Secrets of Gor Chapter Nine

 

I was already familiar with the House of Andronicus, of course, not only because of my previous incarceration there, but because in the past it was where I had purchased my First Girl, Brianna. Andronicus is one of the finer Slaver Houses within Vonda, and its stock usually carries an excellent pedigree. I was often an enthusiastic shopper who spoke highly of both the quality of their stock and their after sales support. 

 

From the outside, the House seems grimly fortified, with a high wall surrounding the grounds, and bars set on all the window spaces. The wagon rolled on towards the rear of the property where a wide gate opened into the main courtyard. I began to grow more anxious as I caught sight of the forbidding structure, for I knew it was a place from which escape was completely impossible. 

 

I had to reassure myself that they were simply dropping off the three girls who shared the flat bed wagon with me. I had been recorded as a sold slave, belonging to Mikos of Argentum, and no doubt the next stop after the Slaver House would be to deliver me to the Lady Donna. And yet it was natural for any woman to fear the sight of a grim slaver building when she happened to be naked, collared, and chained to a central bar.

 

What further troubled me was that the distance at the junction to Donna’s house was much shorter than the distance to the House of Andronicus. Surely it would have been simpler to have turned left then, and delivered me, before heading back to this building? I gripped the side of the wagon, watching the heavy double iron gates swing open at the hands of the guards. We rolled in, but had to stop before the equally heavy inner gates. These would only be opened when the outer gates were closed and locked. This is a common security system in most slaver houses, and one I would normally approve of, were circumstances different. The inner and outer gates of the grounds are connected by a fifteen feet wide arched tunnel, twenty feet tall at its highest point. The gates themselves are solid and reinforced by iron bands that slot into the backs of the doors.

 

“Why didn’t you take me to my Mistress?” I asked.

 

“Be quiet slave.” Hersius had no wish to hold a conversation with me it seemed, so I sat back against the rough board of the wagon side and flexed my toes. I was chained in the wagon. I couldn’t escape if I wanted to, and certainly not now that I had passed through the outer gates which were closing shut behind me.

 

“You look worried, Cassie,” said Alika. “Do you know what is going to happen to you?”

 

“No,” I said. “I am to be delivered to the Lady Donna of Dover.”

 

“She is your Mistress?”

 

“No. My master is Mikos of Argentum, but the Lady Donna acts in his stead in Vonda.” I leaned forward and gripped the central steel bar. There was of course no give in it, whatsoever. It was firmly bolted at both ends and in the middle, to the wooden floor of the wagon.  

 

“I suppose you’ll be processed with us,” suggested Alika.

 

“Processed?” 

 

“Records will have to be updated,” suggested Alika. “Your health will probably be checked and the details added to your papers.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Things like that.” Alika gazed at my unbranded thigh. “Maybe it is time to brand you?”

 

“My Master hasn’t decided on a brand for me,” I said quickly. I sat back against the rough boards and drew my knees together.

 

“You don’t know that, Cassie. You can’t know that.”

 

“I do know that.” 

 

The slave, Alika, had no way of knowing of course that the Lady Donna had arranged all of this. It was part of her deception. I was not really a slave. But, yes, no doubt records needed to be updated, and a fresh assessment of me might be made. Donna had said this was to seem realistic. Perhaps she wanted me to endure the humiliation of another assessment? That might be in keeping with the intention to make me feel repulsed by the thought of slavery. I feared another assessment because part of it would involve a careful measurement of my sexual responses. What I especially feared was that this time around my responses might have worsened, and if so that notation would be added to my papers. How could I explain such a thing to Donna? 

 

With the outer gates now closed and locked, the inner gates were opened, permitting the wagon to roll through to the courtyard where the unloading of new stock took place. The courtyard is a large open area surrounded by the various walls and buildings of the house, all of which face into the space. The ground is mostly sand and grit to prevent too much mud when it rains, and of course the area open to the sky is covered extensively with tarn wire, as a slaver house with its beauties on display would be a tempting target for any daring tarnsman wishing to try his chain luck.

