Ubara of Gor Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Before Sunrise

Narrated from Bea Anderson's Point of View:

(Author note: this chapter references Bea's pov short story, 'The Last Halloween')

It's the single thought that's been running through my head all afternoon – am I going to sleep with Simon of the Sardar? And the answer is, I don't know – I really don't know. I'm impulsive. I've always been impulsive in life and I think that's one of the defining things that makes Bea Anderson the woman she is today, and there I go, thinking of myself in the third person which is a sign of how mixed up I must be these days. But the truth is I find Simon attractive, funny, pleasantly attentive, and he's the first Earth Man I've met since I was abducted to Gor nearly seven years ago. So yes, of course I didn't want him to simply conduct his business and leave. If nothing else we have a connection through our home planet that I'd like to explore.

But I really don't know if I'm going to sleep with him. I keep thinking, possibly yes, and then definitely no. Because it's not an easy decision to make at all. This is Gor and there are innumerable social barriers standing between physical intimacy between a man and a free woman. If Simon had been Gorean I would never have flirted with him in the shameless way I had done. That would have courted trouble. But the fact that he's from Earth – Britain even – well, I'm impulsive. Bea Anderson has always been impulsive, and one day it will no doubt be the death of me on this strange, often beautiful, often savage world.

But damn, he's good looking. Tall, strong, and he carries off that long pony tail pretty well, which isn't something I'd normally say, because men with pony tails never really did it for me in London. But girl, you have been without sex for seven years now. Christ on a bike, seven years? My clitoris has probably withered and died in that time. Seven years? How is that even possible? There are probably Catholic nuns who can't match that record.

Simon was right about one thing – this is a very sexual world, and everywhere I look I'm confronted by its vibrant sexuality, which makes it all the harder to be frustratingly celibate. The men here are strong and virile, but I don't dare flirt with any of them. So long as I appear chaste and virtuous I'm safe. They respect me, they pay me compliments; they tell me how beautiful my eyes and nails are for example. It's laughable really, but there you go. Mkufu expects high standards from me at all times. A minimum of three veils while working in the Slaver House. Gowns that drape over my slippered feet. Ankles are not to be flaunted. Long billowing sleeves, and I must be careful when I lift my hands not to expose my wrists. Gloves would be preferred by Mkufu but he accepts that I'm from the Northern hemisphere and would find the wearing of gloves in an equatorial environment uncomfortable. But most of all I'm not to wear any sort of belt that might gather my robes in and highlight the shape of my body. My gowns are to remain loose and flowing at all times. No wonder Gorean men give me no more than a passing glance when I'm in the market place. I could be as ugly as a sand sleen for all they know.

Seven years. How have I survived that long without so much as a soft caress?

But no, I don't know whether I'm going to actually sleep with Simon. I'm not sure that would even be practical. Mkufu would not allow me to bring a man back to his house, and there are few places in Schendi where an illicit and clandestine meeting might take place. Nearly all of them involve back street buildings where curtained alcoves can be paid for by the hour. They serve the needs of a crowded population who often live in small rooms in large social groups where there is little to no privacy. Any free woman who chose to book such an alcove for an hour or two... well, her name would be noted. The owner would ask to see her papers. Why did she require an alcove? Was she Free Companioned? Why was her Free Companion not making the arrangements? And I have to remember that as a white woman in Schendi I am well known in the parts of the city that I frequent. I stand out because of the colour of my skin and have no hope of any form of anonymity. Word would get back to Mkufu that his apprentice slaver has been seen acting inappropriately for a free woman.

I am always trapped, helpless in the yawning maw of Gorean social customs.

So no, there is no practical way that Simon and myself will have sex. It's just a tantalising pipe dream. But I will enjoy his company. God, just to go out for an evening in the company of a man that I will have so much in common with... I'm excited. I'm actually giddy and thrilled. At the very least we'll touch briefly – hands held together as we walk from the cafe. We may even possibly kiss. I hardly remember what that's like. And he may even be bold enough to put his hands on my hips when we say goodbye. Small things, I know, but after seven years...

Mkufu allowed me to close the House an hour early today because I had made a decent sale through Simon. A selection of collars, some bottles of slave wine, a packet of tassa powder, numerous lengths of chain, padlocks, slave bracelets and ankle cuffs and some new whips. The Ubara of the Black Coast is always a good customer, though I have never actually met her. Mkufu has, but not me. Everyone in Schendi knows of her reputation though. It is hard to believe a woman on Gor can gain such notoriety, but Yishana is a legend in the equatorial waters. And I suspect she is a living bogeyman when it comes to Cosian shipping. One day they say the navies of Cos will tire of her relentless attacks on merchant shipping and like a slumbering Larl it will rouse to hunt her down, but until then she plies the waters of the main shipping lanes attacking Cosian flags at will. Many of the white slave girls in Schendi once knew Cosian Home Stones and they form a significant percentage of white slaves overall, far more so than women from any other foreign state. Cosian women make good slaves. I've handled and marketed maybe fifteen of them in the past. They price well once they undergo some basic training and we turn an excellent profit on our investments. On the whole they seem to be natural slaves with high sex drives once they are broken in.

Simon was right too about Earth woman. They do make excellent slaves here on Gor. Quite obviously this is simply a factor of the type of Earth women who are spotted on Earth by the Gorean slavers and marked down for abduction. It is always natural slave stock that is brought across space to this Counter Earth so it stands to reason that all the Earth women I meet are suitable for the collar. At first I felt sorry for them. How could I not? I'm not a sadist. But then over time I began to realise who they were. These were the women I had unsuccessfully competed with when I was a teenager and a young woman. The rich, entitled, incredibly beautiful bitches who often made my life miserable at school and in the office. The popular ones – the women who could get anything they wanted, anyone they wanted with just a flutter of their eyelashes. The ones who could steal my boyfriend without even trying. The ones who wore designer clothes and a trust fund. Or even if they weren't born rich, they were so beautiful that they could wheedle anything they wanted from men who did have money to spend on them. The shock on their faces when they realised how their lives had suddenly changed. And they were such sluts! Gradually as the years went by it became harder and harder to identify with them, to empathise with them, to think they deserved saving. And the way they could drive the men of Gor wild with desire for their slutty bodies. Free women on Gor despise slave girls, and I soon understood why. Although they have nothing, in another sense they have everything. I see them in the market place in their short tunics, long limbs on display and I see how men look at them. I see how the collar makes beautiful women even more beautiful to the masculine sex.

And I in turn am complimented on my pretty nails and beautiful eyes by strong virile men who simply approve of my chaste appearance.

So no, I have no sympathy towards slaves any more. I will profit from them if nothing else. If I cannot be sexually content on Gor then I will at least be wealthy, because when you are a free woman money can provide you with the security you need to survive on such a primitive world. I will buy and sell these girls without a second thought for what has happened to them because from what I have seen of their behaviour they deserve the collar. They deserve to be slaves.

