Dunes of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four: Conversations in the Sand

The sun had set in the desert while Reyhan had waited nervously inside the kurdah. It was customary of course that a guest should not be hurried on his way, and so Javad had entertained Hassan until the bandit finally decided it was time to move on. During that time Reyhan had knelt or lain on her side in the white rep cloth canopy, as a slave might. She was naked, for her haik lay discarded on the sand somewhere. 

She had not been told to pick it up when she had been sent back to her kaiila, and so she had not dared to touch it. She suspected it was possibly a test, and that  Hassan would have reacted badly if she had tried. 

“They have gone. You are safe,” said Javad outside the kurdah. Reyhan let her eyes close for a moment as she breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you hear me?” asked Javad as he received no reply.

“I can hear you,” said Reyhan. She moved forwards, the slave bells jingling, as she parted the forward curtain to peer out with her eyes. “How long has it been?”

“Three ahn.” Javad gazed up at the evening sky. “Maybe four. My apologies. It was a delicate situation. Even near the end I remained on guard. Not all bandits can be trusted to take tea in peace. On the one hand I have to display strength and confidence but not to the point where I appear to be making threats. It is a delicate balance to tread. We will camp here tonight. I do not wish to travel while it’s dark and I suspect the bandits will not have ranged far. I have brought you some clothes.”

“Clothes?” Reyhan parted the curtain sufficiently that in the dim light of torches burning in the sand, Javad could just about see the bridge of her nose along with her eyes. 

“Yes, clothes. I packed some.” He thrust a handful of bundled cloth towards her. She reached out with her left arm to take the bundle and drew it quickly inside the kurdah. 

“What are they?”

“Slave garments commonly worn in the desert. Dress yourself, Lady. They are quite modest. For a slave, anyway.”

“I would prefer my haik.”

“You will not wear that any more.  Dress yourself and tell me when you are ready.” 

Reyhan separated the garments. She found a long bordered skirt with scarlet thread at its hem which would swirl as a girl turned round in it. There was a tan jacket of soft kaiila-cloth which came with a hood, and for wearing beneath the jacket there was a cheap, printed blouse of white rep cloth which would cling and contour her figure. Slave girls were commonly dressed like this in the desert, for the sun was too fierce for them to go about naked. There wasn’t much room to move about inside the canopy, but Reyhan managed to wriggle into the skirt and blouse without upsetting the kurdah. She slipped the jacket on over the blouse and lifted the hood over her hair, even though the sun was now down in the sky. There was also a veil – the ridiculous soft, transparent silk that was a slave veil. Reyhan hooked It in place and wondered what she might look like. There was no mirror in the kurdah and so she was incapable of viewing herself. Her breasts were large for this blouse and she felt with her hands how obvious they would be through the thin rep cloth, straining and pushing out the fabric. The jacket, where it fastened directly under the line of the breasts, with two small clasps, only accentuated her curvy figure. The long skirt too, hugged her hips and bottom, drawing attention to them as she moved. Although the garments covered and protected her skin, they also drew attention to the feminine aspects of her body shape. 

“I’ll help you down,” said Javad as he reached out a hand. Reyhan took it and with a soft cry of surprise, she found herself hoisted up and deposited, barefoot, on the sand with a jingle of bells before she might react. 

Javad was staring at her to a degree that made Reyhan feel very uncomfortable.

“What?” she whispered. The light was dim, and so the ridiculous slave veil would be slightly more opaque than normal, but she felt as if the garments were like gift wrapping on her, just inviting a man to peel them away from her ass, hips and breasts. 

“Those garments suit you,” he said. “It’s as if you were born to wear them. I had no idea you were so lovely.”

“Oh.”

“Push back your hood. The sun is down and you will not need it until you go to bed.”

“I prefer to wear the hood up.”

“You have chosen to wear a collar and so long as you do I will treat you as a girl who wears a collar. Pull back the hood.”

“Why did you say what you said earlier?” asked Reyhan as she pulled back her hood, revealing her hair. At first she felt awkward, but then she reasoned to herself that Javad and his men had already seen her hair; that and much more besides. 

“What did I say earlier?”

“When you… when you spoke of my body, and my block price…”

“I thought you should know. It was obvious to me that you measure yourself against some ridiculous foreign standard of beauty from the north. But here in the desert you have a slave perfect body. Men would fight and kill for you. Hassan almost did. It is good that he had already accepted the offer of tea from me before he saw you.”

