“Not good enough, Emma!”
The switch struck my thigh with a sharp crack, causing me to scream for the third time this morning. Tears welled in my eyes as I knelt on the floor in what I thought was a very good Nadu position. I wondered what I had done wrong this time.
“Head up!” The switch tapped under my chin and I raised it another inch. “Shoulders back!” Bahira now tapped my shoulders with the switch and I adjusted my posture accordingly. “Belly in!” The switch struck my slim belly. I hated her! There was nothing wrong with my belly posture! I sucked it in further, holding my chest firm in the process. “Why are you finding the most basic positions so difficult, girl?”
I blinked to hold back the tears as Bahira, our slave-girl trainer, stalked around me like a prowling Larl cat.
“Do you think you're still free and above these things?”
“No, Mistress.”
“What are you, Emma?”
“La kajira, Mistress.” Kajira was the Gorean word for slave-girl.
“And how does a kajira greet a Master?”
“In Nadu, Mistress.”
“And do you call that pitiful display, Nadu, Emma?”
“No Mistress.”
“Are you crying, Emma?!”
“Yes Mistress. Forgive me, Mistress.” Tears seeped down my cheeks, no matter how hard I tried to blink them away.
“Do you think that will save you from a beating tonight if you aren't Nadu perfect by the time we finish?”
“No Mistress.”
Now Bahira turned to regard the other nine slave-girls in the class – girls that included Kara. “If it wasn't for the fact that you're all almost as bad as Emma, I'd have her taken away and whipped now. But I'm merciful, not like the other trainers. So I'm going to give you another two ahn in which to you'll all strive to show me posture perfect Nadu positions - every single one of you - or two of you will spend the night in the punishment cages.” Bahira paused to swish her slave switch in the air. “Now on your feet! In display positions!” The switch cracked against the wall for us all to rise in unison. Sobbing, I quickly stood with my hands clasped behind my head, head thrown back, and my back and body arched backwards.
“And move to bracelet check!” Again the switch cracked sharply against the wall, as every girl, including myself, did as instructed. I turned away from Bahira, dropping my wrists behind my lower back in binding position, separated by two inches of imaginary chain for her to check.
“And now Nadu!”
My training had begun that afternoon, for Seremides had paid not only for Kara and myself to be housed here in the pens, but also to receive full training in the arts of pleasing men. He had reasoned, much to my annoyance, that it was the best way for me to mix within the pens with the other girls and thereby locate Erin – something that was still proving to be difficult. Had I been lodged here without training, I might not have had the required freedom of movement to navigate the large area and speak to the other girls.
I understood the rationale, and that it would make my mission easier, but it meant I would be trained in the same fashion as Kara. Our initial classes took place in rooms higher up in the cavern – natural caves that had been hollowed out by hand and enlarged into a series of training areas. The initial emphasis was on discipline and slave positions, teaching us how to adopt the many submissive postures that a Master might require of us before we moved on to classes designed to impart skilful sexual techniques. I thought I was already familiar with the most common position, Nadu, and had indeed adopted it myself at feeding time without too much trouble, on account of the fact I had seen girls kneeling that way in Kurgus’s villa. Quite naturally they had tended to close their thighs together when I entered a room, for they realised that it might be embarrassing for a Free Woman to observe the more sexual side of their service. I had once called Louise a slut when I had found her kneeling with her thighs apart in my rooms. I think she had adopted the pose without thinking while I was absent. It came naturally to her I suppose. After all Louise was a slave slut. Upon hearing me enter she had quickly modified her posture to take into account my sensibilities.
The training was conducted by a senior girl who wore a black ribbon around her collar. This signified her status as a trainer, and she had been given a sharp switch/crop with which to beat us whenever she spotted an imperfection in our posture. We would spend long gruelling hours gliding from one position to another as she barked the commands. It was boring and monotonous, like an army drill, but it was designed to make us move like slaves, instinctively and without thinking. Every few minutes there would be a yelp of pain from a girl as Bahira’s crop would make contact sharply with slave girl flesh, and by the end of the first day’s training I had seven or eight welts on my thighs and ass for being sloppy.
But by the skin of our teeth we had avoided the punishment cages.