I have this fantasy. You may think less of me for it, but there was a woman at university who made my life hell. Her name was Chantelle Pérèle, and she was so beautiful that she could have anything she wanted, and she knew that. She would pretend to be best friends with all of us, but only so long as we did what she said, for she could cut us dead with just a few words and turn our peers against us if we crossed her. And she would belittle us and then say it was only a joke, and how fabulous we really were, but if she didn't get her way in every little thing we would suddenly find ourselves cut off from the thriving social scene simply because we were no longer in her favour and what she said dictated who was 'in' and who was 'out'. That was the power she had. And of course she came on to any good looking boyfriend any of us had, because she knew she could have those boyfriends at the drop of a hat, even though they meant nothing to her really. It's like that country and western song: Jolene, where a woman begs Jolene not to take away her man, but by the end of the song you know Jolene will do so anyway, not because she wants him, but just because she can. And then when she's proved her point, she'll dump him. I always thought Jolene was a bitch; Jolene with her flaming locks of auburn hair, her ivory skin and eyes of emerald green. We can't compete with Jolene. Our boyfriends will always secretly want Jolene. And yes, Chantelle was like Jolene in so many ways. And so I have this fantasy that one day the haughty, insufferable Miss Chantelle Pérèle will be abducted from Gor and find herself in a collar in the House of Mkufu where she can be the slave she was meant to be.

I don't even think I want to be cruel to her. I just want to see her enslaved.

I suppose in Gorean terms tonight can be considered a 'date'. A man is going to call upon me and escort me to the centre of Schendi where we will dine on good food and wine, walk together for a while through the lantern lit public garden and then see me home with a few carefully chosen compliments that would not be considered risque and forward and then perhaps kiss me on the back of my outstretched hand. That's the Gorean way.

I can't believe how incredibly nervous I am about the whole thing. I have no illusions of course that I am anything more than a novelty to Simon. On board the Larl of the Thassa as part of Yishana's crew he will have his pick of both experienced slaves and newly collared women. If he has been on Gor for several years then he will by now be very experienced sexually, and he will know what he wants, and what he wants will not include frigid Gorean free women. Why look for a dry crust of bread when you can dine on a veritable feast? But I am from Earth, and I will be, I think, a novelty. He will know I do not necessarily share deep set sexual conditioning that prevents a Gorean free woman from being intimate. He will not be used to spending time with a free woman, and perhaps for one night at least that will be different enough to make him interested.

Interested in me.

I'm definitely going to flirt with him, quietly though, without other men and especially not women noticing. I think that will be thrilling. By the end of the night I want him to desperately want to kiss me. Hell, I want him to want to do much more than that, but realistically we'll part with delicious kisses.

I'll savour those kisses. He looks very strong.

And so I spend some time preparing for my date, like I used to do when I was a young girl. I pick out my prettiest gown – layers of silk in a soft very light blue and an under-gown of white to ensure the light silk is truly opaque. But underneath it I'm going to wear a scandalously brief figure hugging slip of the softest silk a free woman would dare buy. I've always done this. Whenever I used to date in London, I would always dress in the sort of lingerie that I would feel good in if my date undressed me at the end of the evening, even though I had no intention on such an early date of actually going to bed with him. It's a common thing for women – we have no intention of sleeping with you early on, but the garments that touch our skin are the sort of garments you'd want us to wear if we did sleep together that night. It's part of the allure that makes us feel good about ourselves, adds to our confidence, makes us believe we are sexually attractive. The slip is so short that it could easily be confused for a slave garment if it wasn't so well made, so expensive, and was purchased from a discrete shop that only sold garments for free women. I felt almost ashamed when I picked it out from the rail, took it to the woman who ran the store and asked to buy it. She gave me a look. I'll always remember that look – as if by picking out the skimpy slip I was somehow saying something revealing about myself. How dare she. There was almost an accusation in that gaze. I did not like her. She was the sort of woman that on Earth I would think of as a condescending judgmental bitch.

The slip was very expensive. Far too expensive for a slave to wear. It was certainly not a slave garment in any way whatsoever, but if a slave wore it you would possibly assume it was. It was very pretty. Well, more than that it was sexy. Any woman who wore that slip would feel sexy in it.

She said nothing as she took my money.

I don't think she particularly liked me.

I am wearing the slip tonight, beneath my under-gown which in turn lies beneath my beautiful outer gown. I can feel the slip against my skin, and I am aware crucially of the parts of my body that are not touched by the exquisite silk. I feel good. I feel attractive. Simon will never see the slip, but I will know it's there.

I've used some cosmetics. Okay, slave cosmetics. We have plenty in the house. I pencil in my eyes with lines of kohl to make them pop. I of course do not line them as heavily as I would do a slave's eyes if I was preparing her for a private sale. That would not be appropriate. free women are permitted to use eyeliner in moderation but there is a fine line, and tonight I tread dangerously close to the other side of that line.

I am of Earth after all, and I am meeting a man of Earth. Had he been Gorean, the eyeliner would perhaps have been a lot more subtle.

I will be veiled, but I want to look my best underneath the veil for I have this delicious fantasy that as the night draws to a close I may briefly, if we have a degree of privacy, lift my veil to allow Simon to see and to kiss me. And so I colour my lips in a way no free woman in Schendi would dare. Lipstick is a slave cosmetic, but no one will see it under the layers of veils. It will be my secret.

Well, maybe Simon may see it at the end of the night. Or maybe the place will be dimly lit and he won't be aware of the lipstick until he tastes it on me. Maybe the taste of the lipstick and the knowledge it is there – that I have coloured my lips for him deliberately – maybe that will stir his emotions and lead him to place his hands on my hips as he kisses me, as I press my body lightly to his during the kiss. Such things are daring in Gorean society, but I know from other free women that they do happen.

Seven years.

There are a few duties I have to attend to before Simon arrives of course. The ledgers for the business of the day have to be inked in. Mkufu is strict about that. I take the four black girls, including Timita, in for the night and lock them in the pens in our cellar. I give Timita some candies, making it clear to the other girls why she deserves them. The other three girls I lock in close chains so they will have an uncomfortable night's sleep.

“Please, Mistress...” says Ulula in despair as she feels her wrists drawn and locked to her ankles with just twelve inches of chain links between them.

“Do better tomorrow, slut,” I say. “I don't want to have to lower your price.” You would think they would work harder to find a buyer. Why would they want to stay in a slaver house any longer than necessary? If I were a slave I would not want to spend my nights in this dank cellar. But then I am not a slave. How can I understand what goes through a slave's mind? I would have to be a slave myself to even begin to know.

I take the other girls – those who had been chained to the rings inside the house – down to the cellar too. They are lower priced stock, two and three copper tarsk girls that sell reasonably quickly compared to the five to eight tarsk girls we exhibit outside. Men buy and sell such girls when they want variety, trading them in like used cars.

I do not forget to update the ledger of acquisitions with details of the three girls I purchased from Simon. I letter in their original names, as they have not yet been given new ones, along with pertinent physical details that identify them should any determination of their identity be required. The details include such things as wrist and ankle sizes, collar size, hair colour, body shape, height, weight, distinguishing marks, details of any current diet, inoculations, brands (though these girls have not yet been branded – another expense we will have to incur) and previous castes. The detailing is quite extensive as you would expect from a slaver house. We also routinely take finger and toe prints to place on record. Once a slave is entered into our system, she is catalogued for posterity. Should you buy a girl from us we supply you with a copy of the record that assists you if you choose to sell her on at a later date. This is why it is always preferable to buy from an established slaver house as opposed to some bandit you may encounter in a paga tavern. Our girls come with a certified pedigree. Who knows what you might end up buying from Rufus the Outlaw?