“Oh?” 

“If he had seen you before, then I do not think we would have drunk tea together. We would have fought over you. He wanted you. He offered to buy you during the evening. I declined a lot of money.”

“How much… money?”

Javad laughed. “Oh no, that is not that sort of question a Lady should ask of herself.”

“I’m hardly a Lady. Not tonight. Perhaps you have mistaken me for my mistress? I’m a slave girl called Sarissa, remember? I wear a collar. And you hold the key.”

“So I do.” Javad smiled. “That makes you my slave tonight. Out here… in the desert.”

“And how do you intend keeping your slave tonight?” asked Reyhan as she stood there with one hand on her left hip. 

“Securely. It appears she is a valuable piece of property. It would be foolish of me to take risks now that I have seen her naked. You will be chained.”

“Oh.” Reyhan blushed under the thin silk veil. “Yes, you have seen me naked…” She gazed down at the stone covered sand. “I thought you might laugh at me. My hips and bottom are…”

“Perfect. I have a slave at the Keep. She is beautiful, with great potential, and I paid fifty-five copper tarsks for her. But I would have paid more for you.”

“How much more?” 

“My slave is white silk still. No doubt ignorant of how to please a man. You of course are not white silk. I assume you are experienced and know how to please a man on his couch?”

“You may assume what you like,” said Reyhan. “I would never answer a question like that, nor would you expect me to.”

“I think you know how to please a man when the lights are dimmed,” said Javad with a smile. “Your companion would not have kept you for so many years otherwise.”

“My free companion. I know how to please my free companion. But you have no interest in free companions, Javad Mohsen. You told me so earlier today. You have eyes only for slaves.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Lucky for me then that you wear a slave collar, Sarissa. For if you did not, I would have to think of you as a free woman, and that would be a poor thing to do.”

“Lucky for you then that I wear a slave collar, I suppose.” Her foot moved slightly, jingling the bells, as if by accident. She glanced down at her foot as if she had forgotten they were there. 

“Do you like your bells, Sarissa?”

“No. Of course not. Will you remove them?”

“They serve a practical purpose out here. In the same way we bell our kaiila, we bell our slaves, so that we can always find them. I wouldn’t want you getting lost out here in the desert, especially at night.”

“There is nowhere for me to go. I would die out there. Why would I run?”

“Some girls can be stupid. They regret their foolishness soon after running, but by then it is sometimes too late for them if they are not belled and their masters cannot find them. So, I think you will remain belled. It is my pleasure that you do so.”

“Is there another reason why you wish me belled?”

“Yes. I find it arousing to hear the bells as you move, slave girl.”

“I thought so. Men are predictable.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to her other foot. 

“We are when it comes to women. Fires have been lit. The night will be cold out there under the clear sky. Precede me.”

“Why? So you can gaze at me as I walk?”

“Yes. You walk well. You walk with a slave-like wiggle.”

“Beast,” said Reyhan softly, but without malice. 

“Will you be an obedient slave tonight?”

“Possibly not.” She looked up at him. “I can be headstrong and single-minded at times. My mistress shares similar qualities, and... OH!” Startled, Reyhan suddenly felt her body turned round and her wrists drawn back behind. With practised swiftness, Javad secured her wrists tightly in binding fibre before releasing her.

“You have bound my wrists!”

“I have. That is because you told me you will not be an obedient slave. I am therefore taking some precautions. Free yourself if you wish.”

Reyhan struggled briefly and then subsided, her eyes wider than before. “I cannot.”

“Interesting,” said Javad. “You will remain bound then.”

“Beast,” she said again, softly.

“So, are you going to be an obedient slave tonight?”

“Possibly not.” She regarded him. “I am wilful and crafty at times. OH!” Now Reyhan felt a leash being snap clipped to her collar ring. She felt a slight tug and stumbled forward a step or two, with the jingle of slave bells, as Javad gathered in the length of the leash. “You have leashed me!”

“So I have. It is a precaution I take with girls I suspect may be wilful and crafty. I will ask you again, slave, will you be obedient tonight?” He drew a short knife and placed it at the draw string of the waist band of Reyhan’s long skirt. With just a single slash, she would be naked from the hips down.

“I will be obedient!” she said quickly. 

“You may just be saying that, because you are wilful and crafty. Perhaps I should simply strip you to be sure?”

