Monday, 18 December 2017

Shadows of Gor Chapter Eleven (of Eighteen)

Chapter Eleven: The Chamber of Submission

“Behold, the so-called dominant male of Gor, on his knees, in a woman's chains, at your mercy, as it should be and as it will be in the New World that we craft from the old.”

The Silver Masked Domina's voice echoed in the great hall as she pointed to the centre of an elaborately ornate circle inscribed with occult glyphs and symbols. There were two heavy iron rings fixed into the cemented flagstones from which two heavy iron chains extended to the neck collars worn by two strong looking men. Both men were naked, and the length of the chains was such that they could not stand, or even rise much above a kneeling position. Their wrists were confined in close chains, maybe two inches apart, and these manacles were in turn secured to the neck chains. Their ankles were unsecured, but since they were unable to rise much from a kneeling position, that was of no threat to anyone.

The two men glared at Lady Enya and myself as we stood there in our aloof robes and gowns, clad in our ornate veils. They were Gorean men, and they therefore had the natural feelings of dominance that Gorean men enjoyed. It was not right, they would think, that they should be naked and chained before women.

“Approach them, Rosalita, Enya, touch them if you wish. It is safe. They are well secured and cannot hurt you. Examine them closely – regard the male of Gor for what he is – a lascivious, crude, single minded beast. Know, as you examine them, that they are beneath you. You are better, superior, finer in all regards except their brute strength. That is the only thing they possess that we do not and it is through that strength that they have established their dominance for so long. But now their strength is meaningless. Cold steel renders them helpless before you.”

I saw the men wrestle and pull at the heavy steel that bound them. They growled in warning as we looked at them, and I saw Enya flinch instinctively, because she had been brought up to fear men. I think I too flinched for I have slave reflexes drilled in to me over six years and my instinct is therefore to kneel and obey men. I had to remind myself that tonight I was playing a role, and that I was the Free Woman, Lady Rosalita of Port Kar, and not Emma, a simple Kajira. I had to remain indifferent to these men, and act as if I were free.

The Domina paced around the men showing no fear or caution whatsoever. No doubt she had seen how effective the heavy manacles could be and therefore she enjoyed the certainty that these powerful men were indeed helpless before her. With the butt of a slave whip she raised the chin of one of the men and gazed into his eyes. Of the two men he was of most interest to me. He looked particularly strong, proud, virile and consequently he seemed most angry at being secured.

“You are helpless now, aren't you, Beast?” said the Domina. “Helpless in your chains?”

“Remove my chains and we'll see who here is helpless,” said the man by way of reply.

The Domina shook her whip loose, slithered the strands cross the floor and then, without warning, struck the man across his back. He grunted, cried out, but he did not scream. He seemed to me to be very strong.

“Here in New Tharna you will learn to obey women, male,” said the Domina. “Here in New Tharna your world has changed. Men do not rule in New Tharna.”

“As I said, unchain me and we shall test the nature of your superiority,” said the man again. 

The Lady Enya and I stood in a circular hall around which there was a raised balcony accessed from a single stairway. I counted maybe twenty five robed women of Tharna standing on the balcony, gazing down at us with the enigmatic and impassive expressions moulded into their silver masks. They were here to witness our initiation into the Shadow Council tonight.

“Step forward, Rosalita,” said the Domina to me. “Take this opportunity to examine the male of our species closely. Be not afraid.” She gestured with her open left hand, offering either of the chained men for my inspection. I continued to find the outspoken man most interesting, and so I walked slowly towards him, adopting the regal pace of a Gorean Free Woman. When I stood maybe two paces from him, I paused.

“Tal, Lady,” he said with a sarcastic sneer.

“You refer to her as Domina,” said the silver masked woman, her voice tinged with warning. “You refer to all women in New Tharna as Domina.”

The man shrugged. He knew by now that he was quite helpless in his chains and could be killed at a whim. “Tal, Domina,” he said to me.

I chose not to speak to him, and the Silver Mask seemed to accept that was my right as a Free Woman of New Tharna. 

“Move closer,” she said, as she gazed up at the gallery on which the other women stood and watched. “Touch the beast as you wish. You have the right.”

With a soft smile hidden behind my silver mask, I did so. I touched first the man's broad chest, thickly corded with muscle, and then I ran my hand over his shoulders and upper arms. He was a strong brute, of that there was no doubt. It amused me to see how he responded to my touch, with a sudden rise of his penis. Gorean men are generally very sexually virile, unlike some socially conditioned men of Earth, and it takes little to arouse them to thoughts of sex. The soft touch of a woman is usually sufficient, as can be the mere sight of a semi-naked slave-girl performing obeisance on a tiled floor, or the sight of a naked girl, curled in his furs, helplessly secured there with a collar and chain arrangement.

“You see how the male responds,” said the Domina with her whip, addressing not just Enya and myself, but the raised gallery of masked women. “You see how distracted they become from the simplest of stimuli? The male is often a thrall to his lusts.”

