Kiera of Gor (20)

20: I am whipped raw by my mistress and seek solace with my friend, the slave girl, Arianna

I was a very sullen, miserable slave as I sat on the edge of the pier gazing out across the canal waters. Yesterday morning I had heated, poured and scented my mistress's bath water ready for when she left her soft bed. I had bathed and groomed her following our ordeal in the vosk delta, paying particular attention to the scuff marks on her body. Her wrists in particular bore the red lines from the slave bracelets she had worn and they would be a reminder until they faded that she had been locked in close steel.

I prepared her breakfast the way she liked it, with some heated black wine (coffee to anyone from Earth), fresh rolls and a selection of thinly sliced cured hams, cheeses and fruit. She ate little, but took her time nibbling and tasting the food, for free women are taught to eat daintily and with restraint.

It then took me an hour to prepare her hair and dress her in the layers of gowns and robes that she would wear for the day. The process of robing is, as I've described before, complex and nearly impossible for a free woman to attend to on her own. Some of the clasps and hooks situated at the back of the layered garments cannot be reached by the woman herself. Garments such as those are a sign of prestige and wealth for their existence clearly informs a casual observer that the woman in question is rich enough to afford personal body slaves, otherwise she couldn't be wearing such complex robes.

I belted her waist to her preferences, the effect being to subtly emphasise her femininity within the otherwise loose gowns. The heads of men would turn when my mistress glided through cafes and public halls. She had a beautiful figure.

And then after she was satisfactorily bathed, groomed, fed and dressed, my mistress ordered me to crawl to where her favourite whip was hung and bring it to her between my teeth. I was told to strip, my wrists were tied to a whipping ring and I was then beaten hard. I screamed, I cried, I wept, but nothing stopped the blows raining down on my back, my buttocks and my thighs. My mistress has a good memory and she whipped me for moments when I had demonstrated slave heat to a master which I did not even remember.

She whipped me for the times when she had been abused in the vosk delta.

She whipped me because she had been forced to kneel in nadu.

She whipped me because I had seen her breasts and nipples aroused.

She told me that I would be fed to sleen if I ever mentioned to anyone that I had seen her nipples erect, her areola flushed and swollen when the rencer had touched her.

And then she whipped me some more.

She whipped me so much that I was in no state to perform chores and errands that day. So she whipped me again for being a lazy girl.

I hated my mistress now, and yet I was kajira and had no come back. I could be whipped at any time for any infraction, real or imagined. I do not think a man would have whipped me for showing moments of slave heat, but a free woman would.

I wished deeply that I was owned by a man instead of by a free woman. I feared free women very much now. They are horrible to us! Vindictive, petty, spiteful. They resent us and yet need us to do all the work they would otherwise have to do themselves.

I wished I was owned by a man. A man would encourage my sexuality, not punish me for it.

“What happened?” asked Arianna as she knelt down beside me at the side of the pier. She could see that I was close to tears.

“I was beaten yesterday,” I sobbed. “The whipping was so hard that I couldn't do anything all day. It still hurts now.”

“What did you do, Kiera? Were you displeasing?”

“I showed slave heat before men...” I cried and reached out to touch my friend for comfort and support but she politely declined. Arianna was a good friend but she had issues with being touched by other slave girls. She said it made her feel uncomfortable. She always politely asked me not to touch her.

“Slave heat?! You should never do that, Kiera,” she said as she patted the back of my hand lightly by way of reassurance. “You belong to a woman. They will be offended. And anyway, only a natural slave shows slave heat towards men. Are you a natural slave?” She looked disapproving.

“No! It wasn't like that! I mean, she thought I was displaying slave heat. I wasn't actually feeling that way. She misread what she thought were signals. But I was beaten anyway.”

“Poor Kiera,” said Arianna softly. Today, like every day, she wore a very modest slave tunic that draped to just over her knees. It was a little looser than mine and so didn't contour to her body shape the way most clingy slave garments of thin rep cloth do. She looked as dignified as any slave could ever hope to look. “But it is our duty as slaves to not do anything that could even be misread as slave heat. A free woman would be justifiably scandalised and embarrassed if her personal slave acted that way in public. It might reflect badly on her.”

I sniffed back my tears and wiped my face with the back of my hand. “You are always so sympathetic and approving of free women, Arianna,” I said. “Don't they ever act cruel to you?”

“My mistress is a wonderful woman,” said Arianna sweetly. “But then I give her no cause for alarm.”

“And other free women? The ones in the market where we hurry past?'

Arianna looked troubled now. “There are one or two who seemed to dislike me this morning. I do not understand why. I am obviously not a slut. One of them actually struck me with her switch!” Arianna looked very angry about that. “How dare she!” She pressed her hands into tiny fists and gazed at the canal waters in suppressed rage. “Perhaps another slave somewhere had angered her and she mistook me for that slave.”