Once I have the former Ladies Carolina, Consuella and Loella recorded, I assign likely starting prices for them. Consuella is quite the beauty, and I mark her down with a suggested price of 120 copper tarsks. Loella is next priced at 90 and after some deliberation I decide to try Carolina at 60 copper tarsks. I think I can improve on this with a controlled diet as she needs to lose maybe eight pounds to appear sleeker. It is easy to control the diet of a slave of course. What they eat is your prerogative. The girls are likely to sell quickly due to their white skin. I wasn't particularly honest with Simon when I told him the market was slow even for white skinned girls. Serves him right for not understanding the current market prices. If he had known the reality, he could probably have obtained twice what he did easily enough.

I lead the former Cosian ladies outside into the early evening sunshine where the four chain positions are now vacant. One of the things I like to do is display tempting new stock overnight for passers by to see. The House of Mkufu although small is well situated on a main thoroughfare leading to the centre of the city that opens up at night time for eating and drinking. We therefore enjoy a healthy footfall during the night going past our house, and chain displays make customers eager to call in once we open in the morning. I secure Consuella on her own on one of the two display chains fastened to the right side of the iron gates. Loella and Carolina I secure together on the two display chains on the left hand side of the iron gate. They will be left out tonight for passers by to see. Above the gate is a small blackboard slotted into a groove that I remove and wipe clean. Previously it advertised our daytime display girls, but now I chalk on it new words that read: 'New white skinned acquisitions (untrained) – Enquire within'. With a bit of luck there will be interested parties waiting for the shop to open tomorrow morning. Which reminds me, if the evening turns out to be as interesting as I hope it might be, I do not relish getting up in the early hours to open up after a night of palm wine. Luckily there is no need. We employ two black skinned men as security and to do manual work around the house. I instruct Naftali that I might be late in tomorrow and to open up without me.

I routinely check the locks on the collar chains on all three girls. We enjoy the added security of regular night time patrols through our quarter which means there is little to no risk anyone might try to steal the girls, but even so good quality locks are always used. It is likely of course that one or more of the girls will be roughly handled and used by men late at night, and there's nothing any of them can do about it. I have in the past thought long and hard about this. On the one hand men can be rough with girls that are left chained outside of a house, and I would not want any permanent marks to be inflicted on untrained girls who might be foolish enough to try and resist, but on the other hand leaving girls out for use soon becomes public knowledge and young men will often make their way to our house after drinking somewhere just to see what is on display. It is all good advertising.

“You can't mean to leave us out here!” cried the former Lady Consuella as she realised I was in the process of shutting up shop. “I am a Lady of Cos! Anything could happen to me tonight!”

“Be quiet or I will gag you,” I say as I mark her right breast with the number 120. She gazes down at the number and seems troubled by it.

“120 silver tarsks. Surely I am worth more than that?”

“Copper, not silver,” I say. The look on her face right now is priceless. She obviously doesn't understand that 120 copper tarsks is actually a premium price for an untrained white skinned girl in Schendi. I mark the other two girls similarly, and just like that there is now a pecking order as each girl realises with a shock how they are valued compared to one another. Consuella gazes at her former friend, Carolina, and smiles, despite their common predicament. There is a matter of sixty copper tarsks between them. Now they both know. It is only when women are enslaved that they truly get to know precisely how they rank on the beauty scale. I think I am something of an expert on the subject after working for Mkufu for many years. I even have a rough idea of what my price would be if I were a slave.

The day is done and I watch as Naftali and Kabir swing the heavy iron gates closed. I watch as they are padlocked shut. Naftali offers me the key and I sigh, reminding him that he will be opening up in the morning. Besides which, I have the keys to the side door. He never remembers this. I catch sight of the two men regarding the new slaves on display, secured with strong collar chains. Naftali in particular has always dreamed of owning such a girl, I know, but these girls are priced well outside their means.

Naftali touches Consuella and I hear her scream. I watch as she shrinks back as far as she can against the wooden palisade wall, drawing her legs up under her chin. She is very scared as Naftali simply drags her legs away again, separates them and slaps her hard across her face. When he touches her again she doesn't scream, but I can see tears in her eyes as she looks to me for mercy.

As if I'm going to suddenly tell Naftali to stop touching her.

I have no interest in watching what happens next so I walk round to the side of the house where I unlock the side door and retire into the small sales office to await Simon's arrival away from the stifling heat of the early evening sun.

I had asked Kabir to wait around until Simon arrived. This is just sensible caution on my part and pretty much routine if you happen to be a free woman. Men cannot always be trusted, and that is even true for men you know well. At least in the case of Kabir he received coin to protect me. Coin from Mkufu, granted, but coin nonetheless. When I heard the knock on the side door I took a moment to check my hair in a wall mirror and, pleased with what I saw, I adjusted my veil a little to ensure that the pins were firmly in place before I stood up and said they could come in. The tall figure of Kabir opened the door and peered inside to ensure I was ready. He had one hand on the hilt of his sword as he used the other one to turn the handle. Behind him was Simon in a clean, smart tunic. I think he had bathed in one of the public baths since I saw him earlier, and a barber had shaved his chin from the week old stubble. I felt a shiver of excitement course through my body as I stepped forward, offering the back of my hand for him to kiss.

“Lady Beatrice,” said Simon as he took my hand and pressed his lips lightly to the bare skin. I felt a tingle and I knew this was going to be a good night. “Your gown is very pretty,” he said as he looked down at me.

“Why, thank you.”

“And your nails are exquisite.”

“Thank you again.”

“And I like what you have done with your eyes.” He had noticed the kohl lines.

“You are very kind.”

“A very pleasant perfume too,” added Simon possibly now exhausting fully the list of acceptable courtesies a man might offer a free woman without being vulgar. “It is very feminine.”

“I would hope so.” I smiled beneath my veil. The perfume was soft and floral, a million miles away from the unabashed, sensual, passionate, spicy notes of slave perfumes. My scent was sophisticated and refined in contrast.

“Well, here I am.” He stood there, noticing perhaps that the hulking figure of Kabir had chosen to remain. “Are we to be a threesome for dinner?” He cast an amused smiled at Kabir who did not smile back.

“Oh, Simon, this is Kabir; Kabir, this is Simon of the Sardar. No, Kabir will not be joining us.” I walked up to Kabir and as he held out his hand I counted out two copper tarsks from a delicate little pouch that hung on my belt. “Thank you for waiting, Kabir. Enjoy your night.”

“Lady.” He nodded at me and then cast a suspicious eye back at Simon who pretended not to notice it. I waited until he had gone and the door was closed before I burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry. This must all seem very formal to you, Simon. Welcome to my world!”