Posture training took up at least five hours of every day, split into two and a half hour blocks. Our performance was continuously rated and generally speaking my scores were between 7.2 to 7.7 in the early days, which was good enough for me to avoid the formal punishments at the close of a session. Kara tended to score a couple of decimal points higher than me in most lessons which amused her no end. She was particularly good at walking gracefully and turning on the spot on the balls of her feet, which may sound simple, but in the guise of a slave there are a dozen or so inflexions such as the turning of wrists, the looseness of fingers, the posture of your head, the turning of an ankle, the shortness of your steps and so on. It was easy enough to forget one or another thing as you walked. She was also very good at switching positions in a fluid motion whereas I, to begin with, felt clumsy.
On our fifth day Kara was given a pastry to nibble at in-between classes in recognition of her skill. She shared the pastry with me as we knelt in the antechamber on a reed mat as other girls sat nearby gossiping. The pastry was small, but hot, with spiced kofta meat and juicy gravy that made my mouth water as I bit into my piece.
“Oh God, but this tastes good,” I said as I nibbled at the pastry with my teeth. Bahira had instructed us to eat the pastry slowly with small bites, making it last the whole break time and I knew she watched us from the far side of the room as we shared it. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” It had been six days after all since I had last eaten a proper meal instead of buckets of cold kitchen scraps, so the simple spiced pastry must have tasted like a three star Michelin restaurant meal on Earth. I licked my fingers of the gravy and scooped up the crumbs that fell on my thighs, so pleased was I with it.
“Chain sister,” said Kara, with a smile, obviously pleased with the way she had won us a treat.
“Chain sister,” I said, smiling back, and kissing her on the forehead after I had licked the last of the gravy from my fingers.
Before the posture training had begun, Kara and I had been given an ominous warning of what would happen if either of us had proved obstinate. Jubal had escorted us along a side tunnel at the bottom of the cavern. Down here it was very dark, with hardly any light coming through from the ceiling grilles at the top of the deep shaft. Wall sconces held oil lamps, but the further down we went, the more ineffectual they became. We had barely walked thirty feet or so when we heard horrible cries of pain and suffering coming from somewhere. It was the sound of girls in torment – not because they were being whipped or abused in any way, but rather long drawn out cries of suffering that must have been going on all day.
The pitiful cries were coming from three of a series of five floor grilles beneath our feet. Despite this being the lowest level of the slave pens, there seemed to be cells set deep below the floor. Jubal ordered us to kneel as he lit a torch from a wall sconce and once it flared to full brightness we were able to see that the corridor tunnel had opened out into a roughly hexagonal chamber possibly twenty feet wide. The five floor grilles were equally spaced to allow us to walk between them easily enough.
“These girls proved reluctant to co-operate with their training,” said Jubal. “That was their choice. And this is what happens as a consequence.”
He held the torch before one of the grilles and motioned for Kara and myself to peer down into the darkness of the pit. What we saw was horrible. The grille covered a slim shaft, possibly ten feet deep, that was incredibly narrow. It was barely wide enough to allow a girl to be lowered down into it by a rope, but once inside, there was insufficient space for her to raise her arms, to kneel, sit or lie down. Her body was effectively pinned by the narrowness of the hole. The pit was dug like a narrow sheath to house her body. The girl we saw looked distraught as well she might be, for while she was confined in that narrow pit she was forced to stand with her arms at her sides. As muscle fatigue and cramps set in she would be unable to ease her pain and suffering. Very soon she would be screaming, unable to do anything to relieve herself. The girl's body was dirty, her hair unkempt and matted with sweat. The stench of urine and faeces drifted up from the narrow shaft, for of course she would have to urinate and defecate where she stood. The floor beneath her feet was a second metal grille that allowed the muck to be hosed away into a sluice system below once the punishment was over. No doubt her bare feet stood now in the slippery shit that had dribbled down her legs.
“This is Leanne. She is a proud free woman who refuses to train,” said Jubal with a smile. “See how proud, dignified and aloof she is.”
“Please, Master!” She begged, screaming, and pleading, now that she knew we could see her. “I will train! I will train hard! I will do everything you ask of me, Master!”
“This is horrible,” whispered Kara as she knelt beside me, eyes wide with fright.
“How long has she been down there?” I asked, timidly.
“Maybe two days. She will remain there for a third. And then we will ask her whether she wishes to be a pleasing slave-girl.”
