wriggled back in the bed. The men of Earth tend to obey women in the bedroom. We are in complete control of their sexual satisfaction. “I’ll give you a lovely orgasm, Ellen, but it will be a girl orgasm. Lie down.” I shifted to my side and patted the bed as I reclined on one arm. I could see how desperately Alan wanted to put me on my back and fuck me like a man, but I wasn’t comfortable with that while he looked like a girl. It would ruin the illusion that he was Emma.
“Rache, please… just this once. I’ll be gentle. You can tell me to stop if it gets too much. Let’s just try it, huh?”
“Lie on your back, Ellen. Be a good girl for me now.” And of course he did, because any orgasm is better than no orgasm. I kissed him long on the lips and rubbed my bare breasts against him, kissing further down past his neck. I reached over to the bedside table where I kept a bottle of lube inside the drawer.
“Do you want me, Ellen?” I whispered in a throaty voice.
“God, yes, you know I do.”
“Are you my little slut?”
“I’m your little slut, Rache.” His body was quivering with excitement as I pulled his knickers a bit further down so that his cock was completely free. It was very hard.
“Tell me you love being a girl. Tell me you love wearing soft silky things.”
“I love being a girl, Rache. I love wearing silky things.” He was moaning as I touched him around the base of his penis.
“Good girl. Very good girl. My little kajira.” I squirted some lube on the palms of my hands and spread it evenly. “Grip the head board with your hands, Ellen. Don’t let go. If you let go this will be over and I’ll spank you. Do you want to be spanked?”
“No.” Alan’s body was quivering.
“Mmm, no you don’t. I’d spank you very, very hard. So grip the head board like I tell you.” And he did. I placed my hands along his penis and began to glide softly, slowly masturbating him as he cried out little gasps of pleasure.
“Such a good girl.” I lowered my face down and kissed him again as I played with his shaft with my warm slippery hands. “Does that feel oh so good, baby?”
“Yes… yes...” he was groaning through clenched teeth and he did not dare let go of the head board, because Alan knew I would immediately stop if he did.
“I’m going to give you a girl orgasm by playing with your clitoris. Can you feel my fingers on your clitoris?”
Somewhere between soft groans of pleasure he said yes. I played with him for quite some time, bringing him close to the brink and then easing my touch, keeping him horny, aroused, desperate to come.
“Men don’t feel this good when they just stick their cocks in girls, do they?”
“No, they don’t…”
“This is what you love, Ellen. You’re a girl. You’re my slutty girl.” I began to play with him faster now and his groans and cries grew more extreme and beyond his control. Finally he squirted an impressive shot of ejaculate that flew high up into the air between my hands and landed in creamy droplets on his silk slip and over the bed covers. I watched as his body trembled for a while.
“Don’t let go of the head board,” I said in a strict voice. “Not until I tell you to.” I glided my hands down his thighs as he quivered with the last of his orgasm. And then I swung myself off the bed, picked up some tissues from a box and wiped my hands clean. I regarded Alan as he lay there in his peach silk slip, his wig somewhat disarrayed now, smudged lipstick on his face and his hands still gripping the head board.
“Can I…” he began.
“Yes.” I watched him release the head board and roll over on to his side, breathing heavily. It had been a good orgasm. I give good orgasms.
Alan’s eyes were directed at my left thigh as he lay on the bed. I always felt self conscious when he gazed at my kef brand. “Don’t,” I said as I placed my hand over it. The brand was exposed now that I only wore my corset, suspender belt and seamed stockings.
“We should talk about that, Rache. You’re never going to get over it otherwise.”
“You don’t ‘get over’ being a slave-girl on Gor,” I said as I climbed back onto the bed and snuggled down next to Alan, placing my head on his chest. He knew well enough by now not to touch me there.
“Talking is good. It helps.”
“You have no idea of the horror,” I said. “You have no idea. It's not something I can share in therapy.”
“It cuts me up inside to know that Emma is still there on that planet, on Gor.” He was used to calling his brother, Eric, by her new name now. I had repeatedly insisted that he had to think of his older brother as Emma. It was insulting if he didn’t. Emma wanted to be Emma; of that much I was certain.
“I know. I do too.” I stroked the silk slip that Alan wore. He felt good like this. I felt safe like this.
“Tell me something about Emma. Something you haven’t told me before.” He often asked me this. It was getting harder and harder to think of things to say after all this time.