“No! I possibly exaggerated my ability to be crafty and wilful. In fact I shall be a very well behaved slave tonight. You will see.”

“Hmm. We shall indeed see.” He sheathed his knife once more. “Walk before me then. But try not to wiggle that ass and hips too much. You do not want me to get too excited, I assure you.”

-------------------------------------

“It would be easier for me to feed if my hands weren’t tied,” said Reyhan as she reluctantly received another small piece of meat from Javad’s hand. He lifted her ridiculous veil and placed the sliver of roasted meat by her lips, waiting for her to take it, which she did. Reyhan was hungry and the meat was freshly cooked. She relished the juices that she licked from her lips with her tongue.  

“Possibly, but I prefer to feed you this way,” said Javad as he sat cross-legged by the fire. 

“This is how you feed your slave?” enquired Reyhan. 

“It will be. When I feed her. At the moment she works in a kettle slave coffle, so she receives food from the first girl. She is not yet ready for my touch. She soon will be. Feeding a girl by hand is a rich, bonding moment between master and slave and gives them time to talk intimately in the evening after the girl’s chores are done for the day. She becomes dependent on him for food and often uses those moments in the day to speak openly and freely about herself. The master learns much about the girl as he feeds her.” 

“You are training her then?”

“Yes. It is important to train a girl who is new to the collar. The mistake that some men make is to think a girl is ‘collar ready’ as soon as she is branded or placed in a collar such as the one you wear. Girls vary, of course. Some adapt to slavery quickly, others take some training to make them realise what they are. Training is important. It is an investment in the future. Sit up straight, Sarissa. Keep your back straight, do not slouch. Free women have that luxury. Slaves do not.”

Reyhan knelt straighter, and in doing so couldn’t help buy push her breasts out more prominently. “I feel like you are training me.”

“Perhaps I am. Remember, you chose to wear a collar. I did not make that decision for you.”

“Beast,” she said again.

“You have the luxury of calling me that. A genuine slave would not do so. I was impressed by your cool head earlier today. Many women would have screamed hysterically, tried to run, fought the bandit, or made a scene when he stripped and assessed you. That might have led to the bandit whipping you or worse and I would have had to intervene. The desert would now be red with blood, both Kavar and Sardaukar. I know it was not pleasant for you, but you saved many lives. It will not be forgotten.”

“Is this you paying me a compliment, Javad Mohsen?” 

“It is. Cherish the compliment. They are as rare as winged sleen from my lips.”

“I was not as confident as I may have seemed. I was terrified when I stood there and the bandit began to assess my body with his hands. But I knew you would protect me if the worst came to pass.”

“You knew for sure? You can’t have known for sure.”

“No. That is true. Nothing is certain in life, Javad Mohsen, but I have placed my trust in you. I do not think I was mistaken in doing so. It was my responsibility to ensure your men did not die needlessly. My temporary dignity is not worth their lives.”

“You are an interesting woman.”

“You should meet my mistress,” said Reyhan with a soft smile. “She is even more interesting. Although we have much in common.”

“She would never take food from a man’s hand while she knelt with her hands tied?” suggested Javad as he placed another piece of meat close to Reyhan’s mouth.

“Never! She is a proud woman! She would starve first.”

“It is good then that slaves do not have that same reservation, otherwise you would be hungry tonight.”

“True.” Reyhan took the piece of meat softly between her teeth. “Terror and stress gives me an appetite.”

“Me too, but not necessarily for food.”

“Tch. My mistress would not be happy if your appetite extended to me.”

“No, I suppose she would not.” Javad poured some ka-la-na into a small cup and held it to Reyhan’s lips. He permitted her to drink a little of it. “I know what you are doing, girl. You are trying to ignore your true feelings by pretending to yourself that you are playing a role, forced upon you by necessity. That is why you rationalise the way you think and feel now as someone other than yourself; as a slave girl called Sarissa. You don’t want to think of yourself as Reyhan while you wear a collar. It is easier to pretend to be someone else. It frees you. It liberates you. It permits you to act the way you do now. You tell yourself it is not proud, free Reyhan of the Shahzads, who wears a collar and slave bells.”

“I have a theory too,” said Reyhan after a while. “I think you are frustrated by the oath of protection you gave me, and you are looking for some behaviour on my part to justify you being able to set that oath aside. You would like me to act as a slave, confess deeply buried slave feelings, and then you might say to yourself, ah, but look – for this woman is a natural slave. Any promise I made to her is void. She secretly desires my touch but cannot bring herself to say so. She wants to be a slave. She will grow to love my collar. It is only right that I put her onto her back in the sand and have her now.”

