Daughter of Gor by Olga Turlovna (Part One)

Daughter of Gor

By Olga Turlovna (art by ChloeK)

1 - In which men talk business with Priest Kings

"And why is it that a man of Urth is needed to serve the Priest Kings?" I ask, leaning forward attentively. "Yes, I am from the caste that Goreans would call the warriors, but so are many of your allies. You have a mission on my home world, perhaps?"

Urth is their name for the Earth, my home, for I am no longer on the Earth. This world is Gor, the Counter Earth, a dangerous planet but a beautiful one.

I've visited several times and each time I'm here it feels like my senses awaken and I come truly alive. The air is so fresh it is like perfume. Colours seem brighter. The mountains I can see from the window, here in the region called the Sardar, are so breath-taking they would shame the CGI enhanced views in the Lord of the Rings.

Terrain is not the world's only beauty. There is the sound of pouring liquid as, from her place by my thigh, a girl fills my wine cup.

"Not every task can be completed by a Gorean warrior," The Priest King named Misk replies in his manner of speech, "and this is an unusual mission where only someone of your... background... might serve."

Priest Kings are the godlike rulers of this world. Non-human, they are part of an ancient insect-like race that live for thousands of years. There is an almost palpable aura of timeless wisdom emanating from this one, Misk.

The two other men in the room, the two humans, are watching me with curiosity. A man of Urth, I am almost as novel to them as they are to me.

Each time I'm here I have to remind myself I'm not in a planet-wide Disneyland, themed around the Roman era. The short sword propped against my low chair is a very real weapon. In this world where honour means everything to men, it pays not to mock.

The girl stands, and moves gracefully to the man at my left.

She kneels silently next to him, and silently fills his cup as she did with mine. For a moment the sun catches on a steel collar that fits tightly around her throat. I see a glint from the metal.

Her feet and shapely legs are bare, the single garment she wears only covering down to her upper thighs.

Personally I'm finding it hard not to stare - she is unusually beautiful and such a girl would be a striking sight back home, but it is interesting to note the other two men barely look at her. A sight such as this is commonplace here on Gor.

"It is a mission on Urth, then?" I ask. Misk's reply seems to confirm the reason for my presence.

"The mission is on Gor," the elder of the two men answers without elaborating.

"Rorius here, is of the warriors," the Priest King explains, introducing the speaker. I see a bulky, gruff, patriarchal man with a face like a granite wall. As he studies me silently, he gives me the impression he is someone I wouldn't want to cross.

"And Telisio, also a warrior, is part of Rorius house," Misk continues, indicating the second man, who nods to me once.

Telisio is younger, handsome with a playboy, swashbuckler air about him. He looks as if he'd be the more fun of these two to get drunk with, but there is something less trustworthy in his manner.

"These two men will defend you and bear the greatest risk to life in the mission," Misk explains. "By the time you leave the Sardar, death is not likely to be your fate."

"We serve the Priest Kings to death if necessary, stranger," Rorius confirms, managing to imply that I might not be as worthy.

I recall that the Gorean word for 'stranger' and 'enemy' are the same, and I judge it an appropriate point to introduce myself.

"I am Aurius," I say, "Aurius of London. On Urth I too am a warrior. I have risked my life in combat missions before."

My background as a warrior - Special Forces in fact, is entirely true, but the title is not. 'Aurius' is not how I'm known on Earth.

My real name is Arran, but when I first visited Gor and discovered that the Goreans mishear it as the feminine Erin, I modified it to a more Latin version.

Gor is not a good planet to be mistaken for a female. Where on Earth the sexes strive to be treated in the same way, on Gor they base much of their culture around sexual inequalities, celebrating the physical superiority of men and male dominance over female.

Being from a more enlightened world, I know I should revile this barbaric sexism. And yet I am a hypocrite - proven by the way I can't take my eyes from the girl.

Far away from Earth in a sunlit, airy room, high in the Sardar Mountains, the role of three men is talking business with a Priest King. The female's role is to serve us wine, moving to kneel gracefully by the third man while I watch her.

She has a pretty face, oval with the darker colouring often seen in Hispanic women on my home world. I was raised to treat women with respect, but each time I try to concentrate on the conversation I find myself watching her again.

Her simple clothing is insufficient even to wrap completely round her sides, so I can see a broad vertical stripe of her soft bare skin from her thigh to under her arm. Particularly drawing my eye is the part of her luscious, pert breast visible to me. I'd just have to slip my hand under that fabric to access her.

She senses my gaze and I see her breathing quicken slightly, but she makes no objection. Yet again I force myself to concentrate on the men's conversation.

"Have you heard of a man named Kurtz of Ar?" Misk asks me.

I laugh.

"Kurtz? Who on Gor hasn't?" I admit. "He is reputed to be one of the greatest warriors of our age. A natural charismatic leader, inspiring incredible loyalty to his men. A fighter - brutal, but a strategic genius. A warrior poet. A lover of women."

"What is less commonly known, is that Kurtz of Ar was once in the service of the Priest Kings."

I nod, and then I catch on.

"Once, you say?"

"Once," Misk repeats. "Kurtz's last mission for us was to secure a location in the jungles of Schendi against our ancient enemies, the Kurii"

Hearing the name of the Priest Kings enemy spoken aloud, the bear-like Kurii, makes me start. It is a forbidden word. The Priest Kings and the Kurii, the other alien species found on Gor, have been warring for generations, but their battle is fought in secrecy from most of the human population, who view Priest Kings as gods.

Only a privileged few men such as myself are recruited to represent mankind in the service of beings on either side of this conflict.

It should be noted that it is the Priest Kings who keep human technology on Gor locked in the pre-gunpowder era. The Kurii have no interest in human progress, regarding us as nothing more than a food source.

"Kurtz's mission was to secure one of the Kurii landing points used for bringing troops, agents and slaves into Gor, and return that point to our use," Misk continues.

"It is a strategic location between the Nyoka and Kamba rivers, from where he could control all the traffic into Lake Ushindi. But when he arrived, something happened."

"Kurtz seized the fortified compound, but he and his men failed to return to the Sardar. Instead he claimed the right of ruler and chieftain out of there - what Goreans call an Ubar, and his men who were also believed loyal to the Priest Kings, remained with him."

I try to recall the geography of that region. A vast lake, Lake Ushindi, lies centrally in the jungle. Two rivers, the Nyoka and Kamba, drain to the west downstream to the sea, known as Thassa in the Gorean language.

Another river goes upstream from the lake, the river Cartius. The point on the lake between the two rivers would indeed control the traffic, but at the price of enduring oppressive heat and humidity; swamps; poisonous animals and insects; and disease.

"The jungles are an inhospitable place to rule," I comment. "Why does he stay?"

"That is what we need to know. It appears to be for the pleasures of power. His men raid the surrounding area, capturing goods, treasures, and taking captives as slaves. He displays his superiority over others with impunity."

"As well as capturing women in transit up and down the rivers, they also take women from the tribal groups in the jungle. Fresh captures are marked with the four-petal brand of the brandius flower - Kurtz's symbol."

The brandius plant can be dried to make a narcotic. It is addictive and enticing, yet poisonous. It is a strange plant to choose as one's motif.

"By the time the women are passed on to the markets, the slaves are said to be exquisitely trained. A girl marked with the brandius will command a high price on the auction blocks of Gor."

