Kiera of Gor (11)

11: The journey to Port Kar. My mistress and I lie awake in the darkness

“This really is intolerable, Kiera. Has he no sense of decency?”

The Mistress was referring to the desperate deep throated cries of sexual arousal emanating from the left hand side of our tent. The girl in question was a caravan owned black slave girl that Brinn had paid a copper tarsk to use tonight. A copper tarsk is rather more than a girl could be had for in a paga tavern, but out here in the wilds there are no paga taverns and wily caravan masters can therefore charge correspondingly more. Much the same occurs on Earth where prices for food and drink on board airplanes or at concerts and theatres is at a premium.

“How long has this been going on for?” asked Marissa as she turned in her bed. It was a collapsible frame of thick bamboo poles with an arrangement of wooden slats that could be assembled each night and disassembled each morning. A roll of padded bedding and thick furs were spread over the parallel slats and cotton throws provided night time cover for my Mistress who slept in a slip like under garment in semi-darkness, for she insisted that a soft lamp remain lit throughout the night.

“Two ahn, Mistress, possibly more.” We had no clocks or watches but I have a good sense for the passage of time so I think I was probably accurate enough. An ahn is a Gorean hour and equates to one hour and twelve minutes of equivalent Earth time.

“Two ahn? How long does it take Brinn to satisfy himself? Can’t he just enter her and get it over with quickly? The pitiful moaning and squealing! It seems to never end!”

“I don’t think the master particularly wishes to hurry things with the slave, Mistress.” I lay on the grass on the floor of the tent. A steel chain had been fitted to my collar ring and the far end was in turn fastened to the bed on which my mistress lay. I slept naked so that I didn’t get grass stains on my white tunic. Luckily the night was warm, maybe eighteen to twenty degrees and I had a thin blanket as a cover if I needed it.

“But still, he is using her in my tent!”

The tent was a large one with a central wooden pole and each day when the caravan made camp for the night Brinn and I would assemble it while the Mistress supervised from a low table to the side in the late afternoon shade. She would occasionally help by pointing out that we were positioning it too close to another tent, or perhaps too far from the centre of the camp (free women prefer to camp close to the centre of the wagons for added security. This makes sense if you think about it for tents further out on the perimeter might be subject to silent raids by outlaws who might cut a tent open, slip inside and awaken a women with a hand about her mouth and a knife at her throat).

The tent was divided into separate private compartments with the hanging of interior sheets made of canvas. The central area was directly accessible from the front of the tent. The compartments to the left and right were sleeping areas, one for the master and one for my mistress. This placed a degree of modest distance between the sleeping areas while at the same time meaning that Brinn was close to hand in case of trouble. Hanging sheets of canvas however have little to no acoustic sound dampening abilities and tonight we were able to hear every gasp, moan and sigh coming from the black slave girl whose use he had rented.

“Has he no regard for my dignity? I have to listen to this!” Marissa turned again in her covering, feeling perhaps that Brinn should have taken his pleasure in the spacious tent set up by the caravan master for just such a purpose. It was however slightly more expensive than using your own tent to fur with a slave.

The girl’s cries grew in intensity as the master seemed to drive her closer to orgasm, but then as before he must have chosen to deny her that orgasm as her cries became more frustrated, more needy.

“Can’t he just finish?” said Marisa. “It shouldn't take this long!”

I don’t think my mistress understood any better than I did how long it might take a man like Brinn to satisfy himself fully. We were both white silk, that is to say virgins when it came to actual physical intercourse. I marvelled at the thought of what the slave must be feeling and experiencing these past two and a half hours.

“I don’t understand what men see in slaves,” said Marissa as she now resigned herself to being fully awake. She rose up in the fur strewn bed and rubbed her eyes. I thought that was a particularly stupid thing for my mistress to say, and she was after all someone capable of saying many stupid things in the time she owned me. It was perfectly obvious to me what Brinn saw in the caravan slave called Karina. I was a little jealous of her to be honest. I would never admit it to anyone, but while I lay in the grass chained by my collar to a slave ring secured to the makeshift bed, I began to fantasise what it might be like to be in the furs with Brinn myself. The way he was using her, and the loud cries I heard suggested it might be an interesting experience. Of course I would prefer the choice to be my own. It wasn't right that a man should simply choose to have me. No, I should be the one to choose. I would prefer it if Brinn asked my permission. I might then tease him for a while until he grew desperate to be with me and then, if I was in the mood I might permit him to have me, as the saying on Gor goes.

But Brinn is Gorean and I suspect he would not ask my permission. He would simply use me as he saw fit. Or rather he would do so if I hadn’t been the privately owned property of the Lady Marissa. That it seemed made a difference to him. Normally he might have asked for my use but he knew Marissa would say no, so there was no point. I was to remain white silk so as not to embarrass my mistress. It was frustrating I had to admit. Gor is a highly charged sexual culture and I was expected to remain chaste.