“I do, Master!” wept Leanne. “I do!”
Each night we huddled down in the thick straw bedding that was piled up at the sides of our cage pen. Kara and I slept together for warmth and companionship. It was the early days of our slavery, though at the time I still thought I was merely acting a role, and so we were both scared, as girls tend to be when they are new to the collar. It felt good to curl up together for safety and reassurance. Kara’s arms would encircle my waist and I would in turn embrace her too. Sleep didn’t come easy in the pens for there was always noise from girls sobbing, screaming, talking, and of course there was the constant sound of heavy feet as men patrolled in the darkness, occasionally shining lantern lights in to our pens to ensure no girl was stupid enough to be attempting an escape. The night time would be punctuated by random clattering of metal, and the constant dripping of water from the vaulted ceiling above the cavern. It was also cold at night and the straw, while thick, hardly made for an adequate bed. And so Kara and I would whisper to one another for an hour or so before sleep overcame us thanks to the fatigue of our daily training. I would learn more about Kara’s life on Gor – how her immediate family wasn't very wealthy in fact – but more distant wealthy cousins had offered a Free Companionship fee in the hope she could better herself with Milo Assante - and after a while I began to confide and confess certain things to her, mostly due to her constant questions about my past.
She had guessed some time ago that I was not actually a native of Gor.
“You’re a barbarian, aren’t you Emma?”
Despite their primitive lives, many Goreans know of the existence of Earth, at least as a vague concept, and they know that the women of Earth are preyed upon, seized and brought to Gor as slaves. Curiously, Goreans assume that Earth men and women are uncultured savages, of a standard lower than themselves. By and large they are unaware of our technological superiority, though such superiority pales in insignificance against the advanced science of either the Kurii or the Priest Kings – the two alien races that wage a covert war for control of our solar system, here on Gor. It is the steel ships of the Kurii that harvest the most beautiful women of Earth and transport them to the slave markets of Gor. Many Goreans feel this is a good thing, as Earth women are considered natural slaves.
I of course consider this an insult, for am I not now a woman of Earth in practically every sense of the term?
“How do you know?” I asked as I lay in Kara’s arms, my head cradled on her left breast. It had been a hard day; I had been beaten with the crop five times for small imperfections in my posture. I was clumsy, not yet graceful, but I was improving. My Nadu was now almost perfect, and I had received a slice of larma fruit for the graceful way I walked and turned on command.
“Sometimes you talk in your sleep, Emma. The language you speak is sometimes not Gorean. There was a barbarian girl in my father’s house who spoke the same language.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t realised I sometimes talked in my sleep. “What do I say?”
“Oh, Emma, it is best I do not tell you. You would only be embarrassed.”
“Why?”
Kara giggled softly as she snuggled close to share the warmth of my body. “I think you are maybe not quite as frigid as you believe yourself to be.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. What had I said? “Kara?”
“Also, sometimes when you sleep, you cross your wrists and moan softly. It's rather sweet. I think you have very special dreams…” Kara seemed pleased to have witnessed these things. Perhaps it made her own secret fantasies all the more acceptable. “You sound a bit like this... 'Oh, oh, oh... ohhhhh...'” she giggled again.
“You’re teasing me. I don’t believe you.” I shrugged.
“Oh? Am I? Then tell me, Emma, who is Brinn?”
I blushed bright red and suddenly felt very nervous. “No one. No one at all. Just a slave in a house in Corcyrus. He isn’t important.”
“Oh? You spoke his name once. Your nipples were hard where they touched my skin. I think you were aroused in your sleep. But maybe I am mistaken.” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes now. “Yes, I probably am. For I remember now that my chain sister is frigid and does not like men...”
“Kara! Please!”
“Hush, I will not tell the other girls. You are my chain sister. What you tell me I will not share.”