That seems an irrelevant fact for my task, which I think I understand now.

"My mission is to infiltrate Kurtz's group, as a spy? Investigate for the involvement of the Kur?"

The electronic translator used by the Priest King does not convey emotion, but I nearly sense entertainment at my ignorance.

"Not exactly," is the answer.

"We've tried this approach several times. They are always able to quickly detect our agents, and Kurtz's men defend him loyally."

He pauses, and in the same emotionless tone says, "Parts of our agents' bodies are returned to the Sardar as a message - limbs, heads, genitals. The treatment is barbaric. We will send no more men to the jungle."

I feel a chill at the word 'genitals', imagining the brutality behind these acts and the terror of the victims as they meet their fate.

If my purpose isn't to act as a spy, then again I am puzzled about the nature of my mission. My parents raised me to be an agent of the Priest Kings.

As a child in London I was schooled in a second language no-one else could speak. I was trained to fight, with an emphasis on hand to hand fighting and combat with medieval weapons.

Only when I turned eighteen, not long before my parents' death, did they tell me of Gor - a world whose language I soon discovered I spoke fluently. At first I thought my parents were deluded, until I first saw the world for real. But several years in the army still don't explain why I am required over these two native warriors. There is nothing unusual about Aurius of London except for my hair, which is an exceptionally rare dark red colour.

"The only strangers to enter the compound are women," Misk says, "and they pass through the gates in the chains of captivity."

Setting aside the mystery of my role for now, I make further suggestions.

"A female spy could permit herself to be captured and observe from the inside,” I say, “and then purchased on the block to report her discoveries.”

The one called Rorius interrupts, replying scathingly to me.

“You speak of a mission where the girl departs knowing she’s destined for slavery. No free female with honour would accept such a task, and slaves are not to be trusted with such a task.”

“There are brave women on Gor,” I counter. “And women of Gor serve the Priest Kings too, like this one here.”

Kneeling between us, facing into the circle, the girl gives a little start at being mentioned, but does not speak. She is being discussed by the men rather than addressed directly, and she knows better than to reply.

To a Gorean, this girl’s status is instantly obvious, declared by the collar of steel locked around her neck. She is kajira, owned, a slave.

Her clothing – a simple and scanty outfit made of one wide strip of cloth worn over the head like a poncho, would also only ever be worn by a slave. Goreans call this a camisk – it is worn by slaves across the planet.

It is fastened with a tie around her waist. Despite being

humiliatingly revealing, the girl has secured hers tightly, so rather than hanging loosely the camisk hugs her figure, accenting the swell of her breasts and her feminine hips.

Slavery is an abhorrent practice to the people of Urth, and yet the girl does not seem unhappy with her state. The opposite seems to be true – she radiates a beautiful serenity. I feel a flash of desire at the sight of such a woman. You’d never see a creature like her at home.

“Infiltration by women has also been tried,” Misk continues, “and it has failed. Whether we send a female agent that’s free or a kajira, Kurtz seems to inspire a devotion and submission in her that is unusually profound.”

“Our girls leave the compound loyal to him, even defending him to the point of torture, and we find nothing but superficial information from them. Priest Kings will not mistreat those who have been brave for us, so we will not interrogate these girls and their reports are useless.”

“You do not torture them enough,” the one called Rorius states bluntly.

I smile to see he’s got his arms folded, flexing his biceps. When you’re built like me you get used to this alpha male thing, with guys trying to intimidate each other. I’m not going to rise to it. I could break him if I wanted to, but I’d rather relax and watch the girl.

I wonder if this woman in the room with us is one of those agents that were sent to Kurtz, but her thigh is marked with the most common Gorean slave brand, a curling letter ‘k’ that denotes ‘kajira’, the female expression of the word for slave in the Gorean language. She doesn’t wear Kurtz’ personal brand.

“From our studies in your species, we think it is perhaps that the problem stems from the nature of woman,” Misk says.

“Research on your own planet matched that of Gor, and found that most females have elements of coercion in their fantasies. They say it is a powerful image to be conquered by the strong, handsome, warrior, and Kurtz represents all of these. It is possible that women cannot resist bending to his will.”

I glance across to the girl. Is she breathing more quickly?

Gorean slave positions are formal and deliberate, and this girl kneels with her thighs apart, a posture indicating a girl who has been opened, what they call ‘red silk’. In Earth parlance, we would say she is not a virgin. Slave women are not even allowed to keep that information private from strangers.

Slaves are not permitted undergarments, so with her thighs apart, all I’d have to do is lower my head to see a view that would be considered obscene on Urth. I wonder what it would be like to lay with her.

She really is very beautiful, with her dark eyes demurely lowered, peering from under those long lashes.

Hiding the diversion of my thoughts, I smile ruefully.

“Your situation seems hopeless, then.” I tell Misk. “You can’t send a male agent to investigate Kurtz’s compound, because the Ubar’s team will find them out and kill them immediately. And you can’t send a female agent, because women seem to turn into his willing slaves as soon as they’re in his presence.”

“Not quite hopeless - we have one last option,” Misk says. “We could send a female body with the mind of a man, in the hope his inherently masculine nature would resist the force of Kurtz’s charisma.”

The suggestion comes so out the blue that I scoff, laughing out loud. Misk discusses science fiction. And there is a more immediate problem with the suggestion.

“Even if you could do that, no Gorean man alive would swap places with a woman,” I scorn. “Gor is a world for men to enjoy and for women to be enjoyed.”

“Yes,” he agrees slowly. “It is only the men from Urth who envy the lives of women.”

I understand then why I have been brought to the Sardar.

2 - I learn more of the Priest Kings’ Technology

The room doesn’t look much like a laboratory. There are no bubbling flasks, no gadgets and no computers. Recalling the occasions of my watching movies at home on Urth, I am reminded more of the sleeping chambers from Alien.

The Priest King is showing me a horizontal tube made of a clear material, the correct size to hold a human being. I can see the device is designed to be sealed, airtight, and it has pipes feeding into the ends. Their function is to feed in nutrients and chemicals to effect the change, and remove waste.

“In human beings, your sex is determined by the form of the sperm, before you’re even an embryo,” Misk is explaining.

“So to turn you into a female we would have to amend your DNA, and then trigger a complete rebuild of your body, cell by cell, leaving only your brain intact. Such a process will take time – perhaps one Gorean month.”

“It sounds dangerous,” I say dubiously.

The loss of one more human being would be unimportant in the endless conflict between Priest Kings and Kurii where so many have given their lives. The Priest Kings could have simply forced me to participate, male slaves dragging me to the tube like a human sacrifice to the altar.

Such cruelty is not their nature, however. Instead I am being shown the laboratory where I will be transformed.

If I accept, that is.

“The process is not without risk,” Misk confirms, “being difficult to sustain organic matter through such trauma, although as your human body is much simpler than ours the task is made easier. This technology was first designed for the healing of Priest Kings. Your chance of survival is perhaps... seventy percent.”

He continues, “That level of danger makes it too risky to reverse the process after the mission. You would live out your life as a female.”

“Will I live looking like a man with female attributes?” I ask. “Gender switching is not unknown on my world, but it is a combination of physical surgery to reshape the bone structure and treatment with hormones.”