“I am sure your precautions are sensible and well founded,” said Simon. He presented me with a small box that was gift wrapped. “I had some time this afternoon so I went shopping. I hope you like it.”

“I'm sure I will. This is very kind of you.” I accepted the box and held it in my hands. “Do I open it now?”

“If you like.”

I unwrapped the package carefully, delicately, peeling away the soft paper with my nails until I found what was inside. An antique broach of precious metal with an inlaid set of small gem stones. “This is beautiful, Simon.”

“If I may?” When I didn't object to that request he reached out, took the broach and fastened it to my gown above my right breast. I felt a tingle of excitement again as his hand strayed perilously close to my breast. He almost but not quite touched it. “Exquisite. The colour of the stones complements your eyes perfectly.”

“I... I have it in mind for us to eat at a pleasant cafe not more than three streets from here. Afterwards the cafe grounds back on to the lantern lit garden where men and women walk together in perfect safety. We can enjoy the warm evening together?”

“As you wish.” Simon smiled. “I am a stranger to Schendi so I leave the options to you, the expert.”

I laughed softly and nodded. “Then come, my brawny escort. Tonight I will be your gentle Lady as we walk the park together.”

“I hope so,” said Simon with a smile. “I have been looking forward to this all day.”

It felt good to walk these familiar streets with Simon at my side. As escorts go he was an impressive one and I saw numerous women cast jealous glances at the two of us. I spoke as we walked, pointing out particular pieces of architecture along the way. Many of the buildings in this area were old slaver houses and for Simon's sake I provided mildly salacious details of my competitors.

“This one,” I said as we strolled past a grim looking building with three display posts at the front, “is the House of Kovu. There is no love lost between us. They often accuse us of malpractice and vice versa. We are fierce rivals at auctions.”

“Does Yishana do business with them?” asked Simon.

“To my knowledge, no, but if she did, perhaps you could put in a good word for me? I would rather she didn't push any business through to House Kovu.”

Simon made a point of wanting to stop at the House of Kovu for a moment to take a look at it. It was slightly bigger than my own house, and possibly more secure. Three girls were chained to the display posts by neck chains and since we were here I took the opportunity to check out the quality of their stock compared to my own. Two of the women were black and one was white skinned. “An Earth girl,” I said as I checked her teeth, noticing the metal fillings at the side. “They're becoming more common lately. If we're not careful the market will be flooded with Earth girls and that will affect the price.”

“Perhaps one day you may acquire someone from Earth that you once knew?” suggested Simon.

“Unlikely,” I said, but I was reminded again of my fantasy that one day the insufferable Chantelle Pérèle might end up in Schendi in a collar. “The odds against it are very high.”

“But if you did? A former acquaintance from London, say? What would you do?”

“What I always do. Market her and sell her. If she was brought to Gor then that means she's a natural slave. The slavers who travel to Earth have a good eye for sluts.”

“And yet you were brought to Gor too,” suggested Simon with a smile.

“That was... the circumstances were very different. I wasn't chosen because of any slave potential.”

“Oh?” Simon regarded me with interest. I was acutely aware now of the way he regarded my belted figure. I had perhaps chosen a snug belt that accentuated the difference between my hips and my breasts. Again I felt a tingle of excitement as I knew his eyes were undoubtedly assessing what he could see and speculating on what he could not.

“I was to be a bargaining chip. An insurance of sorts to ensure compliance from someone else if it proved necessary.”

“I am very intrigued,” said Simon.

“I was selected very carefully. I was acquired to order you might say.” I thought again of the night seven long years ago when the slaver Udumi came to my flat with an accomplice and a heavy bag full of chains and asked me whether I truly wanted to know what had happened to my brother, Eric Michael Anderson. That night I had been drugged, placed in the canvas sack and transported to a remote field where a silver ship awaited. Then, along with twenty to thirty other girls I had been stripped of my clothes, placed in special capsules and transported to the far side of our sun.

“You could argue that all Earth girls are acquired to order,” suggested to Simon. “If the slavers who operate on Earth are as analytical and quality minded as you suggest.”

“They are. But the important thing here is that I wasn't selected to be a slave. Other requirements took precedence.”

“So what happened?”

“I was placed in the safe keeping of a man called Mkufu. He worked for a powerful man who was engaged in what is often referred to as the Game of Worlds. I was to be a sort of bargaining chip.” Simon's face betrayed no recognition of this phrase. I thought of Kurgus in whose villa I found myself when I awakened from drugged sleep, having been transported across space. I recalled how he told me that I was to be a back up form of coercion to be used against my brother, who seemed to be working for him in some capacity on Gor. And that provided my brother did what was expected of him, I would not be harmed. “Mkufu is a slaver by trade, but he was gentle with me because he had been told to act that way. I wasn't to be harmed while I had some value as a free woman.”

“And?” We were walking now towards the cafe.

“And one day something happened I suppose. Whatever they had been planning had failed. The men at the top were gone – killed somewhere in the North I believe, and those others who remained at the villa where I was a comfortable prisoner, they began to ensure their own safety when it seemed that their enemies would soon find them. Mkufu was originally from Schendi. He chose to leave the villa and return to the Black Coast before violent enemies might turn up and kill him. By this time I had been making myself useful out of a sense of self preservation. My position was precarious and I was intelligent enough to understand what could happen to me at any time.”

“Slavery?” suggested Simon.

“The possibility was always there, like some Damocles sword hanging above my head. I am an accountant by trade, so I made myself useful to Mkufu. I showed him how to modernise his ledgers, how to improve his business. I immersed myself in the business side of slaving. I made him money. Lots of money.”

“Clever,” said Simon.

“I thought so too. I made myself worth more to him free than I would be in chains. So when he ran back to Schendi, he brought me with him to work in his business. You see now?”

“I do. You are a resourceful woman.”

“A free woman on Gor has to be.” I paused by a door where from within came the sound of laughter and conversation. “This is the place. I hope you are hungry?”

The cafe was quite busy but a low table was found for us overlooking the scented public gardens that in an hour's time would be illuminated by hundreds of coloured glass lanterns. It was a romantic view and a popular one amongst Gorean couples who favoured a slow walk along the winding serpentine path. The gardens offered little in the way of privacy, but this meant they were also regarded as safe, though the more daring couples might sneak away into the secluded areas where small pagodas offered a quiet place to sit and, well, maybe touch.

I ordered food for us both from a dark skinned slave clad in a simple white loin cloth. I ordered platters of spiced fish served on a bed of edible leaves, along with yassa, a favourite of mine in Schendi, which is a tangy spicy meat dish made with Dijon mustard, onions, lemon juice, olives and fierce but rich tasting peppers. It was served with thin bread that we shared and tore apart to mop up the sauce. Our table girl served us a variety of wines in very small cups, the idea being to try different ones, though the spices in the dishes we ate ruined any possibility of fine wine appreciation. During our meal I asked Simon many questions, and learnt of his life on Earth, how he had worked in IT and had been brought to Gor to service some computer in a ship submerged under a lake and how he had effectively been stranded on Gor soon after. His life sounded intriguing. He had a sword brother called Brinn whom he had saved in battle from time to time, but in recent times they had quarrelled over the slave girl Emma, and how his fighting prowess had then earned him a place on the Larl of the Thassa as a trusted right hand to Yishana, the Ubara of the Black Kingdoms.