Was it my imagination or was I now more aware of my sexuality since that day I had been dragged from the silver ship onto the meadow grass of Gor? It seemed so. The way I was forced to dress, in the brief snug thin fabric of the slave tunic made me feel sexually vulnerable. The most shocking thing I had to acclimatise to as a slave was the lack of any undergarments. Beneath this flimsy piece of fabric I was open to the world. I wore no panties and it made me aware at all times how exposed I was. It was not so much a problem when I was confined to the apartment building owned by my Mistress, but when I was sent out onto the streets to run errands, then I was in contact with Gorean men and women. Being in the presence of the men made me feel strange. I had this burning desire at times to kneel at their feet but knew I had to hold myself back and banish such thoughts from my mind. When I saw other slaves, often more briefly attired than myself, I resented their freedom to flirt with the men – a freedom denied me by my mistress. I was a woman! It was natural for me to feel comfortable in male company. I desired male company. And the more I was denied it by the edicts of my mistress, the more I longed to be in the presence of a man. But I was afraid that if I did attempt to draw attention to myself, word might get back to my mistress and I feared what she might do to me. It was almost as if she resented the freedom a slave has to be intimate with men. It was almost as if she was deeply jealous of the way men looked at us. But of course that had to be nothing more than my imagination. I knew now that the Gorean free woman is not like the women of earth. They are chaste, respectable, dignified, meek and possibly even frigid. They would be offended if a man suggested some form of intimacy with them. The proper path a man should take would be to court them with decency, working their way to a relationship where for example the holding of hands might be permissible, followed sometime later by perhaps sitting on a bench in a garden, arms around one another speaking soft words of poetry. Eventually the woman might be bold enough, resolute enough to allow the man a glimpse of her bare face, to look upon her lips. Soft delicate kisses might follow. And that would be as far as polite society would allow until the man and woman chose to join together in free companionship.

So why would Lady Marissa be jealous of a slave? She had everything society could offer – reputation, prestige, authority, wealth, beautiful clothes, dignity. And what did I have? Nothing more than a collar, a brand and a slave tunic. That and the attention of virile masters as I walked the dusty streets of Corcyrus.

No, I had to be wrong. My mistress could not possibly be jealous of slaves. It was a ridiculous thought.

“Kiera, go to the other side of the tent and tell Brinn that his slut must be quiet. I am uncomfortable hearing her moaning. He can surely gag her at least?”

“It is possible he has uses in mind for her mouth, Mistress,” I said softly and demurely.

“Oh!” In the dim lantern light within the tent I saw Marissa’s eyes grow wide at the thought. She seemed distressed at the suggestion and she placed a soft hand on her bosom as she considered the possibilities.

“Do you think... truly think…”

“He is a man, Mistress. I am white silk but I know what men want.”

My mistress looked very different now. Clad only in her small slip-like under garment there seemed to be none of the lofty prestige she possessed when she wore her many layers of robes, gowns and veils. Her hair was down now, just like a slave’s hair might be, and that too differed immensely from the complex way that Corcyrian women in particular wore their hair swept up in elaborate designs. Now in the soft glow of the lamp light she seemed to be nothing more than a woman. In fact, the length of the slip-like under garment was the same as that of my slave tunic. And like my tunic it was close fitting and white.

There was a crucial difference of course. It was simply an under garment whereas my tunic was all I wore. Over her slip she would wear three other garments, the outer two being extremely modest and full body covering.

My mistress has beautiful legs and arms when she isn’t clad in the heavy gowns. She would I think be a beautiful slave girl. This is just speculation on my part of course. It is possible that the masters might hold her to differing more exacting standards.

The sounds emanating from the other side of the tent suddenly grew more intense as if Brinn was building the slave back up to her peak once more. The cries and gasps came quickly now in rapid succession. I saw the mistress wince as she heard the pleading and the intensity of the girl’s responses.

“I can’t be expected to put up with this,” said Marissa. “You have to do something, Kiera.”

Me? What could I do? As if a master would do anything other than beat me for my impertinence if I intruded and asked him to stop. Was my Mistress mad?

“The master is hardly going to listen to me, Mistress I’m a slave.”

“Well I can’t go in there,” said Marissa as she sat on the edge of the bed, her knees pressed tightly together.

“That is probably wise, Mistress. It would be like interrupting a sleen when it is feeding.”

Never interrupt a sleen when it is feeding for it might then decide to add you to its food supply.

“He should have told me he was going to do this! I would have had him find another tent.”