It was true enough. As the man's penis grew erect, his breath hissed from beneath his teeth and and despite being manacled to his neck chain, the man tried to reach for me with his chained hands.  I laughed softly, seeing the frustration in his eyes as he failed to touch me.

“How cruel it must seem to him, to receive the pleasure of your casual touch, and be unable to then take matters into his own hands,” said the Domina as she joined me. Now she beckoned for Enya to approach the other chained male and inspect him the same way. “You see, Rosalita, you are in complete control here, as is the way it should be. You are the superior sex in New Tharna. The male has lost his only advantage over you – his strength, and with that gone, he cannot compete with your superiority in other areas.”

My hand moved down now, back over his chest, and down to his flat stomach. His stern blue eyes watched my every move, and I noticed how his muscles tensed to my touch. Still I said nothing, and I think the Domina approved of my silence, whereas she frowned at one or two half suppressed gasps from the Lady Enya when she began touching her own chained male. Most Free Women of course do not ever have the opportunity to explore a man's body in this way, unless they happen to be of sufficiently wealthy status to own and maintain one or more male silk slaves, but even if they are sufficiently wealthy, many Free Women fear owning such a man, perhaps dreading how they themselves might respond to his touches in return. I was a lot less shy around a man's body of course, owing to the fact that I had been a slave-girl for six years now. Touching a man intimately came naturally to me, and so my only concern was to not perhaps by accident display any of my sexual skills in knowing how and where and when to touch a man to maximum effect. That would seem curious, if not down right suspicious. 

The ceiling here was maybe thirty feet high and curved somewhat like a dome, with ancient frescos and murals inlaid on its inner surface, depicting ancient scenes of high caste men and women hunting. I thought the images rather strange for the context of New Tharna, as it was the figures of men predominantly who seemed to own the hunt, with their spears and bows, and hunting sleen, whereas the women seemed small and insignificant in comparison, but maybe the women of New Tharna lacked the ability to reach the inner roof in order to redecorate. Glass panels of crystal circled the rim of the domed ceiling, allowing light to spill through at angles to illuminate the internal walls of the hall.  

The inner edges of the staircase were painted antique cream and carpeted in rich burgundy. Tall indoor plants in wide tubs stood in recessed arches around the walls where light might reach them. But it was the ornate circle of occult origin that dominated the floor.

I now crouched down before the man, my expression hidden from view by my veils, as I placed my hand on his already erect penis. Instantly it grew rock hard to my soft touch, and I grinned some more to myself as I saw the look of surprise in the man's eyes. Once again his hands pulled at the confining chains, and he growled in frustration that he was helpless to respond. I felt his penis twitch uncontrollably between my loose grouping of fingers and I couldn't resist sliding them a single time up and down the length of his shaft. Now the man groaned and his muscles grew rigid again. The heavy steel chains stretched as far as they might go. His fingers opened and closed as he no doubt imagined taking hold of me, throwing me down on to my belly and quickly stripping the robes and gowns from my body. There was no mistaking that the man would have done that and more had he not been restrained. Beside me I could hear the soft mocking laughter of the Domina. She swished her whip along the flagstones, close to the man's feet, reminding him that not only was he helpless, but if he was at all displeasing he might he whipped again.   

“Such a dominant man of Gor,” she said in mocking tones. “You would like to seize her, wouldn't you? That is what your blood tells you to do now, you filthy brute?”

The man said nothing, but his breath was coming hard now, and his face betrayed his animal like lust for me. I stroked the tip of his cock, and heard him growl again. He truly was helpless before me.

“That is enough, Rosalita. Do not kneel before him any more.” I felt the butt of the whip touch my right shoulder and, nodding, I rose back to my feet. “You and the Lady Enya will both be escorted to private chambers. These brutes will be chained there to soft couches, awaiting your pleasure. Your initiation into our circle will then proceed. You will be expected to take the man for your pleasure, to dominate him, to use him as you see fit. He is to know your superiority, your dominance. You are to prove not only to us, but to yourselves, that you can dominate a man. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Good. Here in New Tharna an Initiate must be able to master a man. We have no place in our ranks for a woman who lacks the strength to do so. Will this man suit your needs?”

I nodded again.

“Then he will be taken to the chamber of submission, where he will be helpless before you. Take him for your pleasure. Prove to us that you understand which sex should be dominant on Gor. Prove to us that our faith in you is not misplaced.” The Domina clicked her fingers and from a small doorway in the circular hall came two women carrying heavy sirik chains between them. I watched as one of the women approached the man who knelt helplessly before Lady Enya. The other woman crossed over the flagstone floor towards the man who knelt at my feet. The sirik chains were locked upon him before the current manacles were then unlocked from his wrists. He gazed up at me, his penis still erect, as the women unlocked the chain from the ring set into the flagstone, and took it as a leash to convey the man from this chamber.