“She was a bitch to Brinn in the early days. She used to tease him mercilessly when he was posing as a slave on Kurgus’s estate and she was free. Of course neither of us had any idea that the tables might eventually be turned. There was one time when we were walking through the market streets in Corcyrus and Brinn was with us in a plain grey slave tunic, carrying our bags. Emma was in a mood that day. I think it might have been a period and she wasn’t used to those. She had quite heavy periods when her body was first adjusting itself and settling down to the changes that Kur science had made. She would bleed heavily and there would be extreme cramps and muscle pain. It got better after a while once her body adjusted itself. But that day she was annoyed about everything. Brinn happened to smile at a slave-girl who was chained to a post in the market square. She smiled back and lowered her gaze, no doubt enjoying the attention from Brinn. Emma told him to stop that. Brinn wasn’t particularly fazed by her command. I don’t think he ever felt threatened by us, even though I suppose we could have had him whipped severely. I suppose we could even have asked Kurgus to kill him.”
“We continued walking around. I think I might have been shopping for a new perfume that day. I used to love shopping for perfume. Free Women have the most amazing perfumes on Gor. It's an art form. And regardless of what Emma had said, Brinn kept on gazing with undisguised lust at the slave girls in the market. I think he had been without sex for quite some time now and it showed. After a while Emma got immensely pissed off with this and brought us all to a stop.”
“What did I say?! she yelled at Brinn.”
“You told me not to look at the slave girls, said Brinn.”
“And you’re still doing it! said Emma in one of her hissy fits.”
“Apparently so, said Brinn.”
“I could have you whipped you know, said Emma.”
“Brinn couldn’t disagree with that, though he pointed out helpfully that Emma wasn’t carrying a whip. Back at the estate! I could have you whipped back at the estate! Was her reply.”
“We were attracting some attention now in the market place and quite a few men and some women were looking at us. One of the women stepped forward and told Emma that she had a slave crop with her and Emma could borrow it if her slave was giving her trouble. Emma was in the middle of a heavy period and she said yes. She told Brinn to kneel, remove his tunic and then she beat him in the market square five times. His body moved with each blow but he didn’t make a sound.”
“Emma whipped someone?” said Alan in disbelief.
“This was Gor. Things are different there. You adapt to the culture. You become a different person in time.”
“I think Emma grew distressed by the fact she couldn’t really hurt Brinn. She could of course ask a man to whip him, but that would be an admission of her inferiority and inability to punish a man on her own. Will you look at a slave again? asked Emma of Brinn. I expect so, he replied with a smile and then added, When I’m not looking at you of course.”
“I myself thought Brinn was really overstepping the mark here. I knew a lot of Free Women who would have really made him suffer for that remark. But Emma was speechless. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been on Gor long of course so she was still quite Earth like in her thinking. I saw her blush beneath her veils and her whip hand quivered as Brinn gazed at her the way he had gazed at the slave-girls. He had of course seen both Emma and I without our veils on in the past so he knew we were beautiful. Emma threw his tunic at him and told him to get up. She said we were going home, and so we did. Later that night I asked her if she was all right. I told her she could have Brinn disciplined on the estate and that she need not use him again as a personal slave. She seemed reluctant to do so. I think her body was beginning to ripen, to change in ways she didn’t understand. I think she was beginning to develop sexual feelings for men – strong, powerful men. I don’t think she understood what was happening hormonally inside her. The Kur machines appear to change you within 24 hours, but I think deep inside the change continues for a few more months. Emma became more feminine, more submissive, more aware of men the longer I spent with her. But for a long time she didn’t understand what was happening. And I think Brinn sensed something was going on as well. He sensed the chemical hormonal changes taking place even if he didn’t understand their origin. He knew he could relate to Emma as a Master to a natural slave. I don’t know if your sister was always a natural slave, but towards the end of the time that I knew her, she definitely became one.”
“And tell me something I don’t know about your time on Gor.”
I lay there and kissed his neck. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you have sex much there? From what you’ve told me before it sounds pretty fucked up for Free Women.”
I sighed. “I had sex, yes. Kurgus turned a blind eye to it provided I wasn’t in any way slave-like or submissive in what I did. I actually owned a couple of male silk slaves in a walled house in Corcyrus. I often wonder what happened to them and the house after I came back to Earth.”
“You… owned a couple of men?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “It was my secret. I didn’t even tell Emma. When I wanted sex I would chain one of them to my couch in the evening.” I laughed, seeing the expression in Alan’s eyes now. “I told you I was bad. Just imagine spending your nights being chained to my pleasure couch,” I stroked his face. “Do you think you might like that, hmm?”
Alan kissed me suddenly, and I returned the kiss.
“Is that a yes, little silk slave?” I said with another laugh.
“You are so fucking kinky at times, Rache. You’re making me hard again.”