“You will be biologically female in every way, indistinguishable from a human developed from a female embryo, then grown to a girl child,” Misk answers.

“The only masculine element that will remain is your brain, containing your original personality and your memories.”

The magnitude of the potential change is too much to contemplate, so I avoid thinking and keeping talking.

“What will I look like?” I ask, trying to joke. “If I’m going to be a girl I do not wish to be ugly.”

“That is not in our interest either,” Misk agrees emotionlessly, “because only the most desirable of women are likely to be personally selected to serve Kurtz. Luckily, here we have an advantage over nature because we can make further amendments to your DNA.”

“The Priest Kings have studied and understood the physical attributes in a female which the men of Gor find pleasing. We will engineer you to have the long legs, the big breasts and the facial features found in the women that men prize most highly.”

There is a pause and he confirms, “Every effort must be made to make you irresistible to human males, if you are to gain the attention of Kurtz himself.”

I nod. I am free to nod, free to question, free to think. At the moment I am a free man. I have lived and experienced life as a man. I have known the pleasures of women. It is being proposed that I will become the pleasurable woman.

“Your red hair is unusual, especially for those lands near the jungle where the women normally have darker colouring, and this would also add to your auction value,” he continues.

“The hair colour, we shall retain. Finally we shall regenerate a younger body than your current one, so you are at the most desirable age – a young adult.”

He actually said ‘auction’. We are emotionlessly discussing how I would be sold at slave auction, no different to an object or a cow.

I look to the rest of our group for comment or support.

Still accompanying me on the laboratory tour are the two other men, and the girl. They are mostly silent, but I sense their eyes are on me constantly, waiting for the moment when I come to my senses and reject the entire proposal.

I must appear more alien than the Priest King to them for having failed to decline already.

Misk’s mission would change me forever into a female, giving up all the benefits of being a man in a man’s world. It would be unthinkable to a Gorean male to accept the drop in social status resulting from a gender change.

But this man of Urth, he goes even further. They can see is contemplating a task so demeaning it makes him even more

incomprehensible to them – becoming a female and willingly walking into slavery.

And yet here the man of Urth stands, debating the surrender of every last part of his masculinity and his dignity. What feeble creatures Urth men must be.

Our group discussed the mission in more detail before commencing the tour.

The proposed plan is that wearing my new vulnerable body I would be transported close to the Schendi jungle and then travel through the territories patrolled by Kurtz’s men. They are likely to capture such tempting live bait, in the event of which I will save my life by submitting in the manner of women.

Accompanying me safely to the jungle will have to be Rorius and Telisio. Once I’m female I’ll be unable to travel alone and without a protective escort. The two men will abandon me at the point of capture and attempt to escape with their lives.

If Kurtz’s men accept my submission, I would be taken into his compound, as a slave. No one in our discussion expresses that as a desirable woman in this situation, I am likely to be raped, but we all know that would be a probable fate.

Female captives also need to be checked for hidden weapons as well, which is achieved on Gor by the simple method of stripping the prisoner. So as a prize to be exhibited, I would probably march into Kurtz’s compound naked.

I know all this, and yet, the man of Urth has still to refuse. Waiting for the inevitable rejection, the two men of Gor watch me.

Once enslaved, I am likely to be branded. Even if I survive the mission to get back to my reward on Urth, my female self will never wear a bikini. It would be a humiliating conversation explaining a brandius scar at the poolside. But that is the least of my worries.

The horror looming in front of me is suffering the training and treatment of a slave girl, as has been the fate of Kurtz’s other captives. It is at this point that the previous female agents have broken, submitting deeply to his will. The thin hope of the mission is that my remaining shreds of masculine nature will give me the strength to maintain some sense of my former identity.

Inside the compound, I will be expected to act on my own initiative on behalf of the Priest Kings. Ideally I am to return Kurtz to the service of the Sardar, but if he is forever lost my orders are to take appropriate steps.

For my whole life I’ve been preparing to serve the Priest Kings, but now I have a mission it’s the last thing I could have wanted – serving the sexual pleasures of Kurtz and his men as they see fit, solely to find out if he’s loyal or traitor.

I look out the window of the laboratory, and my heart catches at the magnificence of the mountains. This is such a breathtakingly beautiful world, though. Do I not owe it to Gor to sacrifice myself to save it?

While I ponder, I continue to think about the future that might lie before me.

Inside Kurtz’ compound, the captivity phase of my mission may be of some months’ duration.

Once my owners are satisfied or tired of my presence, they will send me to stand on one of the auction blocks to be sold. Agents of the Priest Kings will be watching the slave markets across Gor armed with my description – an unusually beautiful girl with dark red hair, marked with a brandius flower.

Only then will I be re-purchased and returned to the Sardar Mountains. If I have been well trained, I am likely to be expensive.

There is much that can go wrong. Even if I survive the transformation process, there will be plenty of other stages where I could be killed. I might be accidentally killed in the raid by Kurtz men. Slave girls are sometimes put to death as a punishment for failing to satisfy their masters. And yet, the man of Urth is still contemplating this dishonour.

“What will happen to me after the mission?” I ask. “I can’t return to my former life on Urth, looking like a young woman.”

“Suitable arrangements will be made to reward financially reward you and re-integrate you into society, whether you chose to remain on Gor as a female, or return to Urth,” Misk says. “But no, you won’t be able to return to your former existence.”

My future destination is not a difficult choice. I am hardly likely to choose remaining on Gor as a female. There are two roles for Gorean women – the Free Woman, robed and veiled like the Arabian women on Urth, repressed and shut away in their families’ houses; or the slave girl, a piece of property to serve as her owners wish.

But the life of a beautiful woman on Earth might be a desirable reward. I visualise myself as a supermodel, lying on a tropical beach. The idea my beauty attracting someone rich is not even completely abhorrent to me. There is so much I need to consider.

“After my transition, would I leave immediately on the mission?”

“No,” states Misk. “When you are revived, you will need some time to learn to move in your new body. You must have the natural grace and demeanour as if you’ve always been a woman. You must conduct yourself as would a woman in Gorean culture. Tala here will serve you until you leave the Sardar, training you to behave as a female.”

The slave girl nods her head in acceptance. I know she will do her very best, both because she serves the Priest Kings, and because she is slave. That is how I learn her name – ‘Tala’. It is a pretty name.

I study Tala again, the direction of the conversation giving me opportunity to watch her.

What might it be like to live as such a creature? I feel pity, and desire, and jealousy, and hunger, and fear, for her experience of the world. Would it be wondrous, or horrific?

She is beautiful, but the Kurii would view her flesh as nothing more than a delicacy. Does she not deserve my courage?

It is the sight of Tala that resolves me.

“My answer is yes.”

It is out before I know it. I surprise myself, but not as much as I surprise the two men whose mouths hang slack.

Some kind of emotion is building in me, and I know I have to say it again before I change my mind, so I do.

“Yes, I accept the mission,” I repeat, more firmly.

The laboratory is silent. Even Tala looks astonished. The men’s expressions show part respect for my courage, part contempt that I walk so willingly into slavery.

After almost an ehn, a Gorean minute has elapsed, I feel obliged to speak.

“Do we begin immediately?” I ask.

“We will need some time to prepare,” Misk answers hesitantly, as if not even the Priest King was expecting me to accept.