 

A man climbed onto the flat bed of the wagon once it came to rest and moved about unlocking our ankle restraints with a single uniform key. I draw my knees up closer to my body once I was free, and gazed sullenly at my captors. The man motioned for us all to climb down, which we then did. I felt the roughness of the sand and grit under my soft, bare feet, and I winced slightly as I walked across this rough ground to an assembly point. Everywhere I looked I could see men belonging to this house; men who would defend it, and who would prevent any thought of escape. These men however seemed largely indifferent to the sight of newly arrived naked women being unloaded. They routinely saw naked women all day and all night as a matter of course and so they gave us only a cursory stare. Slavers tend to be professional around naked women. They treat us simply as prize livestock. I flexed my fingers and understood that escape from such a place was impossible for a girl. Even one as resourceful as myself. 

 

Alika and Anthea were paired off together. They watched as Leorah and myself were taken to one side. It seemed the two sets of girls were to be treated slightly differently. Why were we being separated? Why?

 

“I’m scared,” said Leorah, softly.

 

“Do as they say,” I said. “The outcome will be the same in the end, but it will spare you a savage whipping.” 

 

“I was free this morning,” she cried.

 

“As was I.” I didn’t add that I still was free, and that soon I would be with Donna, and I would tell her this was over. But I understood Leorah’s fear. Even though I knew Donna had set safeguards in place for me, this was still a fearsome place. Logic dictated I was safe, but even so, it is natural to be scared when in the power of slavers. I felt a sense of growing anxiety that I tried to quell, and a rush of adrenaline spurred on by fear. 

 

Be calm, I thought to myself. For you this is just a game. But for Leorah it is only too real.

 

“Will you be my friend?” Leorah asked. “We should help one another.”

 

“I won’t be here that long,” I said. “I’m already sold.”

 

The girl whimpered, knowing very soon she would face the horror of a slave pen, and the subsequent training, without a friend by her side. I wished she wouldn’t cry like that. Her anxiety was rubbing off on me. 

 

“Alika, Anthea, follow me,” said one of the men. No leash was necessary. The girls had nowhere to run to, and any disobedience would be swiftly met with a brutal whipping. With a final glance over her shoulder at us, Alika, and then Anthea, followed the man as he led them to what I assumed was a building that houses the slave pens. 

 

“Why have we been separated?” asked Leorah.

 

“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. hoped that in my case it was because I would now be taken to Donna’s modest town house, but then if it was as simple as that, what was I with Leorah? Leorah hadn’t been sold. She had only been place in the collar today. My sense of unease grew as Hersius beckoned us both. 

 

“Follow me, and keep quiet. I have had enough of your whining today.”

 

Hersius led us towards the other side of the grounds, towards a building from which I saw smoke rising from a chimney. It looked like a Smithy, a forge of some sort. 

 

From my scant knowledge of a slaver house, it looked like the sort of building where girls might be branded. 

 

Leorah of course did not have a brand. But then neither did I.

 

“Master…” I saw Hersius look round angrily as I spoke. “When am I to be taken to my Mistress?”

 

“Be quiet, Cassie. Don’t force me to whip you.”

 

I felt a growing tightness of my chest again as we were walked towards this bleak looking building. As we neared it I could smell coals burning.

 

“Please, Master…” there was now a slight nasal whine to my voice. My palms felt sweaty. My hands were shaking, and yet, this was just my imagination. Nothing bad was going to happen to me. This had all been arranged by Donna. Beside me, Leorah was even more scared. I think she sensed too what this place might be. In response to my appeal, Hersius simply pushed me forward. The closer I got to the grim outhouse, the more sure I was that this was a metal working forge. I grew alarmed as I tasted in the air the unmistakable scent of hot metal.

 

Beside me, Leorah wobbled on her feet, and Hersius reached for her hair, took it in his fist and drew her head down to his waist, leading her that way. He glanced at me and the look made it clear he would do the same to me, or worse, if I lingered outside. 

 

My worst fears were realised as we entered the building and I saw the vertical standing branding racks, the heated forge with several long handled irons in amongst the coals, and a large barrel of rain water for cooling metal down rapidly. There were work tables, rough-hewn, and covered in equipment, mostly shackles and gourds of what I presumed was slave wine – that filthy drink that prevented a slave from being fertile. To one side of the room there were sacks of black coal, and stacked heaps of chopped logs.

 

And there, waiting for us, wearing a leather apron with tool pockets, was a metal smith. His face was red and sweaty from his work beside the furnace. 

 

When I had faced something like this months before, the branding room had been inside the house. 

 

This had to be for Leorah. It couldn’t possibly be for me. But then, why was I here?”