“I look forward to having you in the chamber of submission,” said my man to me as he stood there, ignoring the tug on his leash. He would not move until he was ready to do so, no matter how hard the silver masked woman pulled at his chain. He gazed at my veils, at my regal gowns and at my slippered feet. “You had best please me well in there, or else when I am eventually free, I shall beat you.”

“Beast!” The Domina took three paces towards him and then struck him across the back and shoulders three times with her whip. He was in pain, I could tell, but he didn't look at the Domina or respond to the blows except to grunt with each sharp cut of the blades on his skin.

I held up my hand in the universal signal for the Domina to stop, as if to say, he is just a man, he is helpless, he is weak before us, it does not matter what he says. And then I motioned for him to be taken away. The man grinned, seeing the way I stood there so aloof, so sure of myself, and then the man who was Brinn of the Sardar followed the silver mask as she led him back towards the doorway, which in turn would lead on to the chamber of submission.  


We had boarded the gondola tethered to wharf nine under the lights of the three Gorean moons. The Lady Enya and myself sat in the stern of the boat, kneeling as Free Women do, while the two men steered the Gondola down the twisting, turning labyrinth of canals that led deeper into the peripheral cluster of grand private houses that dotted this part of the lagoon. Marissa now lay on her belly on the low deck of the gondola where I had put her. I had adjusted the chaining of her wrists once we had boarded the vessel, choosing to secure them now behind her back rather than in front. This was partly for her own comfort, knowing she would be kept on her belly, but also for added security, for I was worried that the shock of what had happened to her might make her do something rash and stupid which in turn would endanger her life. With her wrists braceleted behind her back she was likely to be meeker, more docile, easier to control, for chaining a woman does that to her. I should know.

Marissa was a lot quieter now that she had been put to her belly in chains. I hoped she understood that this was only temporary for the pursuit of our mission and to preserve her life, and that I could not possibly mean her to be a slave for real. Even Samos would be unlikely to enforce slavery on her if she had gone along with the deception to uncover a major plot against the Council of Captains. Samos may be Samos, but he is also Gorean and with honour when it comes to the men and women who work for him. I hope Marissa understood that.

The Domina now knelt too, close to the centre of the gondola, facing us with her impassive silver masked expression. She said nothing as the gondola slowly made its way to the lagoon island where no doubt the conspiracy made its plans against Port Kar. As far as I could tell the Lady Rosalita and the Lady Enya had been contacted at some point, perhaps after third parties had satisfied themselves that they might be receptive to the beliefs and aims of the Shadow Council, and furthermore, useful to the cabal in some way, perhaps due to their position in society, or maybe their wealth, or maybe their access to useful information, and they had been invited to attend at wharf nine tonight to be then taken to this New Tharna where they would be initiated  into the Domina's order. I of course had been mistaken for Lady Rosalita and I could only hope that the features of her face were not widely known. On Gor a Lady often remains veiled, even when she receives visitors to her own house, though in such instances it is true that the veils may be lighter, less numerous, often semi-opaque. I was counting too on the fact that these women obviously favoured the wearing of the silver masks of old Tharna, and it would be easy enough for me to continue to disguise my features once I was given my own mask to wear.             

Out here on the canal waters itself I felt the onshore breeze through my robes and gowns as it blew in from the Thassa. I could hear the waves lapping against the hull of the boat and I could taste the salt spray as it settled on the soft fabric of my veils. The night sky seemed clear of clouds now and I could see, sparkling and illuminated there, the stars that might also be visible on Earth, but seen here from the perspective of another planet counter to that of my own. The chill wind tugged at my clothing and whipped loose strands of hair about my head until I pulled my hood further up in place. We passed many houses, most of them seeming grim and foreboding, each one set on its own private island with a private jetty and iron rails to guard against intruders. The houses seemed bleak, defensible as well they had to be in a city like Port Kar where even thieves have their own caste. Lanterns burned over doorways and at the edges of the private jetties where small boats might be moored, but there were few other signs of welcome from any of the houses. Most followed the convention of having few windows on the ground floor, and those that did exist were barred. Occasionally I saw lights burning in windows higher up on the first or second storeys where men might still be up, late in to the night, drinking paga perhaps, or furring with their slaves, for these were obviously wealthy households.           

Marissa was shivering where she lay for it was maybe twelve or thirteen degrees now, and she was not accustomed to being naked. I wanted to place a cloak over her small, slim body, but I was concerned that any sign of compassion might be viewed by the Domina, or even by the Lady Enya, with suspicion, and so I ignored Marissa's obvious signs of discomfort. We would soon be at our destination, and then once inside the house she would warm up.

“This is exciting,” said Lady Enya as she knelt beside me. “I suppose they must have contacted you unexpectedly too? You too share their goals and ambitions?” It was the first words she had spoken to me since I had struck the real Lady Rosalita and taken her clothing.

I nodded and regarded her. It was unlikely she knew of me, for the context of the question suggested a lack of familiarity.