“The process will begin tomorrow. Tonight you may reflect on your decision. You may change your mind tomorrow if you wish, and Priest Kings will accept this.”

“What will I be named?” I ask suddenly. “I can’t be called Aurius.”

It’s a ridiculous question, but it is important to me. Someone’s name means everything to them. I remember that slaves often have their names removed.

The two Gorean men confer, but it is Tala who asks for permission to speak.

“Aurore is a name from my region, Masters,” she says softly, “and is a little like Aurius”.

We all feel it – a sense of rightness.

“Yes, that is a good name - Aurore,” says Telisio, looking at me appraisingly and repeating the name as if tasting it.

The matter is settled. Tomorrow I will become Aurore of the Sardar.

3 - The pleasures of a Man’s life

I have been meandering the corridors of the Nest, carrying a flagon of spiced wine. I am drunk. I am very drunk. If my body’s cells will be replaced tomorrow, my hangover will leave with them, so I might as well enjoy myself.

Loudly I sing the songs of my homeland – Beatles, Springsteen. No one interrupts me.

I reach the door of my own quarters. It is unlocked – there is no need for security inside the Nest, so I enter. Inside, a small oil lamp has been lit, and emits a warm, pleasing yellow glow that casts flickering shadows.

A sound alerts me that my room is already occupied.

I look to the source and see my sleeping area. The girl, Tala, lies in my furs.

I understand immediately.

I have been gifted with one final night of male pleasure, like a groom before his wedding. It is the lamp of love that shines off Tala’s skin. She lies there with only her torso covered by the fur – hiding an area from thigh to under her arms.

Approaching closer to her bare legs I see a steel bracelet is locked around her bare left ankle. From it runs a long chain, ending in a floor ring at the foot of the bed. There is plenty of slack – Tala can move almost entirely about the room, and yet she is chained, and she cannot leave.

It is not untypical to secure slaves for the night in this manner. Even the most trusted will be left in some restraint, so they never forget they are slaves. This is Tala’s fate. She has been left shackled in a man’s room, so he may do with her as he wishes.

My heart has started beating more quickly. I am that man.

I have the morality of a man of Earth, and when I see her there in my furs I intend to respect Tala as a sentient female. I know she will not have been asked her consent to lie with me. But then she sits up and the fur covering slips to her waist, bearing her breasts, and my will dissolves.

Priest Kings, this kajira has a nice body.

I now see bare skin right down to where her thigh joins her hip. She must be naked under the fur coverings.

Her flesh calls out for my touch. Desire ignites in me, but also a moment of doubt. Could the Priest Kings really be able to dress me in a body as beautiful as hers?

“Master,” Tala says humbly, “let me please you.”

I hesitate.

“Do you want this?” I ask her. If ever in my life I’ve been handed a ‘sure thing’ this is it, but the Urth man in my nature just can’t take her without some sign of consent from the girl.

“Please Master,” Tala begs, and that’s enough answer for my libido to overcome any moral objections.

Decisive, I pull back the fur to leave her completely exposed to me. She gasps, but makes no attempt to cover herself.

I feel a primal link to men through time, wanting to make love to the female, wanting to possess her.

My blood starts to rise.

It only takes me a moment to slip from my simple Gorean tunic.

Meanwhile Tala moves sensuously on the furs, positioning herself with one arm above her head and her right knee drawn up. She is breathing heavily.

This arousal in women is known to Goreans as ‘slave heat’.

I climb onto my furs, towering over her, dominant.

With my blood pounding I run my hands freely over her body. As I run my palms over her breasts she arches her back to press herself more completely into me and groans softly. I am reminded that soon I will have breasts, just as she does.

My desire is too urgent to hold back for long, so gently I part her thighs, before mounting her and swiftly spearing into her depths. She is not faking her own arousal, and I penetrate her easily. The shadow from lamplight copies our movements – the male silhouette thrusting dominantly over the passive female.

Throughout our coupling I experience a double awareness, thinking part as the man having sex with a beautiful girl, and in part imagining myself as the girl.

This sense is especially intense when I grip her thigh and feel the scarred flesh where she’s been branded. I’ve never had this experience before during lovemaking, and the reason is known to me.

It may be only a little time before I also am in her position, desperate to please, and a master’s touch reminds me of the mark on my own thigh.

I can see Tala is trying to be as pleasurable as she possibly can be, timing her movements to match mine, and moving her body to keep the most contact. But what arouses me more than her subservience is seeing the desire in Tala, the fulfilment her own body craves from mine.

This is a woman truly abandoning herself to her inner slave. Perhaps some of the Gorean beliefs about the nature of the female are true.

When the end comes, the moment is exquisite, and I can see from her closed eyes and tensed body that the girl gains almost as much pleasure as I do.

Afterwards I am not tired, so I lie on my back, the nude girl draped across me.

Tenderly I caress her bare back, tracing lines down her spine from the collar at the nape of her neck to the cleft of her buttocks. She has such beautiful round, feminine buttocks.

Now the male drive for possession and sating of desire has been satisfied, I can feel protective and tender towards her. I wish to try and understand her life, so I start to speak.

“How many men have you been with, Tala?”

Her body stiffens for a moment as she thinks, and then she admits, “I don’t know, Master. Too many to remember easily.”

I feel pity for her at this.

“Do you hate us, hate men, for making you do this?”

That question seems to puzzle her, and she lifts her head.

“Can this girl ask why it should matter to Master?”

I consider telling the truth.

A Gorean man would consider what has just happened between us a completely natural act, with nothing reprehensible. But a man from Earth schooled in modern feminist lore would define what just happened as ‘exploitation of the vulnerable party in an unequal power distribution relationship’.

I need her to absolve my conscience, but I reply with another question.

“When I too am a woman, will you resent me for using you like this?” Tala’s laugh is warm and rich, without malice.

“The men of Urth think so differently,” she marvels, amused. “Tala will not resent the Master when the Master becomes the Mistress. Tala is not vindictive.”

“Serving as a woman can be very pleasurable – Master won’t understand until he experiences it for himself, but it is true. In slavery there is the freedom to express one’s self completely. There is no shame for the slave in yielding to pleasure, because the slave has no other choice.”

I must seem unconvinced, because she adds, “I was trapped as a free woman. I was of the scribes, but my tasks were unfulfilling. My life was empty and without purpose. I would not return to it, even if I were set free.”

“How did you become a slave?” I ask.

She smiles again.

“A tarnsman – one of those exceptional men who rides the giant predatory birds, snatched me from one of the towers in my city. It was very romantic really – he risked his life, just because he wanted to capture a female for his own.”

“I was his first – a rite of passage into manhood. In front of the people of his house, I was stripped and collared. It was one of the most intense moments of my life. I will never forget it.”

Tarnsmen are riders of eagle-like creatures. It takes a powerful alpha-male to tame one of the creatures enough to fly it. I can imagine the experience of capture by one such as him being

overwhelming.

“I think he had some affection for me,” Tala says. “When eventually I was to be sold on, he made sure I was traded to a merchant that trained and sold the highest quality slaves. The next man who bought me from the merchant was an agent of the Priest Kings. I don’t not what made him choose me over the other girls for sale, but that’s what happened.”

“In a sack, I was transported here, to the Sardar.”