I believed maybe 30% of what he told me, for I am not a stupid woman and I know a boastful man when I see one. But Simon was charming too, and I found him funny, and I loved hearing about Earth again. He asked me whether I knew how Game of Thrones had ended, and was disappointed to discover I had been abducted long before it finished. We compared who we thought should end up on the Iron Throne – for myself I was rooting for Jon Snow, but Simon believed The Dragon Queen was the best candidate.

“When do you sail?” I asked as I told the table girl to bring us a sharing bowl of Ndolé – a dish of stewed nuts, bitter leaves, shrimp and prawns, eaten with your fingers. I noticed how eagle eyed Simon seemed to be whenever I placed my hand behind my veil to feed myself with small portions of food that I ate delicately. He had, I'm sure, caught subtle glimpses of my lips, for it is difficult for a veiled woman to eat without at least occasionally offering brief glimpses of her mouth behind the veil and I felt sure he would have noticed the rouge with which I'd painted those lips. Was he excited by the possibilities? I hoped so.

“Shortly before sunrise.”

“So soon? I had hoped you might spend a few days in Schendi?”

“I'm afraid not. Tonight is our only night. Yishana has plans that she shares only with Kerim Shah, her sorcerer.”

“She has a sorcerer?”

“He calls himself that,” said Simon. “I have seen him do some strange things though, but there has to be a rational explanation for everything he does.”

“It must be an exciting life?” I suggested.

“If you are a man, yes. It is no place for a woman.”

“Obviously not.”

“There is something I wanted to ask you,” said Simon. “You spoke often today about Earth women brought to Gor who are natural slaves.”

“I did.”

“I am curious, can you tell me what a natural slave is? In terms of Earth girls perhaps? How would I know one?”

“I'm sure there is a good degree of variation, but you would know one if you met one.”

“I suppose I would,” said Simon with a smile. “But give me some examples.”

“Excessive vanity, I suppose.” I began to tick the points off on my fingers as he watched. “An unhealthy obsession with men. A strong but confused sex drive. An interest in the fine details of slavery...”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Simon.

“Well, taking an interest in bondage, slave garments, how slaves train, the workings of a slaver house, the day to day realities of being enslaved – a familiarity with those kind of things. Need I go on?”

“And other points to watch out for?”

“A natural slave from Earth might be petty, spoilt, privileged; always beautiful of course. She would try to enhance her beauty for the benefit of men – it is important to her that men, especially strong powerful men, virile men, notice her.”

“What do you think the natural slave from Earth wants from these strong men?” asked Simon with a smile.

“Deep down she probably doesn't consciously know. She is just drawn to them, knowing she needs something from them, something primal.”

“And what would that be exactly?”

“Well...” I blushed a little under my veil. The conversation was making me feel more than a little aroused after all the wine I'd drunk. “I think it's obvious she wants to be mastered, dominated, owned...”

“Obvious? To her? She is open about that?”

“No of course not. She thinks of herself as a free woman within the confines of her society. We're talking about her needs. Her primal needs. The needs that make her what she is. She doesn't dare voice her needs. She would be ashamed to. She just has to hope that the man will understand.”

“I imagine such a woman, a natural slave from Earth, would be prone to taking risks with such men?”

“Essentially yes. You have to understand that at some deeper level she wants to be in their power. She doesn't understand this completely, but she will find herself placing herself in situations where the balance of power slides towards the man. She essentially invites the slavery that she secretly desires.”

“I see. It sounds like a complicated pattern.”

“Well, natural slaves are complicated individuals. I pity them for they can only be truly happy in the collar. For them the slavey has to be genuine, uncompromising. They might if they had the resources, play some master/slave games but so long as such things are broadly consensual, it will never be enough.”

“How so?”

“Because there will always be something missing. A natural slave needs to know she cannot simply walk away. Her feelings, her deep feelings derive from a loss of power. When she experiences that for the first time, when she understands that she is totally powerless, it is the most fluid orgasm she could ever have.”

“But she can still experience orgasms through vanilla sex?”

“Not really. Not satisfying ones. She will always be aware that there is something more, something missing. She will be resentful when it comes to sex, knowing that she is missing out when men treat her kindly, respectfully. She will feel lonely, unfulfilled. She may well be prone to taking out her frustrations on women she perceives have what in her freedom she can never have.”

“You're talking about actual slaves?”

“Yes. Slaves in their collars and slave silks. Natural slaves will hate them, despise them, and secretly envy them.”

“Natural slaves with their freedom intact will often hate their enslaved sisters?”

“It's not a case of 'often' – but rather 'always'. It's the most telling thing about a natural slave who doesn't wear a collar. The way she treats women who do wear the collar. “

“You really are a remarkable woman, Lady Beatrice. And to think, had you not been so resourceful years ago, you might even now be for example the girl who serves at our table tonight.” Simon indicated the beautiful black girl who kneeled quietly in nadu, awaiting any further instructions. She was the sort of girl I did not like – sexually vibrant, impossible to ignore if you were a man and shameful in her provocative appearance. I didn't like her.

“You can't possibly be comparing me in your mind to this little slut,” I said.

“For purposes of my amusing conjecture she is the closest slut to hand,” said Simon with a smile. “What I meant was, had you been reduced to slavery, this girl here might well be you instead.”

“Or any woman,” I said, irritated now.

“Imagine hypothetically you had not been so resourceful. Could this be you now?” He indicated our table slave again.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“Leaving aside the colour of her skin, and variations in your appearance, how would you be any different than her right now? If you were a slave here you would be kneeling in nadu I suppose, practically naked, calling me master, with a collar locked around your neck.”

“I suppose. But she is probably a natural slave.”

“So she deserves her collar?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever known a slave girl who wasn't a natural slave?”

“No I haven't. They've all been natural slaves. You can just tell. That's just the way they are.”

“So we can almost suppose that the basic presence of a collar around a woman's throat means she is in fact a natural slave as no examples otherwise have ever been identified by either of us?”

“Perhaps.” I played with my fingers on the rim of my wine glass.

“Therefore any woman who is enslaved is by almost absolute probability a natural slave, and I think we have both agreed that natural slaves should be enslaved, therefore by that reasoning you can enslave any woman and you will be justified because she will turn out to be a natural slave. Ergo all women are natural slaves.”

“Can we talk about something else?” I suggested pointedly.

“Of course. But I believe our food is finished. Please allow me to pay and then perhaps you can show me the public gardens that the city of Schendi is so proud of?”

I was uncharacteristically silent as we strolled through the lantern lit gardens away from the cafes and paga taverns. Simon strolled beside me, occasionally pointing out aspects of flora that he asked me to identify. I did so, but my mind was on other matters. I felt strangely out of sorts after our stupid conversation. Of course slaves were natural slaves! That was why they were put in collars in the first place! Why would a man want to enslave and own any other kind of girl. But his conjecture what I might look like if I had been a table girl in that cafe was rude and spiteful. I was beginning to consider not allowing him to kiss me briefly later on.

