The Slave World (7)

(7): Kajira Kandi

A significant part of my working day is basically research on the Internet. That means working on the iMac in my office or, if I feel like getting out and about, from a laptop in a café somewhere. I sometimes like to think that all the other people clicking away on their laptops at Costa Coffee are other Private Investigators keen to escape their equally cramped dingy offices, but that's just me.

It’s painstaking and tedious work as Google is a jungle of poorly indexed websites, most of which steer you down dead ends. You’re often fishing for snatches of conversations and obscure references that may lead you closer to what you’re looking for. Your target is rarely as considerate as to set up a web page with everything you need to know about him. Rather you fish around to see what other people might say.

I was surprised then when I found references to the address on Hampstead Lane within half an hour of digging plus a floor-plan from an old estate agent page. A blog mentioned it in conjunction with something called ‘The House of Three Moons’. Gor has three moons in the books so that rang bells for me. The blog entry was from someone who called herself Kajira Kandi and she seemed very excited that her Master had been invited to attend a night at the House of Three Moons. I read further and discovered that Kajira Kandi was some sort of lifestyle Gorean who alongside her ‘master’ structured their lives along Gorean basics here in London.

I suspected this meant she had to do all the housework while wearing Victoria's Secret underwear.

Her blog was painful to read. I mean she actually wrote poems...

Poems are bad enough at the best of times, but these were flowery poems about the inner slave in all of us and how her slave belly made her feel. She also posted those inspirational pictures of landscapes and waterfalls or pictures of squirrels holding large feathers with captions like ‘be true to yourself not true to the expectations of others.’

I sighed and drank some coffee as I let my fingers scroll further down her ‘Silken Obedience' blog page. I stopped at a photo she had posted of herself. She wore a brief tunic style dress that was obviously home sewn and she kneeled in it gazing up at the side profile of a man who had his head out of shot. He wore a dark suit and held a whip that in the next picture she kissed. Kajira Kandi was in her late twenties, attractive, with straight dark hair and a reasonable figure that was a lot more curvaceous than mine. Around her throat was a metal collar with a steel ring at the front.

The post about having been admitted to the House of Three Moons was dated two weeks ago. Since then there was another post offering coy references to how Gorean she now felt and that her master has redoubled his desire to live as a Gorean male. She also referenced that the House of Three Moons was for serious Goreans only.

And then there was the most recent post about how much she was looking forward to the new Disney film!

I noticed that each of her posts ended with the same phrase: ‘posted with my Master’s approval’.

I searched under her name and found her frequently talking on Gorean message boards, particularly ones for slaves, offering sage advice on serving positions and being true to your inner slave belly. Like many of the online Goreans she used a lower case letter for her name. This seemed to be a convention online though I’d never noticed it in the book I read.

Well, Kajira Kandi seemed my way in to this House of Three Moons. I set up a new blogger profile as Kajira Caitlin and composed a note to her that I sent as a Blogger comment.

“Wow, your page is so informative,” I wrote as I nibbled at the complimentary biscuit that came with the coffee. “I’m fairly new to the Gorean lifestyle but reading your posts I just know there is so much to look forward to in my journey. You sound so knowledgeable. I wish I knew people like you. Hugs to my beautiful chain sister.”

I waited for a while and a reply appeared on the blog comments from Kajira Kandi.

“Hi Caitlin,” she wrote. “Welcome to the wonderful world of Gor! Have you found your slave belly yet? Do you have a Master?”

“Early days, Kandi,” I wrote back, “but yes, I have a wonderful Master who I want to serve with all my heart. We’re serious about this, but are finding it hard to learn more. There are so many time wasters on the Internet. Hard to find true Goreans like you and your master.”

Twenty minutes later there was another post from Kandi.

“PM me and I may be able to help.”

Gotcha, I thought as I composed a PM. “Tal, Kandi, it’s Caitlin. Thank you so much. You’re so inspiring. I so want to find my slave belly.”

The reply came back fairly quickly. “Can you send me a photo, Caitlin? I need to know you’re genuine and not some casual attention seeker. A selfie with a newspaper with today’s date will do. Sorry to be so cautious but this is the real thing. You'll understand if you pass the test.”

Hmm, this sounded promising. I grabbed a copy of the Guardian from one of the café tables and took a quick selfie holding it next to my head. I tried to look as demure as I could. Then I PMd it to her.

“You’re a very pretty Kajira,” came the reply. “Your Master must be very proud of you. Where do you live?”

“London,” I typed.