Gently I caress the sweet curves of her rump.

“And you really wouldn’t want to be free again?” I ask.

“My current status seems right to me,” she says. “I am meant to be a slave, and please others. Other women might not be the same, but I have been taught that it is my nature, and pleasure comes from accepting and fulfilling one’s nature.”

To prove her point she moves her body against me, and it is the blatant animal movement of a slave girl attempting to arouse her master.

My blood starts to rise again.

I kiss her once, tenderly, and then with my superior strength I easily flip her onto her back. Quickly I’m on top of her, straddling her and showering her with more kisses.

“Then please me, slave,” I command in a gentle voice, and we lose ourselves in the flickering light of the lamp.

4 - Aurius makes a final visit to the laboratory

“We Priest Kings offer you a last opportunity to change your mind,” Misk says to me.

I shake my head.

“I do what is needed to serve,” I reply boldly.

“Then remove your clothing,” Misk requests. “There must be no other matter in the tube.”

I comply, undressing as quickly as I’d done with Tala the night before.

For the first time since we’ve met she wears more than me – standing in the laboratory in her short slave’s camisk, whereas I am nude.

Between my legs I am aware of the weight of a penis that last night penetrated her. Last night it was the focus of my masculine power. This morning it hangs limp and useless against my dark red pubic hair.

I asked Tala to accompany me until the end of my time as Aurius, craving the presence of someone who felt an emotional connection to me.

I feel the touch of her hand for a moment, and know she made the contact deliberately. My heart fills with protective affection towards this wonderful girl.

This morning I awoke as she humbly prepared a simple breakfast of bread and water. The long chain still ran from Tala’s ankle bracelet to the foot of my bed.

I did not have the key – the person who left her there had to release her, a slave master who arrived later in the morning.

Eating was a pointless activity for me – my stomach was about to be rebuilt, but I was hungry and I ate more to relieve the monster headache that pierced my skull.

My head still pounds like it is being squeezed between the jaws of a thalarion, and I feel nauseous.

Death today might not be such a bad thing.

Of the Gorean men, only Telisio is present in the laboratory. I have a fine muscular body and I’m in excellent physical shape, but all the same it is humiliating standing here nude.

Being publically naked is not a good thing for either gender in this society. Except for when lovemaking, clothing is an indicator of status.

It will not matter after today.

I take one last look at my male body – the wide musculature on my thighs; my narrow hips; my strong hands; my powerful arms; my large feet; and I mentally say goodbye to it all.

I lift my hand to my face and touch the familiar contours – stubble; a heavy brow; and a broad chin.

Male slaves, also dressed in more than me even though they only wear loincloths, are preparing the apparatus.

They mutely manoeuvre a glass bottle of a pale pink chemical into position, connecting it to the clear tube with a narrow pipe.

Pink for a girl, perhaps?

I am nervous. The odds are in my favour 70%, Misk had said, but all the same - I might meet my death in that cylinder.

“The liquid is highly oxygenated,” Misk tells me. “You will be able to breathe the fluid when the tube is full. It will keep your cells alive, even when only your brain remains. They can take oxygen and nutrients directly from the liquid.”

“Then the active components in the fluid will re-write your human DNA, to transform you into a female.”

“I have to breathe that in?” I ask.

The liquid slops around in the container. It will feel like drowning when I inhale it.

I am not anticipating this with relish. I look for distractions – any distractions. I glace at Tala but she has tears in her eyes. She mourns me already. Watching her won’t help.

A question has occurred to me since our discussion of my mission. I ask it now.

“I assume my new body will be sterile,” I say. “It would not do for the agent of the Priest Kings to become pregnant in Kurtz compound.”

The device that transposes Misk’s communications manages to convey that I am mistaken.

“You will be fertile, as any other female might be,” Misk corrects me. “If you were sterile, it might draw attention in an examination by the caste of physicians.”

My stomach rolls at this new information. I could get knocked up? Seriously? They tried to avoid warning me about that.

“Then before we leave the Sardar I can drink the Gorean slave wine given to pleasure females, to prevent them becoming pregnant?”

“Negative,” Misk says again. “Free women do not drink slave wine, and it would attract attention. If you are impregnated, we shall manage the child according to your wishes later.”

I look at Tala as that news sinks in, and find myself wondering if she’s drunk that wine. If not, I might have got her pregnant last night.

A child would be Aurius’ immortal legacy in the world. It would be a child I should be supporting, protecting, but I am abandoning the masculine role.

I feel a sense of loss and regret for what I might be leaving behind. But it is too late. The male slaves have already completed their preparation and are stepping back, ready to open the valves that flood the cylinder.

“We are ready. Please get into the tube,” Misk instructs me.

“What is the active ingredient in the chemical?” Telisio asks.

He has been all but ignoring me as I stand, naked and nervous, but the question is perhaps to create a delay and give me a little longer.

I half listen to the answers, too pumped with adrenaline for my brain to function logically.

Misk’s reply is well beyond my understanding, but Telisio nods as if following the explanation easily. The primitive weapons available on Gor make it easy to forget that some elements of their civilisation are far more advanced than our world.

There is no point putting this off. Aurius of London has only one task left for to complete.

Kneeling and then leaning forward, thrusting my butt out with a complete loss of dignity, I crawl naked into the tube.

At my feet, the end piece is pushed into place, and I hear it being sealed. The sounds from the laboratory abruptly mute – voices in conversation changing to muffled murmurs.

There is an unpleasant claustrophobic sensation. I have no means of opening the tube from the inside, so I am trapped. I am powerless. There is no going back.

The clear sides of the tube show me a distorted vision of the laboratory, from the level of the floor. I shift to a more comfortable position lying on my side and look up, watching the lucky ones outside.

Several minutes pass.

Then there is the sound of a valve opening, and the pink liquid begins to flow in – first a tiny puddle in the base of the tube that wets my flank, then an inch, then a level climbing so a good proportion of my body is submerged.

Where it touches me, it tingles like an abrasive kiss. When the level reaches my genitals they react to this physical contact, and shamefully I start to grow aroused.

The liquid starts to slop around my face. I have to turn my head to find the gap where there is still air. I know this is futile, and I’ll inhale the liquid eventually, but my instinct for survival is too strong. I’ve never been someone to accept defeat.

Then the tube is completely filled. Panic overcomes the rational and I scrabble at the lid like an animal to try and escape.

I have held my breath, but my lungs are starting to burn. On the other side of the clear tube, Tala is crouched down, sympathetically touching her hand against the glass. She is speaking, perhaps urging me to breathe in, but I cannot hear her.

The liquid fills my ears, and all I can here is the desperate pounding of Aurius’ heart.

My body betrays me. Without warning my lungs inhale, and the fluid is everywhere. I think am choking, but after a moment of white hot terror I realise I am not.

I begin to calm. Cautiously I expand and contract my chest a few times, and discover I can breathe, and I can breathe almost as easily as I could in air.

I’m alive for now, but the fluid is having a new effect. I’m starting to grow drowsy, even though the tingling touch of the chemical is everywhere on me now.

Fighting the urge to sleep I watch my skin starting to peel, floating away as if I have severe eczema. There is no pain.

I make the diver’s ‘Okay’ sign, and then remember it will be meaningless to a Gorean.