“Mmm. Just imagine. Bathed by a slave-girl and powdered dry and brought to my marbled chamber to the great couch with its soft silken sheets and you’d be chained there knowing your Mistress would retire later on to enjoy you at her leisure.” I reached my hand down to his penis again and wrapped my fingers around it. “You’d be so helpless, so very helpless. And then after how long, there I would be, framed in the moonlight shimmering through the narrow windows, dressed in a flowing shift of soft silk. I would study your body with my eyes and then slowly approach like a predatory cat. Mee-ow! Hiss!”
Alan was moaning now as I began to stroke his manhood. “The silk shift would be held with just a couple of simple clasps at the shoulders of course. I would disrobe easily by releasing them. It would fall like liquid from around my shoulders and you would see how beautiful your Mistress was, and how hungry she was for you.”
Alan’s body was trembling at my side. My hand was gliding smoothly over his skin. “And then I would climb on to the couch astride your body and I would arouse you easily enough and then impale myself on you. Can you imagine that, Ellen? Me sliding on to your engorged clitoris and riding you to a powerful climax?”
Alan gasped and suddenly my hand felt wet and sticky. I smiled and kissed him again. “Good girl. Very good girl.”
I brushed hair away from my face with my clean hand and leaned back on one elbow watching his body quiver from the after shock of his second orgasm. “Two male silk slaves of course. It was better for them to know that they were in direct competition with one another to be pleasing. Men can be very competitive when it comes to the promise of sex with a woman.”
“Wow.” Alan lay on his back and stroked the silk slip that he wore with his hands.
“I could do that one night you know, Ellen. Chain you to my bed. Leave you there until I returned. Leave you helpless, knowing that when I returned I would undress at the foot of the bed without saying anything, and I would then climb up and use you for my pleasure. Would you like that?”
“You are so fucking hot, Rachel Evans…”
“Yes I am.”
“So, these silk slaves… were they safe to be around? I mean, you always tell me what Gorean men are like.”
“Someone seems to be very interested in the subject of being my male silk slave,” I said with a mischievous grin as I planted kisses on Alan’s body. “Hoping for a vacancy?”
“I just wondered, that’s all. You always say Gorean men are dangerous.”
“They are.” My eyes grew serious now. “Don’t forget that, ever. If we ever run into one, you shoot to kill. No hesitation. They will be warriors and they will not hesitate to kill you. When I say shoot, you aim to kill. No excuses.”
“And the ones you owned?”
“Not as dangerous, but I would not risk being in a bed chamber with one who wasn’t in some way secured. They were at best… domesticated I suppose, but like a cat, could scratch you without warning if you weren’t careful. I was always very careful. A woman has to be careful if she owns a man on Gor.”
“Did you ever have any problems with them?”
“No. But then I didn’t take any risks. I’m a survivor. I wouldn’t be here now if I wasn’t.”
“I… quite like the idea of being your male silk slave… occasionally…” said Alan.
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Mmm. Well, what if it turned out not to be quite so ‘occasionally’?”
“I wouldn’t want that. But maybe once in a while for fun. I quite like you being like this.”
“Like what?” I ran my hands under his silk slip and played with his nipples, twisting them with my nails.
“Ow! Christ, Rache, that hurts!”
“Oh, I can do far worse than that to my silk slaves…” I said as I nibbled his neck.
“You’re biting me…”
I withdrew my mouth, leaving a bite/kiss mark on the skin of his neck. “I can be very, very bad if I want to be…” I said as I playfully slapped his hand away from me as he reached out.
“How bad exactly?” asked Alan.
I rolled my eyes. “You won’t like me if I tell you.”
“It was a different place, Rache. I know that. How bad?”
I sighed. “I kept my two male silk slaves in kennels when I wasn’t making use of them.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Rachel! You kept men in kennels?!”
“You hate me now, don’t you?” I looked at him softly.
“It’s just… that’s a hell of a thing to do.”
“They were indoors, if that makes it any better. Warm and comfortable kennels. I could have had the kennels placed in the courtyard outside. Some women do. These were dangerous men, Ellen. Vicious brutes who would have raped me if they had the option. Not as dangerous as some, but even so, I wasn’t going to let them walk around the house late at night while I slept soundly in my bed.”
I sighed. “You shouldn’t ask me questions like this if you don’t want to hear the answers. It was Gor. I was there a long time. I wouldn’t do it now.”
“It’s wrong, Rache. As wrong as if they kept you in a kennel.”
“I know. You get enveloped by the culture there. After a while you forget what you’re doing is wrong because everyone you know does the same thing. Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep you in a kennel.” I stroked his face and kissed him again.
“Good to know you’ve changed since you returned to Earth.”