“I can see I have upset you earlier on,” said Simon. “That was not my intention.”

“Try not to imagine me kneeling in nadu,” I said sharply. “It is impolite and inconsiderate.”

“Of course. You are right, Lady Beatrice. I had drunk some wine and, well, men will be men.”

“So it seems.” I picked up my pace and moved a couple steps further from him. To my irritation Simon simply broadened his long step and easily caught up with me without taking any additional paces. Faced with the prospect of walking far too quickly but not putting any distance between us, I slowed back down again. Simon then shortened the length of his steps once again to match mine.

“If my questions sometimes seem probing or intense it is because I am greatly interested in you. That is a compliment.”

“Oh.” I stopped and turned to face him. I felt my heart quiver a little. Did this mean what I thought it might mean? I tilted my head just a little into what I thought might be an inviting pose for the trace of a kiss.

“Your gown is very beautiful in this lantern light,” said Simon as he gazed down at me.

“Thank you.”

“Your nails are exquisite.”

“Thank you.”

“I like what you have done with your...”

“Will you just fucking kiss me?”

And he did. He reached down, brought me closer to his body with his strong hands and then brushed my veil aside to kiss me in the shadow of one of the side pagodas. I was dimly aware of a couple walking past as I lost myself in that embrace, and I think I heard a woman's voice say something along the lines of 'Disgusting slut,” but I didn't respond. This felt good. When eventually we broke apart I was breathing heavily, and my heart was racing. We were alone now on a small thirty yard side trail that eventually looped back to the main garden walk.

Simon's hands were on my hips. He was holding me where I stood. It felt wonderful.

“Are you going to say something?” I asked.

“You are wearing lipstick.”

I nodded and blushed. He liked it! Obviously he liked it! I had been right to wear it. I suddenly became aware how my veil was loose. One of the pins had slipped out and was presumably somewhere on the ground. It was held now by the left pin only and my features were plain to see. I lifted my hand to take the loose end and hold it in place, but I felt Simon's strong grip on my wrists, gently forcing it back down again. The grip was like steel I knew I could never break it. I felt a thrill course through my body as I didn't resist. He was so strong! It was exhilarating!

“My veil...” I said in a throaty whisper.

“Is where it needs to be as I wish to look at you.” And look he did for what seemed like ages. I began to listen out for footsteps, paranoid that someone else might come while my face was exposed. After a while his scrutiny felt too intense and I turned my head to the side, blushing furiously. Simon responded by touching my chin and turning my face back again.

“Please... anyone might come here...” I said.

“They might. There are three things you should know.”

“What?”

“Firstly, you do not have crooked teeth.”

I laughed softly, but I was still afraid.

“Secondly, you do not have an unflattering chin.”

“I am pleased to hear it. I would despair if I had an unflattering chin. But you said three things?”

“I did. The third thing is you are not pretty.”

I felt a sense of shock. I felt like I had been suddenly slapped in the face. I couldn't breathe. He thought I was ugly? I felt like crying, tearing myself from his grip and running away. But then he added quickly:

“You are not pretty, Lady Beatrice, you are in fact slave beautiful.”

And then I laughed. I laughed out of a sense of relief more than anything; that and the sheer cheek of him to say something like that – something which on one hand was a compliment (slave beautiful is in fact very beautiful) but with it something vulgar in its intonation.

“Beast!” I said, still laughing. “How dare you.” I pretended to strike him and he accepted the blow without comment. “Slave beautiful indeed!” And then he pulled me hard against his body and before I knew what was happening he ravished my mouth with his. I became aware that this was no delicate kiss – he was kissing me as he would, and no doubt had, kissed slaves. I came out of that kiss reeling. And now the veil was gone in its entirety, torn from my hair in the intensity of that fierce embrace. It and the holding pins would be somewhere in the bushes now. I covered my features with both hands, alarmed that I had no covering for my mouth to speak of.

I squealed as I felt Simon suddenly lift me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. I laughed like a giddy schoolgirl and before I knew what was happening he stepped through into the canopy of vegetation that grew in abundance in the public gardens.

“Don't make a sound,” he whispered into my ear as he carried me further into the silent park garden, well away from the central paths. My heart was wild now as I felt the strongest thrill of all. This had to be the effect of the lipstick. I had him in the palm of my hand, excited, desperately wanting to kiss and caress me in private. But we would have to be careful. Other couples would only be a few yards away. Here there was only moonlight and my eyes were only slowly adapting to the change in light. We emerged within five to ten seconds in a private and very secluded clearing deep in the wood growth. The space was screened by thick clumps of wild bamboo, and I felt myself lowered down onto a bed of moss. In the dim light I saw Simon crouch down beside me. I felt like the heroine of a romantic novel. I lay there in the moss looking demure but aroused at the same time. He was so strong!

“Simon... no... we can't do this...” I said, though I was aroused beyond measure. “If we are seen... we have to be so careful. A few kisses maybe...”

“Strip,” he said simply.

I blinked. What did he say? Maybe seven yards away Gorean men and women were strolling along the public path. “Simon... behave yourself. Now come here and kiss me before we have to leave.”

“Do I have to repeat a command, Lady Beatrice?”

“Simon, honestly, this is too dangerous. Yes this is a secluded spot, but it's a public park. If I'm seen...” I was suddenly turned about and thrown onto my stomach. Before I could resist, I felt my hands drawn behind my back. Leather thongs bound my wrists together in capture knots.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I hissed, kicking out with my feet. “Are you insane? I only have to scream and...” I felt thick wadding suddenly thrust deep into my mouth. Slowly, methodically Simon worked the wadding deep past my teeth until I was unable to make a sound past a whimper. I lay there very still and very frightened as he drew a long knife from his belt. I saw moonlight glisten from the edge of the steel.

“Do not try to expel the wadding from your mouth, Lady Beatrice. Do you understand me? Nod once if that is the case.”

I nodded once.

“If you're wondering why I'm doing this the answer is simple. You chose to wear slave cosmetics. That was a very foolish thing to do before a Gorean man. Very foolish indeed. It tells me you are not the demure chaste woman I supposed you to be. It leads me to believe you might be some other kind of woman. And there is only one other kind of woman, isn't there?”

I felt the coldness of the knife against my skin as Simon began to cut my outer and inner gowns away. He cut along the seams so that thy might be restored by a seamstress and he divided the garments into their constituent pieces until I wore nothing except the secret and scandalous slip of exquisite soft silk. Expensive as it was, it could easily be mistaken for a slave's garment.

“Lady Beatrice... really... this is what you wear in secret? This slave silk? Touching your skin? You are such a slut.” Simon gazed down at the soft slip that lay against my skin. I felt him grow very, very hard where he pressed down on my lower back as he worked. The sight of me wearing this had just given him an enormous erection. I suddenly felt very scared and I tried to wriggle free, but his hand on my hair gripping hard put a stop to that. “Let's not be foolish, Lady Beatrice. You must be experienced enough in your trade to know there's no point in struggling. Whimper once if you agree.”