I can’t resist any longer. This might be my last moment of life, but so be it.

Giving in to sleep and letting my consciousness start to dissolve in the liquid, I reach between my legs and cup my aroused manhood in my hands, bidding it goodbye.

5 - Aurore of the Sardar

It is not a pleasant way to awaken. Liquid floods from the tube, and I choke, retching to discharge the fluid from my lungs and replace it with life giving air.

My diaphragm battles to draw in oxygen but my chest feels glued shut. It’s no good. I can’t breathe.

I start to panic. I see bright light and intense colours, but everything is out of focus.

Then I heave up another puddle of liquid, my ribcage functioning for just enough time to take in one giant sweet gulp of life giving air, before that action triggers more uncontrollable coughing and once more I cannot inhale.

I become sentient about where I am, and what led me to be here. I am in the Priest King’s laboratory.

It appears I have survived. In addition, there is no need for anyone to tell me if the transformation has been successful – I can already hear it in the high pitch of my coughs.

I am lying on my side in the tube, but before I have time to reflect further on my position someone lifts and tips the cylinder, making me slide down the slick surface and spill onto the laboratory floor.

It’s getting easier and easier to breathe, and I’m feeling calmer.

The noise I emit has become a series of regular moans, something between the sound of a woman crying and the sound of her lovemaking, instead of the strangled chokes.

“Clean her,” commands the electronic voice of a Priest King. Each one of the aliens uses these electronic voice boxes, and yet this one still sounds like Misk.

Warm water pours over me, one bucketful and then a second, and a moment later a third. It is clear pure water, not the slick chemical soup where I’ve spent eternity. I feel purged, and the washing helps my vision to clear.

My face is uncomfortably against the laboratory floor, resting on a grille of holes designed to allow liquid to drain away, so I try to push my shoulders up, lifting my upper body away from the surface.

Arm muscles that have never been used before shake, and I feel weak.

As I raise my head a thick heavy curtain falls across my face to block my view, soaking wet, and matted into bootlace strands. I understand this is my new hair. It’s the same beautiful russet colour as it was before, but it’s much, much longer.

“We need to know that her mind has not been damaged by the process,” I hear a man say, a human voice this time.

I am able to look up and see the one called Rorius is standing and watching me with his arms folded.

“Do you understand who you are?” says the Priest King.

I track to see the source of the sound and see that it is indeed Misk. I try to speak.

“I am Aurius of London,” I begin to say, but that is the wrong response. I correct myself.

“I am Aurore of the Sardar.”

I get my first experience of a new kind of fear when I hear my own words, and I hesitate half way through the sentence.

Oh dear, that sounds like a sexy voice. Is it really mine?

I’ve awoken with a sultry, soprano drawl, Marilyn Monroe whispering ‘happy birthday, Mister President’. I’m stuck with that? Priest Kings save me, I’m gonna get eaten alive just for opening my mouth. How bad do I look?

Glancing back down to the tiles, I see for myself.

My hands and forearms are before me, propping my upper body away from the floor. The limbs are long and thin, forearms as slender and delicate as my new hands.

These are woman’s arms – girl’s arms. No one would look at these limbs and believe for a second I’m a male in disguise. The Priest King’s process has transformed me completely.

I now have skin that is smooth and hairless – a girl’s skin.

The new female fingers I am looking at lack the grip and strength to wield a warrior’s sword, but their soft caress might be a different defence. And my arms are so slim. Those wrists were once far too thick for the binders designed to secure a female slave, but I note that now, such restraints would fit me perfectly.

Don’t panic, I tell myself. This is all expected – it’s part of the mission.

And then I see my breasts.

They hang down like luscious ripe fruit, the fruit that is to men, life’s sweetest temptation.

My breasts are big and full, pert with youth and inviting. They are porn star breasts. I’ve never even seen a chest like this on a real life woman, and now, for life, they are mine.

Symmetrically positioned are my big nipples, nipples that are now part of my erogenous zones. Cooled by the liquid, they’re erect. They are big, sensitive, islands of rose pink amidst the pale skin that goes with a typical redhead’s complexion.

Oh, shit. No one will resist breasts such as these. And they’re attached to me for life. I cannot escape them.

It’s not a comfortable position, staring at my boobs from half way into a push-up, so I twist my lower body until I’m lying on my side, hip pressing into the floor, knee slightly drawn up.

As I move I feel the weight of the new globes at my chest shifting and swaying.

Oh, shit.

No, I’m just a soldier on mission, I tell myself. Don’t panic and assess your situation.

My raised upper body is now propped more comfortably on one arm.

This oil-painting pose accentuates the wide, childbearing hips of the nubile woman.

Whichever way I look, I see a body that’s utterly female.

Above those hips my waist is hourglass slim. Below, the uppermost of my new exquisitely long legs is draped over the other, hiding my genitals. My penis will be gone unless something went wrong. My pussy will be there now.

I’m about to lift my knee and examine myself, when I hear Misk speak.

“Has it been successful?” the Priest King asks. “Does her new form look desirable?”

There is a male chuckle. Not the shy, repressed noise of a man of Urth – this is the deep laugh of a Gorean man, someone who was never raised to conceal his appreciation of beauty.

There is a human male in the laboratory - the younger human male called Telisio.

“Now there,” he says staring straight at me, “is a fine looking woman.”

Only then do I realise that the entire time since awakening I’ve been a nude girl in the presence of men.

Quickly tell myself, “Don’t be embarrassed, this is just the mission.”

Soldiers often have to be naked in front of other men. It’s not a big deal. It’s not even my body, really. What does it matter if these men see it?

All the same, I have already angled my free arm across my breasts as an instinctive effort to hide myself. I want to come to terms with this female flesh on my own, before half of the Sardar enjoys a look.

It turns out I’m not the only one who thinks that way.

“Cover her nakedness,” Rorius says, and his voice is filled with contempt for me, as if I’m a tavern slut flaunting herself, rather than a recovering patient waking from an operation.

So Rorius is here too.

From behind someone lays a robe over my body. There is only a brief contact of the hand, but I can tell it’s a girl. I look back with gratitude and see the slave Tala is the final occupant of the laboratory.

Quickly I draw the fabric around me, shrinking back into it, fastening the tie around my new hourglass waist.

The robe is like a monk’s cowl from Urth – ankle length and long sleeved, with a loose hood for the head. It covers me almost completely, but nowhere near as much as the robes of concealment I’ll soon be expected to wear in public.

Free women do not show their bodies under any circumstances, not on this planet.

I can’t help recalling my mission, and the purpose for the Priest Kings bringing about this incredible transformation. While my female body is clothed now, the next man to see me naked is likely to be my captor.

“Try to stand, Lady Aurore,” Misk requests.

My new title sounds very strange to me.

Awkwardly, I comply. The robe parts as I move my ankles, and I flash bare leg up to my knee.

Then I almost overbalance. I’m not prepared for the weight

distribution of my new body – the mass of my swinging breasts means the centre of gravity is further forward than a muscular male upper body. It will take me some time to learn to be graceful.

The length of Aurore’s exquisite legs has not been lost on me, but all the same on my feet, I notice the men are both now taller than I am. The height difference gives them an air of authority.

I hold my head up and look directly at them. No-one is going to intimidate me.