“But then he would not be able to stand guard over you, Mistress.” It is not safe for a free woman to camp in the Gorean wilds even with other tents around her. Anything might happen in the early hours of morning when everyone is asleep. I do not think my mistress would take the risk of sending Brinn far away at night.

“Perhaps if I stand on the other side of the partition and call into his bedroom?” suggested Marissa.

“He is not going to be pleased, Mistress.” That much was obvious.

“Oh?”

“You will be interrupting a man in the throes of intercourse. Do you think that wise, Mistress?” I could guess how Brinn might react.

“All he can do is say no,” said Marissa quietly.

“Oh, I think he can do a lot more than that, Mistress.” Was she foolish? Did the free women of Gor really think they could dictate to a man when and where he might take his pleasure with slaves? How foolish she seemed. But then I suppose she had never been on the receiving end of their lustful stares the way I often was. I knew only too well what they wanted from me.

And yet the thought of that excited me. I blushed in the lamp light, thinking of a man like Brinn having me in his furs. Yes, it was a stimulating thought.

Marissa sat back down on the edge of her bed. She no longer had the look of a woman who was about to stand on the other side of the partition and demand that Brinn stopped what he was doing. “What do you mean, Kiera?”

“Mistress would not want me to say,” I said in a calculated move that meant she’d press the issue.

“Tell me.”

“As mistress commands. It occurs to me that he might then be angry with you. He might decide you are being troublesome, Mistress.”

“Troublesome!”

“Yes, Mistress. He may emerge from the other side of the partition. He may put you over his shoulder and carry you back into your bed chamber. He may then decide to ensure you would not be troublesome again by binding you to your bed and gagging you, Mistress. He would then retire back to his part of the tent and continue to take his pleasure with the caravan slave. I think it is what men might do.”

I could see by the way that Marissa's breathing quickened that my words had the desired effect on her.

“Oh!” Her startled voice was somewhat higher in tone than before. “He would dare do that?”

“I think so, Mistress. He seems the type. You would then not be able to disturb him further. In the morning of course he would free you from your restraints.”

“He would leave me in his binding fibre all night? I would be helpless and bound?”

“I fear so, Mistress. You would not of course able to free yourself. Binding fibre will secure a free woman as well as it does a slave.”

“Obviously. There is no need to belabour the point.” I noticed how she glanced at her slim wrists, perhaps imagining them bound together to the headboard. “I would simply order you to free me!”

“The gag, Mistress…” I said politely, pointing out the obvious. “And I suspect my wrists too would be bound to ensure I could not aid you.”

“Oh...”

Marissa folded her arms and fidgeted, looking anxious. “He would not dare do something like that in Corcyrus!”

“Of course not Mistress. “ I paused for a moment before adding, “we are in the wilds of Gor now though, Mistress. Far from Corcyrus.”

I smiled softly as I saw Marissa scramble back into her bed and wrap the covering around her body. She knelt there in tower, gazing into the dim light towards where the sounds of the excited black slave girl grew even louder. “Beast!” she said, but quietly so as not to disturb Brinn.

“It is inconvenient for you, Mistress,” I said in sympathy. “I can see that.”

“He has no regards for my feelings!”

“It is probably not at the forefront of his mind right now, Mistress,” I agreed.

It’s worth mentioning perhaps that Marissa’s bed occupied the centre of her compartment within the tent. This was standard practice for women when they travelled, for if the bed was close to one side of the canvas, and if that canvas was silently cut open with a knife it might be possible to quickly seize the woman and pull her out onto the grass without too much trouble. On the other hand if the bed was in the centre, a would be assailant would have to take the risk of moving through the gap in the canvas across a space that might be littered with objects that he couldn’t see in the dark. Sometimes noise making objects might be deliberately left around the bed to hinder any such abduction. It meant that here in this tent Marissa’s bed acted like an island of safety. I think we've all experienced those times as a child when we were under the illusion late at night that we would be safe if we simply swaddled ourselves in sheets or a duvet. As a young girl on Earth I used to fear that if my feet were exposed outside of the duvet a bedside monster might seize them. But in my bed, hidden under the coverings, I felt the bogeyman wouldn’t be able to get to me.

We both heard the girl scream in a way that could only mean one thing – she had been brought to a slave orgasm. Marisa knelt in her bed clutching her covering about her shoulders as she heard the girl cry out piteously, unable to help herself. Who knows what thoughts were running through my Mistress’s head right now. The screams of pleasure lasted maybe ten seconds before they began to grow quieter, becoming now little squeals of joy as the softer raptures over took her body.

“At last! Thank the Priest Kings! That’s it, isn’t it, Kiera?”

“I suppose so, Mistress.” The sounds of post orgasm were growing quieter now. “I don’t have any experience myself, but I think they’ll go to sleep soon.”