“Or maybe that's what free women are like,” I suggested. “Spiteful, petty and vindictive. My mistress whipped me for things men did to her that I didn't even have anything to...” my voice trailed away as I realised I was about to speak of her ordeal in the vosk delta.

“Yes?” Arianna looked very interested in what I was about to say.

“It is nothing. I shouldn't speak of such things”

“Oh, now I am curious and excited,” said Arianna as she slid close to me on the edge of the pier so we could converse quietly. “You know I love hearing news of your mistress and the man, Brinn. Do tell?”

“You must promise not to breathe a word of this,” I said quietly.

“I promise,” said Arianna in growing excitement. “Tell me everything!”

“We were in the vosk delta... we were attacked. My mistress was humiliated,” I said.

“But she is all right now? Where is she?”

“She will spend time with a friend today. Some lunch time meal and light sparkling conversation and then after that she has a formal interview of sorts with the man called Samos at his great house. She will be his guest overnight as she doesn't wish to travel the streets of Port Kar past midnight so I won't see her back home until late tomorrow. I say she is lunching with a 'friend' today but I do not think my mistress actually likes her – this Lady Lepida. She doesn't seem to have real friends at all. She often jokes about her dining companions in private to me, criticising the way they dress, or some of the things they say. The woman she is visiting tonight, she mentioned this morning that Lady Lepida's slippers are often slutty because they had too much gold embroidery showing. How can slippers be slutty?”

“Sometimes they are if they are made with the intention of attracting the eye of a man,” said Arianna as if she was an expert on such matters. “A man can often be attracted to the sight of a slipper toe peeking from beneath the full robes of concealment. Some brazen women try to attract attention to those slipper toes with the decorative motifs.”

“Well, it's not like that on Earth...”

“Ah yes, my little barbarian friend,” said Arianna with a smile. “No wonder you were collared. I have heard of your planet and the way women display themselves to men provocatively over there. So... you will be alone in the house tonight? Your mistress won't expect you back any particular time today?”

I nodded. “But I will be expected to be back in the house before the sun sets. I must lock myself inside, sliding the bolts shut and stay there until morning.”

“Of course,” said Arianna as she patted my hand again. “Shall we walk? I can see a guardsman on the far side of the wharf who has noticed us loitering. He may come over soon to inspect our collars and enquire why we seem to be so lazy.”

I nodded and got to my feet. It wouldn't do to attract the attention of a guardsman. While it wasn't illegal for slaves to rest and meet up, it was sometimes frowned upon if it seemed that the slaves had nothing to do but socialise. I picked up my small wicker basket in which I would place the shopping for the day and I followed Arianna's modestly tunicked body as she led the way into the streets radiating out from the canal wharf. We were careful not to walk anywhere near a free woman, for they resented the presence of slave girls and were known to switch us across the thighs if we were deemed too close.

We stopped at a favourite bakery of mine where I knelt beside the open counter and I smiled up sweetly to the master who displayed and sold fresh bread and pastries to passers by.

“Good morning, Kiera,” said Hiastus as he upturned a tray of fresh rolls from the oven onto a display box, noticing me there.

“Good morning handsome master,” I said sweetly. Slaves make an effort to be seen and liked by shop owners and often just happen to pass by each day to greet the masters and remind the masters that they are sweetly curved and beautiful and pleasing to the eye. Sometimes the masters might then feed us tasty snacks. Hiastus was sometimes generous with his fresh rolls to slaves that he enjoyed greeting.

“Any news today?” asked Hiastus, for it was commonly known that slaves heard many things and gossiped between themselves. It is often said that if you wish to know the comings and goings within a city, talk to slave girls and they they will be only too happy to help.

“Men at the docks are speculating that Captain Bosk will return soon from the south, his ships laden with spices and oils. His flagship was seen north east of Teletus, Master. The attacks on Cosian shipping continue south of Asperiche, and rumours continue to circulate of this self proclaimed Ubara of the Black Coast who loots and sinks vessels flying the banners of Cos. Men who have seen her, or who know someone who has seen her, or even someone who knows someone who has seen her say she fights naked at the head of her black warriors and that she has the strength of a fully grown larl, and by her side is a powerful sorcerer who can summon winds and enchant storms to drive ships onto the rocks.” As I said that I saw Hiastus whisper a prayer of protection to the Priest Kings under his breath. “I have also heard that a large grain shipment has been lost at sea and that the warehouses may see a deficit in their reserves soon, pushing up the prices of grain. Master may wish to purchase more than he usually does before grain becomes prohibitively expensive.”