Standing in my robe, I am studied. Only my bare feet are exposed, and my face is uncovered, but I feel self-conscious. Even Tala seems to be appraising me as a woman.

“She is undamaged by the transformation,” Misk says, discussing me as if I’m not there. “As you deem her suitably desirable, then she is satisfactory. When will she be ready for the next stage?”

“I suggest no more than a few days,” replies Telisio. “She must have enough time to learn to move naturally in her new body, but not enough for her mind to start thinking as a female does.”

“The men of Urth all think like females,” scoffs Rorius, and I feel my anger begin to flare.

“It must be a man in a female body that falls captive,” continues Telisio, ignoring him. “We don’t know how quickly the female hormones in her body will begin to change her behaviour. She must remain aggressive and strong willed.”

“I have only a few days?” I question in my new high voice. A few days is not long enough to come to terms with being a woman before I am dispatched into slavery.

But the matter appears to be agreed.

“Come, to my rooms. Let us make our plans,” Misk says, and the men turn from me, following the alien insect.

I am moving behind them when Rorius turns back to me with an expression of displeasure, and I realise that I’m not to be included in their group.

My anger rises further.

“Are you shutting me out of this because I’m now a woman?” I ask incredulously. “I’m a member of this team too.”

“If you’re to convince as a native female of this world, you need to start learning your new place,” Rorius declares.

“He does have a slight point,” Telisio interrupts, stemming the growing argument. “What is to be done with her until we depart for the Schendi?”

“She courts the collar,” Rorius says with contempt. “If I had my way she would be housed in the kennels with the other slaves... But I grudgingly accept that she does need some schooling in behaviour.”

Courting the collar – they describe me with the derogatory phrase for a free woman who deliberately seeks slavery. The insult stings, because it is true.

“Lady Aurore has not submitted,” Misk says, closing the debate. “She will be treated as would any other free woman of the house of Rorius.”

“A free women in my house would not move around unveiled,” Rorius says, not pleased at my being attached to his name, and despite the unpleasant way he says it, I must concede he is correct.

Addressing the slave girl, he instructs, “Tala, take the lady Aurore to her new quarters. Show her how to dress with decency and how to conduct herself. She will remain there until we send for her.”

Given the risks I’m taking for the service of the Priest Kings, and the sacrifices I’m making, I had expected to emerge from my tube to be treated as a hero, or rather a heroine. At the very least I expected human respect.

As Rorius finishes delivering his instructions I realise I have been foolish in this assumption. Goreans have very fixed views of gender, so from now on I can expect to be treated not as a hero, but as a woman.

There is much to reflect on, so I am silent as I follow camisk-clad Tala to the women’s rooms in the house of Rorius.

Aurore of the Sardar will be shut in her rooms to await orders, whereas Tala the slave can move freely about the nest. Until there is a collar around my neck, I am more of a captive than she is.

6 - I enter the women’s quarters

On our way to my new rooms, we pass a man striding along a corridor, a stranger to me, and he halts to stare at me blatantly.

Clutching my robe protectively around me, I blush and pick up my pace, experiencing for the first time the appraisal of a Gorean male of a Gorean female.

This man doesn’t know me as Aurius, so his treatment of me is another portent for the rest of my life. He shows open appreciation, as if there is nothing wrong with a man staring at a woman. But I can see he is also puzzled at seeing a female clad as I am.

It is true I am giving off mixed signals.

There is no collar around my neck, and yet my face is stripped, as bare as my feet, in a fashion only a low caste peasant girl would tolerate. The silk wrap is also tight about me, showing my figure rather than concealing it. My outfit would be considered demure by Earth standards, but wanton for a free woman of Gor.

I have never felt so exposed in my life.

“Lady,” he says with a slight tone of questioning.

I am not walking like a lady, but trying to move as Aurius would have done, with my feet further apart. This is wrong for my new

proportions, but I feel self-conscious keeping my ankles closer together in a feminine sashay.

We hurry past, and I can’t turn to see if he’s still watching me without making my interest obvious.

There are no further encounters, but it is with some relief we reach the safety of my new quarters.

They are entered from the rooms of Rorius, so a heavy wooden door from his living area leads to the personal space allocated for Aurore. A small ante-room is inside this entrance, with an archway leading to my sleeping and robing area.

Such ante-rooms are not uncommon in Gorean architecture. They allow males of the house to wait there as the females robes themselves.

The space I occupied as Aurius of London had a balcony with a superb panoramic view over the canyon that the Priest Kings chose for their nest – better than the Grand Canyon and the Angel Falls combined.

Lady Aurore’s room has a narrow window like a slot, and all I can see is a band of blue sky and some dry rocks. I comment on the loss to Tala and she shrugs.

“You are a prize now, Mistress. A tarnsman could take you from a balcony. These measures are for your protection.”

“An enemy tarnsman? Here in the Sardar?” I ask.

“It is not unknown.” Tala replies.

The wooden door to the ante-room is heavy, but there is no lock or bar on the inside I can drop to guarantee my security.

“What happens if a man comes in?” I ask a little nervously.

“This is the women’s quarters of Rorius,” Tala says. “Only he is permitted to enter, or slaves, or other free women. The outer door to the rooms of Rorius will be guarded. That is sufficient.”

I don’t really want Rorius walking in on me, but apparently a Gorean man is the master of his household. He may go where he wishes.

Tala tries to reassure me.

“When alone in their private rooms free women wear lighter robes, like the one you have now,” she says. “It is acceptable for you to be dressed like this in your private quarters, although you should be fully robed and veiled before any other men but Rorius, and as soon as you exit through the door.”

“This is my sanctuary, then,” I say, looking around again.

There are almost no personal effects in here. I realise that is because most of my belongings were linked to my masculinity.

Women don’t wear male clothes; my former sword I could barely lift now; and I have no need for a saddle or reins for a tarn. Everything that was of Aurius is lost.

These quarters are furnished for feminine concerns. Dominating my new room is a full length mirror, bolted into the wall and surrounded by a simple wooden frame.

Being so near that mirror makes me desperate to examine myself, and to have the chance to come to terms with my new female body alone. I resolve that that is what I will do.

“Leave me for a while,” I say to Tala, almost pleadingly. “I need a moment to reflect on everything that happened.”

“As you command Mistress,” she says. “Tala is ordered to fetch you clothing suitable for receiving visitors your private rooms, and the robes of concealment to wear in public, so she will return in thirty ehn.”

Thirty ehn – the Gorean minute that is longer than the Earth one.

Tala gives a slightly curtsey to me, and says, “I humbly advise Mistress not to leave her rooms alone from now on. You are not safe without an escort.”

It is sensible advice, but disheartening. The last night I remember, I reeled through the Nest as drunk as a lord. Now, I can’t step outside my door.

“You’re kind to me,” I say gratefully, only to see her look confused. Slaves are not kind, slaves obey, and free women do not show gratitude to slaves. I have made a mistake.

After curtseying for a second time, Tala leaves.

I watch her depart through the ante-room, but the moment the door has closed behind her, I reach down to my new tiny waistline.

I unfasten the robe and after opening it to bare my magnificent breasts, I slip it back off my shoulders so it puddles at my feet.

Taking a deep breath, I step up to the mirror, and see my first full length view of Aurore of the Sardar.

The groan I emit then sounds sexual. The Priest Kings have done their work too well.