“Changed?” I smiled. “Don’t get too comfortable with that thought. It’s just that I don’t consider you dangerous enough that I need to chain you in a kennel at night when I go to bed.”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” I laughed. “How would you like it if I spanked you when you did something wrong?”
“Um, I’m not really into that, Rache.”
“And how would it make you feel if I did it anyway, knowing you didn’t really want it, but knowing I wouldn’t give you sex unless you submitted to it? Which you'd then have to?” My eyes sparkled as I gazed at him.
“That’s… that’s maybe a little more exciting…” he said after a while.
“You like the idea of me not giving you a choice sometimes?”
“If it gets you hot like this, Rache, then yeah.”
“Tell me how slutty my bitch is.” I rubbed the silk of his underslip against his penis. I felt it twitch again.
“Ellen is your bitch.”
“Mmm. And Ellen wants to be a good girl, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Alan, sounding aroused again.
“Then Ellen knows what to do.” I rolled over on to my back, took hold of Alan’s throat and as I parted my thighs, pulled him down towards me.
The second orgasm was as good as the first.
“I should shower and get changed,” said Alan as he extricated himself from my arms in post coital bliss.
“Please don’t. Let me just lie with you for a while longer like this.” I kissed him softly. “I like you like this. I feel safe.”
“You know I feel a bit funny being dressed like that after I’ve come. It’s not the same anymore,” said Alan.
“Just a little while longer. If you really love me…”
Those were the magic words. I could get Alan to do anything with the words, 'if you really love me…'
“Okay.” He snuggled close to me again. I could smell his soft feminine perfume. I felt the touch of good quality silk against my bare skin. I felt safe, warm, loved.
“I will get better, Ellen. I just need a little more time. I do care for you very much. It’s just… difficult. You have been so good to me over the years. I want to give you more, be more for you, but my life has been a nightmare for so long now. Sometimes I can’t truly believe it’s all over. I keep thinking they’re going to find me again. I keep thinking there will be a knock on the door and they will take me back. Sometimes I'm afraid to open my eyes again first thing in the morning, for fear I'll find myself back in a slave pen on Gor.”
“No one is ever going to hurt you again, Rache,” said Allan. “They’ll have to kill me first.”
“There has been so much death in my life. You have no idea. The things I’ve done.” I shivered. “You would hate me if you knew.”
“You were a scared young girl on an alien world where you could easily have been raped and enslaved. You didn’t have a lot of choice if you wanted to survive.”
“But people suffered because of me. So many people. I’m not the good person you think I am, Alan. I'm burdened with so much guilt.”
“Hush.” He stroked my hair and kissed me softly on my forehead. “You are everything to me, Miss Evans. And yeah, you’ve been a stroppy bitch sometimes, but you mean too much to me to let you go. The good times have been amazing. I will never give up on you.”
I sobbed and hugged him so tightly now. “It will all get better. 2024 will be better. I’m sure it will be. If you still want to share your life with an old lady like me? You’re an amazing man, Mr Anderson.”
We lay there for a time, just nestled next to each other, letting the afternoon pass.
“Have you ever considered the end game in all of this, Rache? What you actually want to achieve tonight?”
“The end game is to expose the Kurii before they become so powerful here that exposing them becomes impossible. They’re going to spread from America. They’re probably already making inroads into Europe, but there’s still time to expose their conspiracy in the press over there. I just need tangible proof. I’m hoping Harschmort will provide that. It’s all I can do. Someone has to do something. I can’t just run away and hide in a quiet corner of the world.”
“I really need to get out of this underwear and stockings, Rache,” said Alan with a laugh. “And you need to get ready for tonight.” He kissed me on the nose. “Make sure you have your iphone charged up. You’re useless at remembering to recharge it. Not to mention actually carrying it with you. And you still haven't downloaded our Christmas photos from last year. If anything happened to your phone all we'd have left is our memories.”
“Yes, Master,” I said with a sarcastic smile as I nestled close to him. “You’re just so bossy after you’ve come. I prefer you all pleading and needful when you’ve been without for a while,” I joked.
“Tough luck. Ellen has left the room and you’ve got a Royal Marine in your bed again. Get used to it over Christmas. Who knows... I might be the one dishing out some spankings if you don't bloody well download our Christmas photos from last year!” He rose and swung his stocking clad legs from the bed. I saw him sit on the edge of the bed for the moment and gaze at his reflection in the freestanding mirror by the side of the room. Smudged makeup or not, he still looked pretty good. But I saw him shake his head and pull the wig off. Yes, Ellen had left the room, and I wouldn't expect to see her again until Alan got totally wound up needing sex again.
“Bye-bye, Ellen,” I said softly. I wriggled my thighs together and lay on my belly. Ellen was good with her mouth and tongue.