“Good girl,” said the baker. “Perhaps you might neglect to mention this bit of news to the other bakers on this street?”

“I am a very forgetful kajira at times,” I said sweetly. “Particularly if my belly is full,” I happened to add innocently. “It's probably best not to feed me if you want me to remember things, Master...”

Hiastus chuckled, picked up a fresh roll, slit it open with a knife, buttered it thickly and threw it to the ground before me. “No hands,” he said with a smile.

I nodded eagerly and dipped my head down to take the thickly buttered roll between my teeth. There, crouching on the dusty street I spent time eating it without the use of my hands. Gorean bread doesn't keep long, but when it is fresh it is the best bread you will ever taste, and the butter is creamy and delicious. I noticed that Arianna made no attempt to wheedle or beg scraps from master Hiastus. Such a thing seemed to be beneath her, and in any event, I could never remember a day when she seemed particularly hungry. Her mistress must feed her well.

“You're my favourite Master,” I said as I licked the last bits of butter from my lips with my tongue.

“Hmm. I suppose you'll be scrounging around Minoa's fish stall soon? He wouldn't happen to be your favourite master too, by any chance?”

“Oh no, Master, you are definitely my favourite,” I said as I looked up at him with doe eyes. “A slave would consider herself lucky to have a wonderful master such as you.”

“Hmm, it is funny but Minoa mentioned a desirable slut matching your description who says similar things to him at times.”

“Whoever the girl is she must be beautiful then,” I said with a smile.

“No doubt she is,” chuckled Hiastus. “Away with you now, Kiera. I have customers after all!”

“See you tomorrow, handsome Master,” I said as I slipped away before a free woman might arrive to buy bread.

“You could earn a tasty roll from time to time if you made more of an effort to get to know the masters,” I said to Arianna as we walked further down the road.

“I'm not hungry,” said Arianna. She seemed to not have any need to beg for treats, nor did she seem to approve of me demeaning myself in such a way. “And I do not beg men for food.”

“You are a strange slave girl, Arianna,” I laughed softly. My mood had lightened now that I had eaten and I was walking in the warm sunshine, breathing in the fresh salt air. “Look! A tarn!” I pointed up into the sky and shielded my eyes from the sun as a large tarn with a rider on its back flew across the city. Wicker baskets were mounted on either side of the bird and I saw what looked like helpless girls strapped and bound over the saddle rings.

“Where do you think the girls were captured?” asked Arianna. I saw her tug down the hem of her garment again as it exposed a little bit of her knees.

“Who knows? The tarn riders hunt widely these days.”

“Let us keep walking,” said Arianna quickly. “We are being watched by curious men.” She indicated some labourers who had stopped work repairing the street as they saw us. Arianna seemed overly distressed by the thought of men gazing at her naked calves and bare arms and so I followed her down a side street that we knew well. Personally I didn't mind men gazing at me the way they did. But I couldn't tell Arianna that.

“Men are such beasts,” she said as we sheltered in a doorway. “Did you see the way they looked at me?”

“They were looking at your calves and ankles. Your legs are very pretty, Arianna.”

“Oh?” she seemed pleased I had said so. “You truly mean that? I have pretty legs?”

“What I can see of them, yes. Honestly, Arianna, I am surprised your mistress dresses you so modestly.”

“Men seem to like them?”

“I'm sure they do.”

“Well, unfortunately for them they cannot have me.” She seemed happy with that thought.

“Where are we going?” Arianna seemed to be leading me through streets that we didn't normally walk through during our daily errands. I was familiar with this area of Port Kar but rarely had reason to walk through it.

“I want to show you something, Kiera,' said Arianna with excitement. “Do you trust me?”

“Well, yes, you're my friend.” I smiled.

“Then trust me, and follow me. This will be interesting, I think.”

Oh? This was new. Normally Arianna was too busy asking me questions to concern herself with showing me something interesting. In fact, considering she was a kajira she was poorly informed as to the usual places where slave girls tended to venture and hang out together within Port Kar. Usually it was me showing her places where we could walk during the day.

“Will there be a tasty morsel of food at the end of this mysterious journey?” I enquired mischievously.

“It's not that kind of surprise, Kiera,” said Arianna as she motioned towards a low bridge. We strolled across the narrow canal and again I saw a couple of wretched looking she-urts scurrying around by the water's edge for vegetable peelings that had been thrown from a first storey window somewhere. They hissed at us as we approached. Unlike them we were sleek, healthy, well groomed, attractive in our tunics. These two she urts looked thin, hungry with lank uncared for hair. I pitied them. I had a collar. I would be fed each day.

“Slaves!” one of them shouted at us. “Keep walking, slaves!”