My mind is unchanged by the transformation, so as I stare at the naked form the girl in the mirror I appraise her as would a heterosexual male. She takes my breath away. Every red-blooded man on Gor will want to possess this girl.

I know now that I am truly doomed.

My hair is the same deep red as before, almost the colour of red wine. They have lengthened it while I was in the tube, so I can feel it brush against the small of my back. Currently it is loose about my shoulders and still a little damp from my soaking in the tube, so it hangs down in perfectly straight rat’s tails.

The contrast of that dark hair only makes my alabaster skin look even more pale, skin that is utterly perfect. It is tight; a young girl’s skin, with a texture like velvet or silk. I’m so free of moles or blemishes that I could be a marble statue.

Aurore has been crafted a supermodel’s face, with a fine jawline, delicate high cheekbones and a cute nose. My lips are full and pouting, making me look sensuous and waiting to kiss.

I part them slightly, and see white evenly spaced teeth.

Her eyes are the same steel blue that gives me character, but they look larger in relation to my face, and thick curving eyelashes add to the new aura of vulnerable beauty.

If I feel doomed by possessing such a beautiful face, when I look down at my body my heart sinks further.

Her limbs are long and slender – I have ridiculously long legs, legs made to wrap around men or move like liquid performing the erotic dances of slaves.

My slim wrists and ankles look, to Gorean male eyes, meant for binders or bells. Men would say Aurore’s limbs are wasted under the robes of concealment – I have slave limbs.

Turning my knee gracefully I can see that the flesh on my left thigh, my perfect, succulent, lithe left thigh, is clean – I try to imagine that skin marked for life with a brand. Would it spoil the line of flesh or enhance the beauty? I’m not entirely sure, and that uncertainty makes me nervous.

Next, I return to examining my chest, as I’d done in the laboratory.

In my standing position, my breasts look just as pneumatic as they did when I was on the floor.

They’re unusually large in relation to my slender ribcage. Whatever robes she wears, nothing is going to hide that Aurore has a female body shape when she’s stuck carrying these in front her.

Lifting my hands I feel their weight, juggling them to experience the strange sensation of the flesh pulling against my chest. These are real, and they’re mine.

My nipples were utterly inert as a man, but flicking my fingers across Aurore’s chest, there are little electric charges of stimulation. The feeling is not unpleasant.

This is a relief to me, as if my future runs according to plan I will be touched here by the hand of my Master. Last night I performed this same action to Tala. This was how she must have felt.

Aurore’s belly is flat and toned, with the outline of the stomach muscles just discernible. The flesh looks soft, vulnerable, crying out for a man’s caress or the kiss of his lips.

As a man my sides were almost straight from ribcage to pelvis, but my female waist narrows noticeably, accentuating hips that are much wider than my ribcage.

They need to be this width so I can give birth to babies. I am reminded that Aurore is fertile – if a man climaxes in me right this second, he could impregnate me.

I think that all he has to do is stick his cock in my... and my gaze falls to my pussy.

Again, I moan, the initial hot flare of male lust overridden by the fear of what this alien body means for me.

My pubic bone is now contoured to a mound above the labia, in the manner of female genitals. Flowing down from there like the petals of a flower are my nether lips, fleshy and full, curving into the deep central valley of Aurore’s vagina.

Her clitoris, a delicate fold of skin, is slightly visible – not as prominent as with some women.

Experimentally I reach down to caress between those lips, and I experience a rush of stimulation even more intense than when I caressed my nipples. It frightens me – it seems to be connected to every part of my body – the whole of Aurore forming part of the erogenous zone.

That touch is also a moment of revelation.

Finally I understand why free women of Gor can both long-for and repress this sensual side of their natures. My body is an animal that cannot be tamed, betraying my sexuality by responding in ways that cannot be hidden.

How might I react if forced to yield this flesh to someone’s touch?

Swiftly I close that dark vision quickly from my mind. Is this what they call burning with slave heat? If so, then I deserve Rorius’ contempt for me.

I turn to the side to examine that view of Aurore, my eyes naturally following the flow of her spine down to her rump. Such a pleasing curve, my buttock makes.

I twist further to view as much of the rear view as is possible, and see that like all women, Aurore’s wide hips make her buttocks appear more rounded than those of a man.

The rump that the Priest Kings have crafted for her is even more beautifully shaped than most of her contemporaries though – this is a divine backside. In wonder I trace my fingers over the most exquisite flesh I’ve ever touch.

For a third time, I moan in her soft voice.

Turning back to fully face the mirror, I lift my chin boldly, watching the naked female stand proudly before me.

I recall that the sight of a woman’s exposed neck is enough to set Gorean men thinking of collaring her, and I can understand this sentiment. It’s easy to imagine a steel band around the throat of the girl I see before me, when I already know it is her intended destiny.

“I’m going to be a slave,” I say aloud in Aurore’s high voice.

I’ve always accepted the consequences of my mission, but at that moment, before the mirror, I truly understand the inevitability of it. As soon as I am captured as a free woman, I will be stripped, because that is how Gorean men treat female captives. And as soon as I am stripped, they will want me. I might as well walk around carrying a big ‘rape me’ sign.

Back when I was a male, I would have wanted to possess this female I see in the mirror, so they will behave no differently to the way I would. Aurore of the Sardar would be one delightful lay.

Now I am a female, but with a male brain.

Even though this is my own body I’m admiring, the concept of sex with Aurore still floods me with desire. That flare seems to pool in a sense of warmth between my legs, and I understand what I’m feeling. This sensation is female arousal.

I want her. Why can’t I have her?

Deciding abruptly, I move naked in a hurried skip across to the spread of furs that form Aurore’s bed. I lie down.

The most beautiful woman’s body I’ve ever seen is mine to enjoy, I’m aroused, and I intend to enjoy the opportunity.

I visualise images I’ve seen of women masturbating and try to copy their position, lying almost on my front but with one knee drawn up to allow my hand access to my sex.

In this pose I slip my hand down over my belly and rub a finger between my nether lips, grating the knuckle against my clitoris. The wash of pleasure that generates is exquisite and I groan with surprised delight at its intensity.

Oh, this is way better than having a cock. The stimulation reaches right through my body.

My vulva yields easily to my finger tip, and I find the entrance to my body is slick and wet. These are Aurore’s juices, and my juices, flowing for the first time.

I’m tempted to insert more fingers – a part of me already craving a more complete penetration, but I have a premonition this might be unwise. The Priest Kings have created me a brand new body, and my mission for them is to surrender that virgin body into Kurtz’ power.

On Gor they set much store by bloodying a girl on her first opening. My knowledge of female anatomy isn’t certain enough to enter my own body without accidentally breaking the virgin hymen I probably possess, so I must find my pleasure externally.

I rub my fingertips in steady rhythmic circles over the trigger which pushes me up the pleasure curve.

“Take me,” I beg in Gorean, knowing the sound of Aurore’s high voice speaking the words will be erotic to my masculine mind. “Master, please take me.”

My ears ring with the unmistakable sound of a female slave in heat, and it adds fuel to the fire of my desire.

When the climax comes, the pleasure is unbearable and I cry out loudly.

It is only when my head clears and my breath starts to slow down that I realise Tala has re-entered the ante-room, and is kneeling silently by the door.