It’s hard to describe how I felt curled up next to the beautiful Kara. Each night to begin with there would be a sexual tingle as we touched, and I settled into her arms. I would feel warmth in my loins and a growing excitement as we snuggled in the straw. Her hand would touch my bare thigh and I would restrain myself from gasping, but the sensations would soon fade and I would be just left feeling… cosseted and comfortable. It seemed that I could attain a certain small degree of sexual excitement with a girl, but that feeling would not grow to be a powerful all consuming desire, and in fact without any fresh stimulation the feelings would soon level out. It was frustrating. I do not think Kara felt any sexual feelings towards me. For her this was innocent enough – we were simply chain sisters, comforting and warming one another in the dank, miserable slave pens of Banu Hashim. She felt safe with me, and I too felt safe with her, but there was in me at least something more. As the days passed by I came to realise just what a ravishing beauty Kara was, and how lucky any man would be to have her kneeling before him in his collar. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to still be a man with a functioning penis, and to have Kara in my bed, opening herself to be taken.
But it grew harder and harder for me to visualise such a thing in detail. It was becoming an abstract concept in itself. It seemed that I only had a vague recollection of what it felt like to enter a girl in that way, as a man would. Why was my memory of such things so hazy? What was wrong with me?
I spoke to Kara of London, England, though I was always careful to couch my description in terms she would understand and I always inferred that I had been a girl back then.
She asked me insightful questions and often took an interest in the most minor details of my life on Earth. Earth clothes worn by women in particular fascinated her.
“Your women dress like slaves,” she often told me. “Do the men not enslave them?”
I explained that in most parts of the world, slavery no longer existed, but this simply confused her all the more.
“But if slavery is practised in certain parts of your world how is it that the slavers there do not take women from your London, England?”
“It’s not that simple Kara. London is a powerful city.” I still had not fully got her to grasp the concept of sprawling nations. On Gor the principle of the City State was still the norm, and so she thought of my London England as she might think of Ar or Cos or Corcyrus.
“The men of London England are such powerful warriors?”
“Well, no, not especially, but we have powerful weapons. And anyway, other… um, cities do not attack us, nor do they raid us for slaves.”
“But they should! Your women present themselves as slaves, Emma! Surely the slavers in your other cities would do well to mount raids on London England. They would find many slaves?”
It didn’t help that at one time I had mentioned to her that in many parts of the world women were expected to be very modestly attired. This to her mind made London England sound like a slave city in comparison.
Kima continued to bully and dominate us as she did all the girls in our pen. She expected me in particular to obey her without question and it seemed she went out of her way to impose her authority on me as I had been the girl who had tried to stand up to her. Kima selected me to comb and brush her hair in the evenings after our classes while the other girls rested for half an hour.
I would do this because I knew I would be leaving the pens soon. All I had to do was locate where Erin was kept, find an opportunity to speak to her, and then convey the information to Seremides. But so far no one I had spoken to knew of Erin or her whereabouts. She could be anywhere.
Also, if I am being honest, I was scared of Kima. She had hurt me badly when we had fought. I knew she could easily do so again. Kima was a vicious fighter and more experienced than me. I knew I would get no help from the guards, and if I challenged Kima a second time, after having fought her once, all gloves would be off. She might even be in her rights to spurn the challenge and order her girls to attack me en-masse instead. I had seen a girl in one of the cages being beaten to the ground by three of the other girls in the same pen. She had been disobedient after having lost a challenge two nights before. Her hair had been tied to an upright bar in the cage so that she would spend the night standing up on her feet, in the cold, without any straw to keep warm. Come the morning she had been tired, miserable, her body sore and aching, and consequently she had scored poorly in the training. Men had then beaten her that evening for her poor performance and she had spent the next night in a punishment cage.
Both Kara and I feared the punishment cages. They were small kennel like things bolted to the stone floor. A girl would be thrust into one on her hands and knees, forced to crouch inside, for the cage was far too low to stand in or lie down in. It was possible to shuffle about in the cage, but even so, cramp would quickly set in. A girl in a punishment cage would usually scream, sob, and whimper the whole night, much to the irritation of girls in the surrounding pens who needed their rest. It would be difficult to sleep on a night like that, and so next morning the other girls would usually take out their frustrations and anger on her. A double punishment of sorts.
Another punishment involved a girl being forced to stand on an upright vertical log that was fixed in place against a stone wall. The log was maybe three feet in length with a standing space circumference almost but not quite large enough to accommodate two small female feet. A girl would be made to stand on the raised end of this log as best she could while her wrists would be chained above her head to a slave ring fixed high on the wall. The wrist chains would be made taut so that her feet supported her weight, but only just. There she would stand all day, with her legs growing tired. Soon she would be shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and before long it would be too much and she would have to let her chained wrists take the weight of her body for a while, until the pain forced her to stand once again. Sometimes a girl would be left like that for days, given water from a long handled ladle, but no food.