“I will be a proud initiate of the Shadow Council,” said Lady Enya. “I look forward to the New World Order on Gor. Tharna will rise again. Hail Tharna!”

“Hail Tharna,” I said by way of reply. Most Gorean women of the cities of central Gor were familiar with the stories of Tharna of old, of how she had been that rare thing on Gor – a true and absolute Matriarchy, proud in its subjugation of men. Tharna had often been the subject of conversation amongst Free Women in private, when they met to drink ka-la-na wine. Rachel even had spoken of Tharna with me when we had drunk wine together in Corcyrus, back when I had been the Free Woman, the Lady Felicia. She of course had come to Gor too late to have experienced the old regime of Tharna for herself, for Tarl Cabot had apparently overthrown the regime there in the late 1960s, but the memory of it was still fresh in the minds of Goreans when Rachel had first donned the fabulous robes of the Free Woman and acted in the capacity of special agent to Kurgus and through him the Kurii.     

“Imagine it,” she had said as we drank a spicy peppery wine, rich and redolent with the flavours of blueberry and black olive, “a city in which women once ruled with an iron fist. The men there were second to us.”

I had laughed softly, imagining how wonderful it might be to be a woman, now that I was a woman, and I was still at that point excited and overcome with emotion at finding myself having a woman's body for real, whereas now I take it for granted and I think nothing of it except that it is natural to me, and to live in a city where my adopted sex was the dominant one.

“And now?” I had asked Rachel, “what is Tharna like now? Does it no longer have a Tatrix?”

“Oh, it has a Tatrix still, Lara by name – the same as before, but now Tharna is one of the harshest cities in which a Free Woman might live. A Free Woman of Tharna is given six months in which to find and arrange companionship with a man on his terms alone, and if in those six months she fails to do so, she is legally available to be collared. Few women remain free in Tharna now, and those that do dare not reproach men, for the men of Tharna have had enough of the rule of women.”

I regarded the Domina as she knelt opposite us. Did she truly believe a handful of renegade women might bring down male rule in Port Kar and begin to rebuild a society similar to Tharna? How unrealistic were her ambitions? I could see no way these women might accomplish such goals, for the men of Gor did not willingly surrender their dominance. What did they have apart from their secret meetings, their fantasies, and a handful of bought men who were loyal only so long as they were paid well? As soon as Samos understood who and what they were, he would have them all rounded up and placed in chains. Maybe he would present them all, naked and squealing in shock before the Council of Captains? These women, he would say, actually believed they could overthrow the natural order of Port Kar? Maybe they would all be branded in the main council chamber, one after another, and given to the Sea Captains to enjoy. They would soon learn that their vivid fantasies had no basis in reality.

Did they command great armies that might march and shake the very foundations of Gor?

I doubted it.

I suspected that the will of this 'New Tharna' extended no further than the private secure walls of their secret mansion where they pretended to themselves that the world outside their small insular domain could be overturned.

I wondered what the proud silver masked Domina looked like beneath her rich gowns and her formal silver mask. Was she beautiful? Was she slave beautiful, as Marisa and I were? Would she look good in a slave collar, on her knees, crawling before a Master? Would she make a good pleasure slave with sufficient training? Or would she perhaps be no more than a mere kettle girl, good for nothing more than cleaning pots in the kitchen?

I would not make that determination of course. Men would.            

Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old winding stone path which circled up from the wooden jetty towards the imposing building that stood on the summit of a natural island in the lagoon of canals. The men moored our gondola in place beside the creaking timbers of the private wharf and set about securing the vessel and lowering a railed gangplank that was built into the structure of the jetty. The Domina motioned for Lady Enya and myself to step onto the wharf first, which we did. I tapped Marissa with the tip of my shoe and urged her to stand, which she did with some difficulty, owing to her wrists being tightly braceleted behind her back.

The stone laid path extend upwards to a set of of creaky iron gates with spiked crenelations, flanked by similar iron railings overlapped by thick trees cowled in colours of ochre, green and russet, their leaves and branches swaying gently in the chill Thassa blown breeze. I saw an abandoned fountain, now overgrown with weeds at the threshold of the building, and nearby some marble figurine statues of Free Women that seemed incongruous to the more dated surroundings. These must be new, and perhaps a symbol of the building's new found purpose as the realm of New Tharna. 

I had no leash for Marissa and so I took hold of her long hair and bowed her head down so that she had to stumble along the stone path at my side. Again this was part of my act, my pretence, that I was a proud and arrogant Free Woman of Port Kar, and that she was now my property. I did not wish her any actual harm or humiliation, though she had certainly been a bitch back in the Sardar. But I had known many Free Women in my time, and I think compared to some of the others, Marissa's behaviour had been better than most. And I had witnessed her bravery, not only when she had been interrogated with a slave crop, but when she had overcome her fear of the deep water to climb down onto the pier supports. As Free Women went, she wasn't bad.