The she urts were of course a thousand, no, ten thousand times superior to Arianna and myself. They were still free women, despite their abject poverty and homelessness. They did not have brands or collars. They still thought of themselves as superior to kajirae. And yet, I did not have to root around in a canal for food.

I felt the warm sun on my bare limbs. My mood was improving now that I was free of my mistress for 24 hours, now that I was walking through the city with my friend. I wondered what it was that she wished to show me? Curiosity may not be welcome in a kajira but nevertheless we are the most curious of beasts.

We passed another couple of slaves who seemed to check us out as our paths crossed. They seemed surprised by the way Arianna was dressed and I could sense they continued to look at her as we walked well past them. It occurred to me that Arianna didn't even walk the way slaves commonly did. You might almost say she walked a little like the way a free woman would walk if she was forced to wear a slave tunic. Free women by nature tend to take short controlled steps as they are used to wearing the cumbersome robes of concealment that restrict their movement, particularly above the knee. As I have noted before, it is impossible to run in the robes of concealment and the length of a woman's stride is limited. Slaves on the other hand soon learn to move gracefully with a very feminine motion of the hips and pelvis. It becomes instinctive in us soon after we are tunicked. I saw none of that in the way Arianna walked. I thought it strange, as obviously did the other slaves. The differences work both ways incidentally, making it difficult for a kajira to, say, steal the clothing of a free woman and attempt to pass herself off as one. Guardsmen in particular are adept at noticing, not that a kajira would ordinarily dare try to do such a thing. Impersonating a free woman would be a very serious crime indeed. A kajira might be slain for doing so.

We passed through some of the back streets leading to the northern canals of the city, crossing more bridges in a circuitous route as we were unable to navigate the waterways directly by gondolas.

“Almost there, Kiera,” said Arianna as she pulled me into a doorway by my arm as a couple of men walked by. They were rough looking and smelled strongly of paga. We waited until they headed up the stone steps to the Carstine bridge before continuing on our way.

And then Arianna led me into a residential area built on a small island connected by two bridges. Here the buildings were tall with narrow streets that were cast mostly into shadow during the day. We ducked down a narrow lane and I saw two free women standing close to a doorway, deep in conversation with one another, as we made our way on the right hand side of the lane so as not to disturb them. I wanted to give the free women as much room as possible for fear of intruding. But as I slipped past these beautifully robed figures one of the women cried out in alarm and turned round.

“How dare you!” she cried at me. Stunned, I pressed my back against the right hand side wall as the woman began to accuse me of jostling her. “Clumsy slave! You dare to step on the hem of my gown and scuff me with your foot!”

“Mistress, I did not do that...” I said, bewildered now for there had been a good eighteen inches at least between us as I had tried to quietly pass by.

“You dare to accuse a free woman of lying?!” Now she seemed even more angry, and her friend stepped out from the recessed doorway to stand behind me from the direction I had come.

“No Mistress, of course not,” I said as I automatically dropped to my knees and lowered my head submissively. “There must be some mistake, Mistress, I did not touch you...”

“Filthy little lying slut,” said the woman as she produced her switch. Many free women routinely carry switches as they walk the streets of a city. These long supple lengths of wood, much like a cane, are easily applied as devices of correction and punishment and routinely used by free women on slave girls whether we deserve them or not. They are quick to use and merciless. “You clumsy girl!”

“I am sorry, Mistress. Please forgive me. Please do not beat me!” There was no point in repeating the truth, that I never laid a foot on her gown, let alone jostled her, for a free woman is always right, even when she is wrong.

“So you admit your offence now?” The woman loomed above me as her friend stood behind my body. Somewhere, presumably trying hard not to offend the women herself, Arianna would be watching, helpless to interfere.

“I suppose so, Mistress. But it was not deliberate. Please forgive me.” I knelt in the alleyway, afraid to say anything that might infuriate this woman more.

“Cross your wrists, slut!” ordered the free woman.

“Mistress?” I was a bit confused by this order but I did as she said, crossing my wrists behind my body. I felt the other free woman lock slave bracelets around my wrists. I didn't understand why this might be necessary if they were just going to switch me.

But then I realised why my wrists had been secured, because the woman behind me suddenly took hold of my hair with one hand and placed a chemical soaked piece of cloth over my mouth and nose with the other. I had heard of this chemical, capture scent, which when soaked in a rag is potent enough to render a woman unconscious within five seconds. I struggled wildly, but with my wrists bound couldn't prevent the free woman from holding the rag firmly in place.

As my vision began to blur I saw my friend, Arianna, standing next to the free women, gazing down at me. “Don't struggle, Kiera. You'll only hurt those pretty wrists of yours. It's time to go to sleep and dream of a better place.”

I lost consciousness and faded to the black.