Compared to these torments, the casual whippings and switchings we received for sloppy postures and positions seemed a minor indignity.
But there were rewards too. I mentioned before the pastry Kara was awarded for her grace and skill. Small treats would be routinely awarded for moments of improvement or being particularly pleasing, and to my shame I found myself competing for some of these. It wasn’t just the basic nature of the rewards but rather we all wanted to form a bond with our trainer – we wanted to please her in some way, gain her approval so that maybe she would be a little more lenient with us next time we made a mistake.
I desperately wanted Bahira to think highly of me, and to this end I sometimes practised my slave positions with Kara standing in for her in the girl pen later in the evening after we had eaten, and after I had seen to Kima’s overbearing demands. Kara would point out kindly anything I was doing wrong, and she would get me to repeat the positions, choosing various ones at random until she was satisfied I was doing them well.
“Bahira will be pleased tomorrow,” said Kara once as she hugged me. To Kara much of this came easily as she seemed to have the sort of graceful body that would take naturally to dancing. I wasn’t clumsy, but like many girls, I had to learn the hard way. When a slave moves, it is a fluid liquid movement, full of subtlety and poise. Men are often unaware of the many subtleties involved in such movements, but they all appreciate the end results. I worked hard and, when in turn I would eventually be rewarded with a sugared candy, or a sweet meat, or a slice of larma fruit, I would receive the gift with a ridiculous level of enthusiasm.
The candy was mine, after all. I had earned it. And too, Bahira would smile at me.
“Well done, Emma. I am pleased now.”
'I am pleased now.' Those were the heaven sent words I desired to hear from her more than anything else. As the days passed into the second week, I found myself being switched less and less. My slave positions seemed good, natural even, and I found myself moving in a way I had never dreamed possible. I noticed men looking at me with even more interest than before. They had always desired me, but now it seemed I was becoming quite the distraction within the slave pens.
It was actually rather thrilling to know that men wanted me. Kara noticed I walked in what she referred to as my ‘slutty walk’ when I passed by the guards. And so what if I did? It amused me to know they wanted me, but could not have me because of the iron belt I wore. Let them desire me – I enjoyed the fact that they would be ultimately frustrated. I was perhaps slave beautiful, and I was growing more beautiful each day as my lessons progressed.
“I think Emma wants a man,” teased Kara on the thirteenth day of training after we left the the class where I had pirouetted on the balls of my feet and dropped to the floor in a perfect Nadu before a guard who had been brought in by Bahira for us to practise on. Bahira had applauded and the guard was strangely speechless for several ihn before he coughed to clear his throat.
“Emma begs your touch, Master,” I said in the most sultry way I had been taught as I parted my thighs and lowered the long lashes softly over my eyes. “Let Emma please you...” My eyes widened in delight as I saw the fabric of the man's tunic move around his loins. I had given him an impressive erection just by kneeling before him! I pretended not to notice of course and ignored the quiet giggles of some of the other slave-girls who had yet to take their turn.
“I can't help it if men want me,” I said to Kara with an innocent expression as we walked back to our pens.
“You deliberately tease them. You are such a slut!” she laughed as she held my hand.
“Did you see the guard when I...”
“Oh yes, we all saw the poor guard,” laughed Kara.
“I thought he was going to burst! Imagine when he sees us in pleasure silks!”
“That's not until next week of course.”
We glided down the steps of the metal gantries barefoot and naked, holding on to the iron railings, laughing together as Jubal and another guard followed close behind. We had done well today and Bahira had promised us honeyed pastries with the evening meal.
“I was the best in the class at Nadu today,” I said happily. “The Bee Eee Ess Tee!”
“Until tomorrow, chain sister, when the normal order of the universe restores itself and I put you back in your proper place!”
“Oh, puh-lease... I can give a man an erection just by looking at him in a certain way! Face facts - you're history, dear chain sister! Oww!” I squealed and ran down the next set of stairs as Kara began playfully hitting me, much to the bemusement of Jubal and the other guard.