Mind you, that's definitely a case of damning with faint praise. I recall the comments of a scribe I once met in Corcyrus when I was free - Jowan of Ko-Ro-Ba – I think that had been his name. We had struck up a brief conversation over ka-la-na wine when he had attended a function hosted by Kurgus, and I had learned that he was originally from Andover, England, Earth and that he was documenting the strange world of Gor for his own personal interests. For reasons that escape me now, I had chosen not to reveal my own Earth origins, and especially not that back on Earth I had been a man, but I had asked him what he had thought of Free Women. At first he had been diplomatic, not wishing to offend, but as I grew irritated at his evasive response, I told him to speak plainly, for I found his reluctance to answer my question irritating. And so he did tell me what he thought of Free Women.

“Never have I met a more spoiled, entitled, shrewish and spiteful person than practically every Gorean Free Woman. From the lowliest peasant to the grandest Ubara, all of them treat slaves abominably, worse than their male peers do by an order of magnitude. They swan about swaddled in their robes haughtily and imperiously, treating everyone like crap. What beggars belief is that Gorean men go along with it and defer to women for the most part, at least so long as they are free.”

Well, I suppose I had asked for that.

The wine had been good though.

We ascended the stone path together, and somehow I found myself ahead of Lady Enya, leading Marissa by her hair. The iron gate was open and standing inside the threshold was a woman wearing another silver mask. A line of burning torches flanked the ascent to the gates, and from there on further to the great wooden doors that opened into the main hall of the building. As we neared the gates I saw that the woman was holding an engraved goblet in her right hand and a stiletto knife in her left hand. The meaning of these became clear as we reached the top of the stone path.

“Speak the word that shall offer you redemption from your suffering,” said the woman.

“Fidelio,” I said, offering the password I had heard earlier.

“And tell me which is mightier, the chalice or the sword?”

The symbolism was pretty clear to me. Obviously the chalice represented the vagina of a woman while the knife represented the penis of a man. I had seen some symbolism like that in hermetic themed writings back on Earth during my student days when I read a lot of horror and fantasy fiction.

“The chalice is mightier than the sword,” I said, which seemed the obvious answer. As I watched she raised the goblet high above her head and lowered the dagger point first towards the ground.

“Then enter, Ladies, and prepare for your rebirth before the sacred throne of Tharna.”

She stepped aside, permitting us to pass. Behind us came the Domina from the gondola, though the two men remained at the jetty, presumably to ensure we weren't disturbed tonight by passers by in the canal.  

The hallway leading towards the ceremonial hall was lined by impassive silver masked women. As we approached each one in turn, she turned her head to the side to face the next woman in line and reached out with her hand to touch the woman's shoulder. The ripple effect spread along the line as we walked through this honour guard of sorts and into the main chamber where we saw two naked men chained to the floor inside a ritual occult circle.

As soon as I saw the men my heart seemed to skip a beat. One of them was a stranger to me, but the other man was Brinn!

My Master was alive!

He of course had no idea who I was underneath these robes and veils. How could he know? One robed and veiled Free Woman is much like another on Gor, such is our anonymity. It confuses would be captors of course for they do not know in advance if a woman is worth attempting to abduct her. And that is one of the purposes of the robes of concealment – to protect Free Women from the violent attentions of men who do not share their home stone.

As we stood there, unsure what was supposed to happen now, the Domina from the gondola strode past us, picked up a coiled whip from a wall sconce and took her place before the chained men. 

“Behold, the so-called dominant male of Gor!”


Brinn regarded me with the stealthy gaze of a hunting Larl as I entered the chamber of submission. It was a small room compared to some of the others I had seen in the house, but as it served a single purpose there wasn't a great need for additional space. The centre of the room was taken up by a large couch on which Brinn was chained, lying on his back, prepared for my pleasure. His wrists had been drawn back to either side of his head where they had then been secured in heavy manacles attached to slave rings at the head of the couch. His legs had been spread wide and then, with ankle chains, secured to rings set at the base of the couch. He was of course quite naked.

“What is your name, woman?” he said as I paused in the doorway. One wall had a large built in mirror, maybe eight feet tall and ten feet wide, and I had reason to suspect it was in fact an observation window allowing someone in the adjoining rom to watch what was happening inside this one. I had seen enough films on Earth where a large pane of one directional glass appeared to be a mirror on one side, and a window on the other. I would have to be careful, it seemed, for I had the prickly feeling at the back of my neck that a silver masked woman was observing me now.

I did not think they could necessarily hear me for two reasons. Firstly such audio surveillance devices would be rare on Gor, and would probably be in direct contravention of the strict technology laws enforced by the Priest Kings. And secondly, the women of Tharna would have no reason to think I might wish to say anything of importance to a random man that they had chained to a couch. They had no way of course knowing that the man they had captured was in fact my Master, and that I had come to Port Kar precisely to find him.