I whimpered once.

Simon placed the neatly divided lengths of cloth to the side of the cleared space. He ran his hands over my body, as I lay there on my stomach with my hands tightly bound behind me. He placed his hands between my legs and felt to his satisfaction how I reacted. “Lady Beatrice... I think with a little caressing you could be quite the well oiled slut...” He raised his fingers to his lips and chuckled. “I have in the past been told that only natural slaves begin to oil like this when they are bound. I think that makes you a natural slave, doesn't it?”

I struggled hard, moaning and whimpering, but again that hand pulled my head back sharply by my hair until my struggling ceased.

“I said that makes you a natural slave, doesn't it? One whimper for yes.”

I whimpered.

“Natural slaves should all be in steel collars, shouldn't they, Lady Beatrice?”

I whimpered twice, urgently, in the negative.

Simon sighed. “This can play out one of two ways, Lady Beatrice. I am going to enjoy you tonight, because in wearing slave cosmetics and slave silk that is what happens, and you can choose to comply, in which case I will take you home. Would you like that? To go home again when all this is done? Or... instead I can take you to the House of Kovu. I mean, it is late but I understand that unlike your House they have a night clerk and he is empowered to purchase slaves. Do you think he would want to purchase you if I showed him what kind of garment you wear under your gowns?”

I held myself very still and felt the ground seem to spin away from me.

“If you wish to comply, whimper once. If you wish to be awkward and end up in the House of Kovu when all this done, whimper twice.”

I whimpered once very quickly.

“So you're going to comply?”

One whimper.

“Are you a natural slave?”

One whimper.

“Should natural slaves be placed in collars to serve men?”

One whimper.

“Good. Very good, Lady. Now that we both agree that you are a natural slave, what I'm doing to you is very appropriate. Now I am going to take this wadding out of your mouth, because you are going to need that mouth over the next hour or so. Do you think I will have to replace the wadding at all?”

I whimpered twice, shaking my head.

“Because you are an intelligent woman who is a member of the caste of slavers and you will therefore be only too familiar with the sort of punishments inflicted on slaves who lie when asked a direct question so I will ask once more to be certain. Will I have to replace the wadding?”

I whimpered twice, urgently and then felt the wadding pulled from between my teeth.

“Why...” I sobbed as I lay there.

“Because you're a natural slave. Your choice of slave cosmetics and this piece of slave silk you wear under your clothes proves the point. This is what happens when you tease a man.”

“It's not slave silk!”

“Oh come now, Lady Beatrice. This is obviously a slave's garment.”

“No, it's not. It's not! I just wanted to wear it for you... to please you...”

“Well it does please me, so well done. It pleases me very much. Slave silk suits you and I'm pleased you chose to wear it.”

“What are you doing!” I said in alarm as I felt his hand now between my legs, touching me so intimately.

“Arousing you, Lady Beatrice. Readying you for my use.”

“Oh God, no!” I twisted in my bonds, feeling sensations that I didn't know I could possibly feel. “You have to stop!”

“I don't have to do any such thing.” He could see the way my body was trembling, reacting. “Your body knows what it wants. It is only your mind that doesn't recognise it yet.”

I was breathing harder now, feeling a delirious sensation building up inside of me. I had never felt like this before, not even in fantasies. I had to control myself!

“Simon! There's someone here! I can hear them close...” and then we both heard it – from a similar clearing in the vegetation maybe just four yards away, the sound of a woman in heat, being aroused and taken by her man just as I was. I heard her pitiful whimpers mixed with a deep throated arousal. They were incredibly close. They would in turn be able to hear us! They would hear me!

“You wouldn't know it, Lady Beatrice, but many men take slaves here for privacy. I asked around this afternoon. You can moan and squeal and writhe and cry out as much as you want. We'll have our privacy because everyone else expects us to observe theirs.”

My body began to tremble uncontrollably from the combination of the tight bondage and what his hand was doing to me, but before I could even begin to climax Simon slowed down his touch and let me simmer. I stared up at him with wild eyes, my kohl now smudged with tears.

“I think you were close to an orgasm, Lady Beatrice. I think you have hot slut responses. Does that surprise you?”

I turned my head and tried to bury it in the moss.

“So delightful,” he said, turning me again so that I was now on my side facing him. “I really, really hadn't planned any of this. But then you asked me to kiss you and I tasted your lipstick. You should be careful what you set in motion, Lady Beatrice. It was the taste of your lipstick that confirmed what I had merely suspected.”

His hand started moving again and it quelled whatever I was going to say. He parted my thighs and pushed up the sodden hem of light silk, building me back up to orgasm again, but again he denied me at the crucial time. Now I lay there, my body protesting, demanding I grant it what it wanted.

I don't know how I must have looked, staring wildly at him in my deep animal arousal, but it made him laugh. “Yes, a natural slave,” he said. And then he began his rough use of me.

Maybe an hour had gone by. I think perhaps it was more. I knelt feeling the moss at my knees. My hands were still tightly bound in leather thongs and my hair was deeply dishevelled. Simon seemed happy as he crouched to face me. The couple close by had also fallen silent except for a few unintelligible whispers and the occasional soft feminine moan.

“You are a natural slave, Beatrice. Don't fool yourself. And, well, I'm a Gorean man. You really should have known better. What were you thinking?”

“You said you would take me home afterwards...' I looked up, my face bleak with fear. What if he didn't? What if he had lied?

“Hmm. I did say that, didn't I?” Simon ruffled my hair.

“Please, please, Simon...”

“About that. Shall I tell you a secret? Would you like to know a secret?”

I began to cry. Tears rolled down my cheeks and Simon just watched until my blubbering stopped. He was still waiting for my answer and so I nodded.

“The thing is, the House of Kovu doesn't have a night clerk. It's not open now. I couldn't sell you if I wanted to. You really should know that. They are your rivals after all.”

“Please, Simon, I won't tell anyone...”

“Hush. You're a natural slave, Beatrice. You know that now. Why, the way you wriggled... I think that was a slave orgasm early on... several in fact. You can thank me if you want.”

I said nothing. I was too ashamed to speak.

“I said... you can thank me if you want.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, listen carefully, because this is what is going to happen next. We are going to walk back out of this park. Anyone who looks at you will simply see a well fucked slave girl and her Master. You will walk in front of me, pacing like the good slave girl you are and we'll be back at your house in no time. I'll kiss my beautiful date good night and make my way back to the ship. How does that sound?”

“I just want to go home...” I cried.

“Of course. After you.”

Simon walked behind me. I had my head lowered as I walked past men and women who were probably my neighbours. They all saw what they thought they saw – a well fucked slave girl. Once or twice we stopped as Simon engaged someone in brief conversation. Once he paid compliments to a Lady who was being escorted home. I think it was a woman I knew. I blushed and kept my face out of sight.

We were soon at the House of Mkufu where the iron gates were locked in place and three white skinned girls were chained to the display posts. I suddenly realised that my key to the side door would be lost in the garden where my clothes had been cut away. Simon seemed to realise that as well.

“Do you have a spare key hidden somewhere? Under a rock maybe?” he asked.