“About time too. I shall have words with Brinn in the morning. Possibly during breakfast. We will not be having a repeat of that every night!”

“I understand, Mistress.”

I watched as Marissa lay back down on the bed, resting on her right side with her head propped up by one elbow. The covering lay half on her, half off her. “Are you comfortable on the grass?”

“Reasonably so, Mistress,” I said, surprised by a note of interest in my well being. As I moved I heard the soft jingle of chain links. She smiled when she heard that sound.

“We will reach the port of Brundisium in a few days and then we shall travel by round ship. You will be pleased to know Kiera that you will travel with me and not as cargo.

I was very pleased to hear that for slaves usually travel as cargo in cramped cages in the hold and they routinely have their hair shaved to prevent them contracting lice. I did not want to travel in a small cage and have my hair shaved.

“Kiera is very grateful, Mistress.”

“And so you should be. It is more than you deserve.”

I was beginning to realise that my mistress wasn't simply the merchant lady that she claimed to be. Her mercantile business was genuine of course and broadly successful, and it was true that she held an important position on her caste council, but she seemed to have other interests, interests that centred around a man of Port Kar called Samos. It seemed that she worked for him in some capacity as an agent, as did the warrior Brinn. I had only caught snatches of conversation but it was clear to me now that Marissa's true role seemed to be in the realms of espionage as I understood the term. She collected and sifted intelligence and fed reports back to this Samos who in turn fed it back to his masters. And occasionally when circumstances dictated it, my mistress would undertake field work on behalf of this man. We were travelling to Port Kar because there was some sort of conspiracy growing in the city and Samos needed to know who was behind it.

Travelling across Gor is perilous at the best of times, even for seasoned warriors such as Brinn, and so my mistress had booked us passage with a large caravan travelling from Corcyrus to the port of Brundisium. Brinn and my mistress had discussed the journey over an unfurled map and it had been my first sight of the land mass that makes up central Gor. Brundisium sits on the western coast, north of Samnium in the coastal region known as the Tamber gulf.

I also now understood that the mistress had purchased me, a barbarian new to Gor with just a basic understanding of the language, because I was a girl who knew no one on this world; a slave with no possible loyalties to any faction or city. I was unlikely to be a spy and I was unlikely to betray her cause. I surmised from some passing comments that she routinely sold her slaves and bought new ones, often ignorant barbarians for the reasons I have explained. How long I might expect to remain in her collar was a matter for speculation as she would not be drawn on the matter.

“I will be booking an apartment when we reach Port Kar. It is a city that enjoyed a fearsome reputation in the past, but in recent decades has become a little more civilised. Even so, you will not walk the streets alone as you do in Corcyrus. You will accompany me when I go out, and of course I will be accompanied by Brinn at all times.”

From snatches of conversation I had overheard, I gathered that Port Kar resembled Venice in that it was built on the canals of a lagoon at the coastal outlet of the Vosk delta. I also understood that it was the home to a number of pirate captains who plundered the waters of the Tamber gulf and beyond. There would be some risk in our passage from Brundisium to Port Kar, but risks abound on Gor and only a fool thinks otherwise.

“I imagine you are curious as to why Brinn and I are travelling to Port Kar? You will have overheard us speaking and you may understand that I am more than just a merchant Lady.”

“I am curious, Mistress, yes.”

“Well, curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. You could be whipped for it.”

“Of course, Mistress. Forgive me.”

“But I suppose you will continue to overhear us and you will continue to speculate. Rest assured that what Brinn and I do is for the good of Gor. We serve masters who have our best intentions at heart.”

“That is good to know, Mistress.” Though frankly doesn't every faction always say and believe that? It is simply a matter of perspective and loyalty to a cause or flag.

“You will tell me if anyone approaches you in Port Kar. I want to know if strangers attempt to question you on anything.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“I suppose we had better try to get some sleep now, though the air in this tent is so close and stuffy.” Marissa snuggled down under her covering and rested her head on some cushions. “I will be glad when we have a sea breeze to freshen the evenings. Ensure my gowns are brushed and ready for me before I rise. I think I shall wear pink tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mistress. Sleep well.” I curled up on the grass under my thin blanket and as I tended to do these days, I touched the links of the chain that descended from my collar ring. It was sometimes hard to conceive that I was now a chained slave girl while across the gulf of space my world, my country, my city carried on much as before without me. I felt drowsy but comfortable in my chain and collar arrangement. It was beginning to seem normal for me that I would be shackled each night.

Worryingly normal in fact.

Less than ten minutes passed and then we heard the sound of the black slave girl squealing at the other end of the tent as Brinn began to arouse her again.

Marissa sat up in her bed, furious; the cotton covering sliding away from her semi-naked body in the soft lamp light. “Not AGAIN! This is INTOLERABLE!”