On the fifteenth night as I lay beside Kara in the straw she told me something startling.
“Emma, do not think harshly of me, but I crave the touch of a man... “ it was early in the evening and we were both tired. She lay with her head on my shoulder as she whispered quietly. I found the touch of her body thrilling – arousing even and part of me wondered what I might do to myself if I wasn’t wearing the iron belt. From the soft moans I sometimes heard in the pens at night I knew I wouldn’t have been the first slave girl to pleasure herself with her fingers in the dark, though such a thing was frowned upon by the guards. Gorean men can be very jealous of the concept of a slave girl giving herself pleasure without needing a man. Some Masters may actually punish a girl for daring to do so. They would rather the girl remain in a slutty needful arousal.
“Oh?” I actually felt a need myself. I actually felt a desire for Kara – a feeling that I knew could be fleeting at times. I touched her thigh and marvelled at how good she felt. Women were gorgeous in every respect.
I felt suddenly so excited and fulfilled that I was now a woman, albeit a slave-girl in this Hell Hole. I loved my breasts and my hips and my long hair, and flat stomach, and my lack of a penis, and my pouting lips. Obviously I wished I wasn't a slave-girl on Gor, but that aside I felt suddenly thrilled to be here curled up in Kara's arms – a girl, much the same as her.
“I’ve been feeling like a slave these last few days. I think I have slave needs, Emma.”
I didn't care to hear what she felt about men right now. It was just so much babble. Kara’s breasts were ripe and full and they brushed against my skin as she nestled close. I kissed her softly on the forehead and felt that familiar warmth in my loins. This time I was determined to hold on to the feeling. It would not slip away as it had done so many times before... Dare I touch her more intimately than the usual kiss on her nose or the touch of my hand on her ass? She seemed innocent in the ways of lesbian sex, but I was suddenly overcome with desire for her. Kara was so beautiful. I couldn't understand why I hadn't felt this strongly in previous nights. I desired women after all. I had always desired women.
“Emma? What are you doing?” I felt Kara suddenly stiffen. Her head moved and she looked at me, confused. My hand had strayed momentarily between her thighs and I had, without realising, stroked her there, intimately. “Emma!” Now she struggled back in the straw.
I moved my hand away quickly and blinked as Kara stared at me. Suddenly it was gone: all the arousal I had felt, all gone. It was like suddenly feeling nails scratching down a blackboard. I had touched Kara’s labia, and the instant I had done so, I had felt queasy, almost sick. Something had been triggered in my head to make me feel acutely uncomfortable with the idea of touching a girl intimately like that. But why? How?
It was how a straight man might feel if he reached out to touch something and then suddenly realised he was holding the shaft of another man's erect penis. Within a second or two I had gone from a growing sense of arousal in her arms, to feeling disgusted with myself the moment I had placed my fingers inside Kara's vulva.
How could I have done that?
I too shrank back, as I felt that 'nails down a blackboard' queasiness run down my spine.
“I’m sorry…” Kara could see the look of shock in my face as I said that and she mistook it for me realising I had done something I didn’t actually want to do. But I did want her! I did! Except that... when I had touched her intimately… it was like my skin suddenly crawled, my body had squirmed in revulsion. I bit my lower lip and gazed at her.
I knew Kara was pretty, beautiful. I admired the way she looked, and in certain aspects wished I could look the same as her. Her legs for example. But the thought of making love to her...
It suddenly felt unnatural, uncomfortably so. I gazed at her vulva and quickly looked away. I wasn't attracted to it.
I didn't understand any of this. What was happening to me?
What was happening to me?!
“It is all right, Emma. I know you didn't mean anything. It was just a shock, that is all.” Kara reached out and touched me. She couldn't understand why I was suddenly acting so strangely.
“There's something very wrong with me,” I said.
“This has been a difficult time for us, Emma. We're slaves now. All sorts of feelings are coming to the surface as we train. It is to be expected.”
“No, you don't understand.”
“Then tell me, chain sister,”
“I can't!” I tried to visualise Kara placing her head between my thighs, licking me with her tongue, but again the thought proved uncomfortable and I banished it from my mind. Suddenly I didn't want her to do that, or anything of the sort. It felt, it felt... ugh!
I shivered.
I felt very scared by what was happening to me.
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