Aside from the couch the room was dimly illuminated by coloured energy bulbs. I had seen their like before and I knew that passing my hand to the right of the bulb would intensify the light, and to the left would dim it somewhat. I chose to dim the bulbs slightly as I passed them. I wished to remain visible to whoever was observing me, for to do otherwise would suggest I knew I was being spied upon, but I wished to dim the light sufficiently that I might reduce the possibility of my brand being seen by Brinn.

I had two concerns, and the brand on my left thigh was one of them. While it was possible to have sex without revealing the flesh of my left thigh, I couldn't rule out the possibility of becoming careless during an orgasm. My second concern was my voice. Would Brinn recognise my voice if I spoke? Perhaps not. Back on Earth I sometimes tried to imitate European accents for fun, but invariably my attempts at French, Spanish and Italian all merged into some non-existent continental lilt. I was terrible at accents, but, and it was an important but, the accent I ended up with, despite it not sounding very French, Italian or Spanish, didn't sound like my usual voice. I would use it now when I spoke to Brinn. He would think it perhaps a strange accent – one he had never hard before – but he would not recognise the voice of his slave girl, or so I hoped.

“You may call me Domina,” I said as I glanced briefly at the mirrored surface to the right of the chamber. There was a low table there with a bota of red ka-la-na and a single goblet. I walked towards the table and, paying little attention now to the mirror, poured a long draught of the ruby red wine.

“I think not,” said Brinn as he lay there on the soft furs, chained helplessly. “But it would be in your best interest to tell me your name.”

“Oh?” I turned round with the wine goblet in my hand, adopting the haughty composure of a Free Woman. I was happy that Brinn had not recognised me from the first words I had spoke to him. “And why is that, male?”

“Because if you wish to enjoy me tonight, you will want me to do more than just lie here like a plank of wood. And that is what I will do unless you tell me your name. It is your choice.” His eyes regarded me carefully.

Oh, but this was going to be fun, I thought to myself. Brinn of course had no idea who I was. He was going to play his usual mind games with what he assumed to be a frigid and possibly virginal woman. 

“My name is Rosalita,” I said. “The Lady Rosalita.”

“There. Now we are beginning to reach an accord,” said Brinn with a smile. “Perhaps when this is over, when I am again free, and I have you stripped and chained and in a collar at my feet, I will name you Lita. I think that name will suit you, little Lita.”

Mind games. I had to stop myself from laughing. Oh, Brinn, I know you so well. You have no idea how well I know you. In a sense I knew exactly what to expect from him. I knew just what he would say to a Free Woman who had him here in chains.

Yes, I think this would be fun. I turned my back to the mirror. “You think you will be free?”

“I know I will be free,” said Brinn as he lay there in the furs, seemingly relaxed, despite the chains. “And when I am, I will come for you, little Lita. Have you ever felt the slave whip before?”

“No. No I haven't.” I suppose if I had been the real Lady Rosalita, these words might have seemed unsettling to me.    

“In that case you need to understand something,” said Brinn.

“Oh?” I said again as I crossed the floor with my glass of wine in hand.

“The number of strokes you will receive with the slave whip, once you find yourself in my chains, will naturally depend on the degree of pleasure you give me tonight,” said Brinn with a smile that I recognised only too well. “If you strive to please me tonight, I will show mercy to you, and will only administer a couple of introductory beatings. If however you prove inadequate when you take me, well, your whipping will be severe.”

“I see. So I am to give you pleasure tonight, in order to minimise any punishments I may receive when you somehow free yourself?” I touched my veiled chin with the finger of my free hand as if in alarm.

“Precisely,” said Brinn. “You may begin by undressing. Remove your robes. I wish to see your body.”

I couldn't drink the wine of course, for I dare not remove my veils, and so I set it down on the table. This was actually quite difficult for me. I was after all conditioned over six years to think and act submissively as a slave girl. My natural instincts urged me to drop to my knees before Brinn, to submit myself. My body was commanding me to do so with every fibre of its being. Deep inside I felt a conditioned unease at not obeying Brinn. It felt wrong, not because it was wrong – I understood that much  – but because I had been conditioned to obey. My pretence at freedom made me feel scared and unsure of myself now. I felt a pounding in my chest as I tried to control my breathing. Brinn may be chained but he still looked at me as a dominant man of Gor might, and it made me feel uneasy. If he found out in time who I was and how I had acted towards him, would I be punished? I think I would be, even though I had good reason to act this way.  

My silence prompted Brinn to add, “I gave you a command, Lita. You had better obey me.” 

“You seem very sure of yourself.” I could hear a hint of nervousness in my voice now, nervousness that came through from my slave conditioning. I hadn't expected that, and it made Brinn smiled, for he assumed it was instead a sign that a Free Woman was afraid of him.

“I am Brinn of the Sardar. Perhaps you have heard of me, little Lita?”