“Tell me about your mistress.”

“What is there to say? She is a well-bred woman of the Landsraad. She is loyal to her free companion, and she is a woman who cares for the men who obey and protect her House. She is prepared to suffer alongside them at times of peril. She has two beautiful daughters that she loves above all else in this world. She would pay any price to keep them safe.”

“Is she happy?” asked Javad.

“Who can say? What is happiness? Is she fulfilled as a woman should be? In certain ways, perhaps. Her children have given her much happiness. Her companionship is a good one, though many in the Landsraad cannot say the same. She wants for little.”

“But is she happy?”

“I do not know. You would have to ask her. How can I know what goes through her mind at times? She is a free woman.”

“The thoughts of free women are not really so different from the thoughts of slaves,” said Javad. “The difference is merely that free women fight those thoughts, while slaves are free to accept and relish them.”

“You know little of free women,” said Reyhan.

“On the contrary, where do you think slaves come from? They were all free women once.”

“Oh. Well, when you put it like that.” 

“I imagine your mistress has similar thoughts to you, Sarissa.”

“I expect she does. Very similar.”

“And what are your thoughts as you kneel here tonight, with your wrists bound, in a collar, dressed in the desert garb of slave girls?”

“It is probably best I don’t speak of such things. My mistress would not want me to.”

“Your mistress doesn’t hold your leash,” said Javad as he picked the leash up from where it hung between Reyhan’s breasts. “I am curious whether any of this has aroused you in any way?”

“It hasn’t.”

Reyhan and Javad stared at each other for several ihn. 

“It is hard to tell of course, while you are so modestly dressed,” said Javad. “Were you naked, your body would answer for me.”

“Perhaps. But I am not naked, so you will have to take my answer for what it is.”

“It would be easy to strip you and then determine what you are feeling right now?”

“I suppose. But I do not think you would do that.”

“No. You are right. I wouldn’t. Not tonight, anyway. I have promised to bring you back safely to Al-Quada-A-Dhum. Though the temptation is strong…”

“We all must resist temptation at times. Women and men alike.”

“Do you feel anything at all right now? Anything? I will not hold it against you.”

“I feel nothing. Except that my wrists are sore. I am sorry, Javad Mohsen, if that disappoints you.” 

“Have there ever been times when you speculated what it might be like to be a slave? Collared and branded?”

Reyhan said nothing.

“I asked you a question. You wear a collar so you will answer me truthfully.”

“No. No I haven’t.”

“You lie, of course. But I will not press the point. Not now anyway. For some women of course it can prove to be a profound and liberating experience. These are the women who have secretly fantasised about lying at the feet of men. They are natural slaves in their hearts and often resent the fact that they are free.”

“They should be in collars then,” said Reyhan, matter of factly.

“Why yes,” laughed Javad, “so they should. We are in agreement there I think. Sometimes they court the collar, taking risks, placing themselves in positions or situations where they might tempt a man to take advantage of them.”

“What are you saying? Are you suggesting I have done this myself, placing myself in a position where a man might have me?”

“I have no idea of your true motives. I am sure you are a complex woman who is motivated by many conflicting desires.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t think any of us truly knows ourselves.”

“Women have a natural attraction to bondage. Did you know that? Their bodies are fine tuned to respond to it. It is the way women have been bred for thousands of years. Bondage excites women. Wearing a collar excites women. Being a slave excites women.”

“Some women,” said Reyhan.

“Most women. In my experience of course.”

“I suppose you have known a lot of slaves. What you say may be true for slaves.”

“And those slaves were once free women. And so my argument stands.”

“Your argument is flawed. The women who are slaves are probably the women who are pre-disposed to being slaves. Your experiences of women therefore does not include women such as me. Your sample is skewed towards natural slaves.”

“Have you been able to free yourself yet, Sarissa? I can see you’ve been trying quietly, hoping I wouldn’t notice.”

“I continue to be well secured in your knots.”

“I know, that is why I’ve made no attempt to stop your subtle wriggling. How are you finding the knots?”

“As I said, I continue to be securely held.”

“Do you find that exciting in any way?”

“No. Being helpless doesn’t excite me.”