“No. That would be foolish.”

“Of course. I commend you on your security. What to do...” He glanced around at the palisaded building.

“Untie me,” I said, turning so that my bound wrists faced him.

“Don't be troublesome, Lady Beatrice. I'm trying to think.”

“I'm not trying to be troublesome, Simon, but without the key I have no way to open the side door! We have to go back and look for it.”

“There isn't time. My ship sails soon.”

“Damn your ship! You will have to miss it!” I was so close to home now that some of my defiance had returned.

“How do you open the iron gates?”

“With a key! But I gave it to Naftali. I told him I would be late in this morning and he should open up without me.”

“And why would you be late in, Lady Beatrice?” said Simon with a satisfied smile.

I blushed and said nothing.

“Were you planning on seducing me, Lady Beatrice?'

I still said nothing.

“With your slave lipstick and your little slip of slave silk?”

“Untie me! Find me clothes! People can see me!” Men were walking home for it was now early in the morning. Many of them would be drunk. I felt very afraid standing here in a wisp of silk, unveiled, with my wrists bound.

“You already have a garment, and it is far more modest than what the display slaves wear.” He indicated the naked figures of the former Ladies Carolina, Consuella and Loella where they were secured to three of the four display chains.

“This garment is scandalous!” I said. “I need something else.”

“True. It is. And yet you chose to wear it against your skin.”

“You are impossible! I demand you untie me! Now!” I may as well have dictated orders to the wind for all the good it did. “Wait! What are you doing now?” I felt Simon take my elbow with his hand and steer me towards the iron gates. “Stop! We can't open the iron gates. We don't have the key!”

“I know.”

“Well don't lead me there. What if the slaves realise who I am?”

“That is fundamentally your problem, not mine, Lady Beatrice.”

“I don't understand! Why are you taking me to... oh no, please no...” Simon was leading me to the fourth chain in the display sequence, the chain that hung beside the former Lady Consuella, the chain that did not currently have a girl attached to it. “Don't you dare! Don't you dare! I forbid it!”

“I have to do something with you, Lady Beatrice. I can't simply allow you to wander the streets looking the way you do. Someone might abduct you. I certainly would.”

“Don't! I forbid it!” I felt Simon press me against the palisade and loop the display chain about my neck.

“This will ensure that a man reeling home from the paga tavern won't try to abduct you, Lady. You should be grateful I'm taking precautions on your behalf.”

“No! Simon! Please, no!”

I felt a padlock placed through the chain links and heard it click shut. I was now part of the display chain alongside the former Lady Consuella. I then felt my hands untied. Immediately my hands flew up to my throat to try and free myself from the chain, but to no avail.

“Don't be foolish, Lady Beatrice. You're a slaver. You know that won't work.”

I sobbed and lowered my hands. He was right of course.

Now I became aware that the three slaves were looking at me, having overheard our conversation. They knew who I was. I cringed and tried to shrink back against the palisade as Consuella glared at me.

“Slut,” she hissed.

“Simon, please, free me...”

“How can I? I don't have a key to the padlock.”

“Oh God.” I sank to my knees as the horror and enormity of this began to sink in. In a few hours time the sun would rise and Naftali would arrive to open up the shop. Simon glanced at the three slaves and noticed the prices marked on their right breasts. With a smile he located the indelible marker and, with a swift motion, tore the silk from my right breast. I screamed as he did so, and annoyed by this he simply tore away the rest of the garment, leaving me as naked as Consuella. I swiftly tried to cover myself with my hands.

“You are an accomplished slaver, Lady Beatrice. You are an expert when it comes to slave flesh. You must at times have speculated what your own market price might be. What is it? And before you answer, know that I am very good at reading lies from truths. Try to inflate your price and you will give yourself away. Now what would you be sold for.”

“Simon, please... Naftali will find me like this...”

“How much?”

“Simon, listen to me, I don't know what Naftali will do! Do you understand that? I can't be certain he will simply release me from this chain. I don't know him that well. You can't leave me here for him to find! Early morning there will be no one else out on the street. There will be no one to see him. Please listen to me...”

“Your price, Lady Beatrice?”

“Stop asking me that! Just fucking listen to me! Naftali will be here soon and he is a Gorean man! How do you think a Gorean man is going to react when he finds a naked free woman chained to these sluts!”

“You are to my mind a natural slave, Lady Beatrice, so I would have no hesitation in using a whip on you as I would do on any other slave. So will ask you the question for the very last time. Your price?”

“Seventy.” I sobbed. “A girl like me would sell for seventy copper tarsks in Schendi.” I buried my face in my hands as Consuella hissed:

“Cheap slut! No one would pay seventy for you!”

“You think not, Consuella?” Simon seemed interested in the girl's opinion. “She seems like she could be a seventy copper tarsk girl from what I can see.”

“No Master. She is a cheap slut.”

“Well, opinions differ I suppose. Still, women are known to constantly evaluate one another, so perhaps you should price her then.” Simon handed her the marker and I felt Consuella turn on me with relish. When she had finished there was a number ten inscribed on my right breast. And with that, and a last kiss to my lips, Simon turned and began to walk back towards the docks of Schendi.

I shivered as the streets of Schendi can be chill early in the early morning before the sun rises. I crouched at the display post, holding the length of chain before me in both hands. The torn ruins of my silken slip blew down the street in the early morning wind as I waited for the inevitable.

The street was empty at this hour, but shortly after sunrise I saw the distant figure of Naftali approaching. He seemed oblivious to the fact that there were now four white girls chained to the gates while there had only been three last night. I watched with my head down as he placed the key in the lock and swung the iron gates open. I saw him walk into the open slaver house to mix up some gruel for the slaves. The house protocol was such that he would feed the girls in the cellar first and then the ones on the display chain. I was gripped by fear, not knowing what I was going to say, what I could say. What would Naftali do when he saw me? Surely he would simply free me, hurry me inside where I could wash and clothe myself. He would remain quiet about this. He would not mention any of it to Mkufu. We would have to sell the three white girls quickly, for whatever price we might get, provided they were sold to someone taking a ship out of Schendi. Naftali would surely help me in all of this. I had known Naftali for over a year now. I hadn't spoken to him much, but he would have immense respect for me as a free woman might expect. He was loyal to the House. He would be loyal to me. He had to be. There was no other conceivable option. He would quickly free me. That is what would happen. He would see me on the chain and he would instantly free me. Of course he would.

Hardly daring to look up I heard him emerge and drop two wooden bowls of slave gruel next to Loella and Carolina on the opposite side of the gate. I heard him return inside and then re-emerge with two more wooden bowls of gruel. I still couldn't raise my head as I heard his footsteps approach, as I heard the bowls drop before us.

“Eat,” he said.

This was it. I looked up and our eyes regarded one another. My face went bright red as I spoke in a broken, throaty voice, saying the words I had to say now.

“Naftali... it's me, Lady Beatrice. Please help me... I beg you...” I extended my hands with my vulnerable palms facing him.

His eyes regarded me with recognition and surprise.

And then slowly he looked down at the 10 copper tarsk price clearly inscribed on my breast and seeing it smiled.