“Perhaps I have.” I placed my hands to the clasps of my outer robes. “Understand this, Brinn of the Sardar, I am disrobing now not because you have commanded me to do so, but because it is a necessity in order for me to take you in the furs.”

There was laughter from the couch. “You may think what you wish,” said Brinn. “The simple fact is I have given you a command and you are now obeying. That is good. That is a start.”

He was clever of course. He knew that a Free Woman would have to disrobe before taking him in the furs for pleasure, and so he issued a command for the woman to do what she would have to do anyway. The real Rosalita would no doubt now be feeling very confused and unsure of herself. As for me, I began to disrobe where Brinn could see me. I let robe after robe fall in a pool about my feet, until all I wore were the layers of veils about my face and a short silken sleeveless under-slip that was long enough to conceal my brand, but not so cumbersome and enveloping that it would get in the way of me mounting Brinn for sex.

“Ahh... “ now Brinn practically purred as he saw my body revealed in just the clingy silken under garment. “Very good. You do have a beautiful body. I can see your measurements are already within the preferred parameters for slave girls. I will not have to diet or exercise you at all after I place a collar about your throat.”

“You think so?” I said as I stood there and regarded him with one hand on my hip.

“Yes. You are lucky, Lita. You already have perfect slave curves. The sort of curves that would otherwise take a year or so of strict enforced diet and exercise to impose on newly collared girls. I am impressed.”   

“Perhaps that will mitigate the beating I will receive when you somehow free yourself?” I suggested, knowing he was well capable of imposing strict discipline as required. Would a Free Woman truly understand what a Free Man of Gor might do to her if the tables were turned? Perhaps deep down in her psyche she would know, but her dignity and her pride would make her ignore the obvious. 

Brinn frowned as I paced around the great couch where he was chained. I could imagine what he was thinking now – why wasn't I feeling more intimidated? Why wasn't I taking this rather more seriously?

“You are a strange woman, Lita. I can see your nervousness around me, but you do not seem timid when it comes to the subject of sex. You are not white silk, are you?”

“That is an impertinent question.”

Brinn laughed. “You may as well tell me, Lita. There will be no secrets once we couple together here on this couch. It will be obvious enough to me whether a man has opened you in the past.”

“Opened me?!” I adopted the angry pose I felt a Free Woman would make hearing that.

“Yes. Women are opened for subsequent use the first time sexual congress takes place. But surely you understand such things? I think you are red silk.” Brinn watched me again, watched the way I moved. “I think you have had sexual partners before. I think... yes, I think you crave sex. This will be interesting. I was expecting a shy, insecure bitch of a woman. Tell me, do you need sex Lita to feel fulfilled?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Excellent. I think too you do not normally turn to male silk slaves for your pleasures. You turn to men, don't you, little Lita? Free men? Free men who will give you the kind of sex you secretly crave?”

“Perhaps,” I said again.

“It is a shame for you that I am chained then,” said Brinn in languid relaxation. “The orgasm I will grant you will therefore be muted, a mere shadow of what it might otherwise be. That is not your fault I suppose. I suspect you have no way of freeing me from these chains, and you are intelligent enough to know that I would probably overpower you and escape after subjecting you first to delicious and exquisite slave rape at length in the furs. But since you have been honest with me, I will do what I can under the circumstances to enhance your orgasm.”

“You are very kind, I am sure.” Just hearing him made me feel slave hot already. Could he tell from my movements? My body had already oiled itself for use, and were I thrown to my back now, I could be penetrated with ease. And I wanted that. My body wanted that. I wanted Brinn free, to take me the way he would normally take me, without hesitation, like a Master.

“You may approach me now, Lita. You may arouse me as skilfully as you can with your hands. Normally I would tell you to do so with your mouth, but that will come later on another day when you wear my collar. Have you ever fantasised what it might be like to wear a collar and chain, lovely Lita?”

“Yes.” I realised what I had said just as soon as I said it. Thank God there wouldn't be any audio surveillance devices inside this room. No way would I want the women of Tharna to hear that.

Brinn grinned again. “You are very honest, Lita. That is good. We will talk about this another time. For now you have another command, and that command you must now obey. You will become used to obeying me in time. Begin now.”
I felt breathless as I walked to the side of the couch and placed my hand on Brinn's stomach. I could feel him tense as I did that, and so I stroked slowly down his stomach and down to the pubic hair that crested his groin. I smiled inside my veils as I saw his penis rise to my touch.

“You should fear me, Lita. You should fear me very much.”

“We shall see.” Now I moved my fingers to his penis, and I saw his body jerk against the chain restraints as his sex suddenly sprang up stiff to my touch. “Such a strong man of Gor,” I said, teasing him. “You seem to be excited...”

“Be careful how you speak to me, woman. You will regret this in time.”