“Hmm. Did you know that I can tell the extent of your breathing by the way the silk veil flutters? It is so very light you see, and the smallest difference in your breathing changes the way it moves.”

Reyhan said nothing.

“Your breasts too move in that tight little blouse when you are breathing more rapidly. Did you know that your breathing changes when, for example, you are fed by hand, or when you find yourself helpless in bondage, despite your best efforts?”

“You are changing the subject,” said Reyhan. “That is often the sign of a man losing his argument.”

“I am offering evidence in support of my argument. But you are right, my experience of women may be skewed in favour of women who secretly desire the collar, because they are the ones who are most likely to find themselves collared. But what does that say about you, as you happen to be wearing a collar?”

“It says I am prepared to do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”

“How did you feel today when you locked the ankle bells on your foot and the collar around your throat?”

“Scared. Nervous. Unsure of myself.”

“And now? Now that you know men have assessed you as having a high block price in the Tahari? Now that you kneel in a collar beside me?”

“What am I worth?”

“Ah, that question again. You really are curious, aren’t you?”

“Just tell me.”

“You want to know what men would pay for you on an auction block? Why?”

“I am curious about many things in life. I am a naturally curious woman. It concerns me. I wish to know.”

“I am not going to tell you. The only way you will ever know is when you are put up for sale.”

“If I am ever put up for sale.”

“As you prefer. You’re flexing your wrists again.”

Reyhan stopped doing so. 

“I didn’t see your wrists move in their bindings, but the flutter of the veil gave you away again with your breathing. You are so very helpless. That excites you, doesn’t it?”

The gossamer veil fluttered again around Reyhan’s soft lips.

“No. It does not.”

“Hmm. You should perhaps get some sleep. You will meet your sister tomorrow and you will need your wits about you. While you wear a collar you will be secured as any other slave would be in my camp.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“You wear a collar. And I now know your value out here in the desert. I will not permit you to be stolen from this camp. Extend your ankles.”

“I don’t want to be chained!”

“Extend your ankles, or you will sleep naked tonight. The choice is yours.”

“I shall extend my ankles.” Reyhan did so. Earlier, Javad had hammered a heavy spike deep into the ground. It was made of iron and was pointed at one end with a large sealed ring at the other through which chains could be threaded. The iron spike could not easily be pulled from the ground without considerable time and effort, neither of which raiders might have in the night. Javad took hold of Reyhan’s left ankle and locked steel around it.

“Oh!” It was a small cry, but was much like the cry a slave might make when she first felt shackles on her limbs. Javad smiled. He wondered whether she truly felt nothing from this state of bondage and assumed slavery. He then threaded the open shackle through the eye hole of the iron spike and snapped that about Reyhan’s other ankle. Both ankles looked lovely in the Gorean steel. He then parted her ankles to the extent the steel links allowed – a mere six inches. “The chains are close together to ensure you cannot be used easily during the night.”

Reyhan squirmed a little now on her side for her wrists were still tightly bound. 

“There are of course other ways to put a female to use, but this at least will give you the confidence to go to sleep.” He turned Reyhan on to her belly and proceeded to untie her wrists. Then, with the binding fibre gone, he turned her onto her back again. He noticed the way the soft silk of the veil seemed to float on her laboured breath. “I have laid out a rug for you to sleep on. I will give you a kaiila blanket too for the night can be cold once the fire has died down. You may wear your hood up for additional warmth.”

“Thank you.” Reyhan moved her ankles a little to the extent that the chain and spike arrangement permitted her to do. The bells jingled again as she moved.

“I will hear you when you do move. I will then know, without opening my eyes, that you lie close by, safe.”

“I am not sure I will get much sleep. The ground is uncomfortable, even with the rug.”

“I can think of a way to tire you out sufficiently for a deep sleep?” suggested Javad.

“No! I will try and sleep regardless! Besides, I wear close chains now.”

“The chains can be removed, “said Javad with a smile.

“I would not want to put you to any trouble,” said Reyhan as she slid away from him to the extent of her ankle chains.

Reyhan lay down on the rug, shifting position so that she could draw her knees up a little against her belly. She pulled the blanket about her body and heard Javad settling down for the night close by. She felt confused, laying out here under the stars in a collar and ankle chains. This was new to her and she didn’t know how to handle some of the emotions she was feeling right now. These feelings terrified her. 

“Until the morning,” said Javad as he rolled over under his own blanket, a mere yard away from the Lady of House Shahzad.