The reply came back even quicker than before. “London? That’s great! You're local to me then. In fact if you’re London based there’s a place here for people true to the lifestyle that you will simply love. It’s very picky and you have to be vetted but I might be able to swing things for you. Thing is, they only deal directly with the master, not with the kajira. Can you get your master to PM me and I’ll pass his contact details on. I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

“This sounds so exciting,” I typed back. “Can’t believe how lucky I am today!”

I set up a new hotmail address as Achilles759332 that would be the mail account for my ‘master’. I’d mail Kandi from that account this evening. Any rush to do so now might seems suspicious and contrived. This was all going incredibly well. If only all my cases could click into place like this one.

I ordered a fresh coffee and spent a further hour and a half at Costa typing up my case notes and itemising my client invoice to date. I still had the bookshop to investigate of course but I’d leave that for tomorrow or the day after depending on how my conversation with Kandi went. I did however use one of my dummy e-mail accounts to mail the bookseller to enquire whether he had any Gor novels in stock. I used the e-mail address on the shop’s rather minimalist Internet presence. These days bookshops mostly sold through Abebooks if they had collectable editions and so I pretended I had seen some of his fantasy and sci-fi listings there.

I took the tube from Covent Garden down to Embankment and emerged overlooking the Thames. The rain from last night continued to drizzle washing the streets of London with a pale grey light. I stopped at a kiosk to buy some chocolate and a copy of the Spectator to read later.

“Good day for ducks,” said the Indian man who manned the kiosk.

“I doubt it, they're all hiding under the bridges.”

By the time I reached my small flat it was close to dinner time. I walked up the six flights of stairs to the floor of my council flat and unlocked the latch to enter my narrow hallway. From somewhere else in the tower block I heard the distant sound of hip-hop music, or rather just the incessant beat. My flat consisted of a 1980s decorated kitchen/dining area with a permanent lingering smell of fried food, a small lounge, a reasonable size bedroom which was mine and a tiny bedroom which I sub let somewhat illegally to a Polish girl called Kassa. Kassa worked nights and tended to sleep during the day so we hardly saw one another, but it did mean I had to be reasonably quiet during day time hours. I dropped my keys onto the kitchen worktop, flicked through the envelopes that Kassa had collected from the door mat (mostly bills and a postcard from Mimi in Ontario) and unpacked my laptop from the shoulder bag.

I set the laptop up in the kitchen as I set about preparing dinner. Later, after a satisfying stir fry of chorizo sausage, butter beans, sliced peppers, garlic and pasta dressed in basil I logged on to the new e-mail account and mailed Kandi in the guise of master Achilles.

“Tal Kajira,” I thought that was a good opening line. “Caitlin passed me your messages. This is my e-mail address. Would be interested to hear more about lifestyle Gor in London.”

I began to wash up as I waited for the ping that signalled a reply. When it came I was impressed. Kandi explained there was a house in the London area that was a place where true Goreans met in private. Only couples were accepted, and the Kajira in question had to meet acceptable physical standards of beauty. She was pleased to say that the House of Three Moons had viewed Caitlin’s photo and found her, quote, acceptable slave material, unquote. I smiled at that. But again there was a note of caution stressing that they did not tolerate time wasters or people who didn’t wish the full time Gorean lifestyle. If we wished to know more, and to be invited to the house to learn the ways of Gor, Master Achilles should phone a number supplied and ask to speak to master Andromedus.

It was clear now that I’d gone about as far as I could by e-mail. Obviously if these people were serious they would want to speak in person or by phone. The trouble was I couldn’t exactly impersonate a man outside of the Internet.

I picked up my phone and dialled Adam. The phone rang five times before Adam answered.

“Cat? What’s up?” I could hear a shower running in the background.

“Adam, listen, the case I’m working on. I’m getting somewhere.”

“Great. You need extra boots on the ground for surveillance?”

“Funnily enough, no, I’m doing exceptionally well on that front. Honestly, these men are either extremely over confident or they’ve just never considered the possibility that someone might tail them. It’s like following a child.”

“Uh-huh. So what do you need?”

“I’ve traced them to a large property in Hampstead Lane. Pretty expensive house with railings, electronic security and some grounds. I’m guessing fifty million to buy. Quite the eye opener. Seems they run some sort of Gor lifestyle club there. I thought I’d check it out.”

“How are you going to do that, Cat?”

“I’ve got a foot in the door. Posed as a girl very interested in the Gorean lifestyle. Looks like I may have an invite to the house in a few days. Thing is, they only deal with couples – established master and slave relationships who want to take things further. That kind of thing. So, and I don’t want you to think all your Christmases have come at once, but… have you ever fantasised about being my master?”

I think I heard Adam’s jaw drop on the other end of the line.

“Thought as much,” I said with a grin that he couldn't see.