“Listen to me very carefully now, Brinn of the Sardar,” I said as I climbed on to the raised couch and knelt with my knees together by his side as my fingers continued to stroke his engorged cock, bringing helpless grunts of pleasure to his throat. “You are chained helplessly to this couch, and easily aroused by my touch. I am going to mount you now and take my pleasure slowly from your body.” I knew what I did next would be observed through the one way pane of glass that appeared to be a mirror inside this room. “And then I will permit you to rest, before I do so again.”

“Be very carful how you speak to me, woman!” snarled Brinn.

“You can call me Domina,” I said as I raised myself up, carefully adjusted the hem of my slip so that my brand didn't show as I then sat myself down above the tip of his stiff, throbbing cock, and, with no further distractions, impaled myself upon him. 

I rode Brinn, controlling the movements of my hips, stroking his chest muscles with one hand as I gasped and bit my lower lip at the sheer exhilaration of sex again. It is important of course that I went easy, that I controlled the thrusts and contractions of my vagina as I rode his penis, for I did not wish to drive myself too mad with desire for fear that I might cry out in ways inappropriate for a haughty Free Woman of Gor. I did not wish to respond in any fashion that might suggest I had a slave belly. I would enjoy the sex, but only so far, only within he prescribed limits accorded to Free Women.

Only Brinn had other ideas. Despite being chained to the couch he was able to thrust himself, and he began to do so, anticipating the precise moments to thrust hard into me for maximum effect. I began to lose control over our combined strokes, and I began to whimper, deeply aroused, sweating, my body responding automatically to the waves of pleasure that were enveloping me.

“Don't do that!” I moaned as his powerful rhythm drove me to distraction. I writhed on top of him, gasping, sobbing, feeling the beginnings of a slave orgasm. No! I couldn't allow that! I could not, dare not respond to a slave orgasm! I stopped moving myself, to try and calm down, but Brinn did not stop. Unless I disengaged from him, he would drive me over the edge. “Please, no,” I whimpered, fearing terribly how my responses might soon be.

“But yes, Lita,” he growled between chained thrusts. “Do not rise from me! I forbid it!” he snapped in the most dominant tone I had ever heard him use. I couldn't move. My slave reflexes held me there, upon him, and I cried out, sobbing, overcome as I felt myself draw closer and closer to the edge of that orgasm. And I couldn't hold still, I began writhing on his body, scratching at his chest, contracting my own vaginal muscles, screaming with pleasure, as he made me come.

I lay then on his body, trembling, my skin damp with perspiration against his. I clutched at his arms as the powerful waves of climax set every nerve in my body on fire. For an ehn or two I was lost to bliss.

He had been chained to the couch, but my Master had still taken me.

“You respond well, slave,” said Brinn with a curious smile. There was something in his eyes that suggested this was more than a simple dig at my pride. Then a cold shock of concern made me quickly check the hem of my under-slip. No! During the frantic sex, the silk had ridden up my left thigh, and there, quite plainly for Brinn to see, was the Kajira brand. He knew I was a slave girl. Quickly I pulled the hem down over the brand, and I lifted myself up back up on to a sitting position over him.

“Too late,” he said with a smile. “The other women – they do not know your secret, do they?”

“Please, no...” I would have to tell him who I was now that he had seen the brand. I would have to tell him who I was and why I was here. “Brinn, I...” before I could say another word, the door to the chamber swung open, admitting two of the masked Tharna women dress in burgundy red gowns. I turned quickly and extricated myself from Brinn's body, smoothing down the hem of my under-slip again for safety. If Brinn said anything now I would be doomed, and ironically so would he be. But a quick glance at his eyes told me that he would preserve my secret for now. It no doubt amused him to know that he could ruin my life with just a few spoken words any time he chose. Little did he know that by doing so he would destroy any chance of rescue he might have.

“Well done, Lady Rosalita,” said the first of the women. She held in her hands a silver mask that she presented to me. “You are now of the Shadow Council. Hail Tharna!” she said.

“Hail Tharna,” I replied as I stood now on the floor beside her, away from the couch. I wanted my robes back. This under-slip was very short, and although it concealed my brand, I couldn't risk it riding up again. My veils felt a little loose and so I quickly readjusted them snuggly about my lower face.

“It is time for you to meet the Golden Mask of New Tharna – the woman who came to us three glorious years ago, and since then has lifted our cabal to the greatest glory we have ever known. She will deliver us from oppression, and within days destroy the Captain's Council of Port Kar.” The two women stepped aside as a third figure entered the room. She was dressed like the others in an ankle length blood red gown, with matching gold jewellery, but unlike the others she wore a mask of gold instead of silver. And in her case it was a half mask that only covered one side of her face. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as she spoke in a voice I recognised only too well.

“An age of wonders is almost upon us, Lady Rosalita. Come, let us show you what we have in store for our hated oppressors.”

It was Elizabeth Bentley. Mad, psychotic, unable to feel fear, Elizabeth Bentley, whom I fought with on the summit of Skaffel Peak nearly six years ago. Elizabeth fucking Bentley, still alive, and oh so very dangerous...   

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