 

And then hope rose within me. Donna simply wanted me to share in the shock that Leorah was experiencing. It was working. Despite everything, I was now terrified; as terrified as any newly captured girl might be. My legs felt like jelly and my whole body shook with fear. I was truly experiencing what it felt like to be a naked girl taken to be branded. 

 

Leorah began crying and, for a moment at least, struggling, before Hersius cuffed her and dragged her towards the first of the branding racks. 

 

“Nadu, by the wall, over there, Cassie,” snapped Hersius, in a voice that brooked no disobedience now. I complied, wanting to be as far away from what was about to happen as I could be. I gratefully knelt in nadu, knowing that it was preferable to facing Leorah’s fate. Donna wanted me to see this. Donna wanted me to share the fear.

 

It was working.

 

This was the brutal reality of slavery. I did not want to be a slave girl. I did not want to be a slave girl! I knew that now! My lesson was well learned, already. I would admit it to her in a few ahn, when I was in her house, drinking Bazi tea with her. Well done, Donna. It had worked. 

 

Leorah cried piteously as her wrists and ankles were secured to the upright branding rack, and then her left thigh was fixed in a clamp that was tightened about her so that the branding site couldn’t move. 

 

“Common kef,” said Hersius. The metal smith nodded and walked towards the furnace. 

 

This could have been me, had Donna not been in charge of my mock enslavement. I breathed heavily, feeling a loss of control, and a rising panic. It didn’t matter that I knew I was exempt. The terror alone was real enough. 

 

Leorah screamed loud enough to shake the roof timbers as the white hot kef brand was plunged into her left thigh and held there for a few ihn. I heard the crackling and searing of flesh as the girl was indelibly and permanently marked by the brand. There was no going back for her now. The brand was permanent. 

 

She carried on screaming of course, long after the heated kef was removed from her flesh. The pain, I am told, is unbearable, and even the bravest girl cries out. I had to remind myself that she was just a slave, and that it was right she should be branded. 

 

My breath hissed rapidly through my nostrils as I watched Leorah removed from the rack, barely able to stand. Hersius guided her to some shackles hanging from the wall next to me, and he placed Leorah on her knees there, fastening her wrists into the shackles so that her hands were lifted above her head, ensuring she was unable to touch the raw brand site. 

 

Hersius then looked down at me, where I knelt in nadu. “Your turn, Cassie,” he said. 

 

The words struck me like a thunderbolt. I began babbling something as he took hold of my hair and lifted me up onto my feet.  

 

“Your Master has chosen your brand at last,” he said. “Common kef. You should have been branded months ago.”

 

“No! This is a mistake! Let me talk to Donna!”

 

He slapped me hard for speaking like that. I was in shock. This was so real! I looked wildly about he forge. Was Donna here? Was she going to step out at the very last moment? Did she want me to feel the raw terror right up to the very moment when the white hot kef brand hovered close to my thigh? Did she want me to scream myself hoarse before she would finally call out, “stop!”

 

She had to be here. She had to be waiting and watching. This was her way of making this all seem real to me. But where was she? I could see no hiding place!

 

I felt brutally nauseous, and tunnel vision set in as I was dragged screaming towards the now vacant rack that had held Leorah. As I drew closer and closer to it, I could see  no evidence of Donna being here. 

 

“You knew this day was coming, Cassie. Slaves should be branded. The law requires it.”

 

“My Master would not want this!”

 

“He does. We have instructions. Don’t give me any trouble, girl, or I will have you whipped afterwards. You will come to love your brand in time. Make this easy and I shall reward you with a sweet candy.”

 

A sweet candy?! I clenched my right fist, unseen, and struck Hersius suddenly with the heel of my clenched fist in a hammer strike to the bridge of his nose. Done correctly that usually breaks the nose, is incredibly painful, and temporarily blinds the target as his eyes immediately well up with tears. I heard Hersius cry out in pain and fall back from my unexpected blow. The Metal Smith was also taken completely by surprise and, by the time he knew to come after me, I was running across the forge, where I seized the insulated handle of a branding iron that had its tip in the furnace coals. I swung the branding iron round as the Smith was almost upon me, and aimed the white hot tip at his eyes. The man was lucky enough to jump to the side before I might have blinded him. 

 

Screaming loudly, I slashed repeatedly and wildly at the Smith with the branding iron, forcing him back just enough that I had a clear route to the door. I ran, racing as if a pack of sleen were hot on my heels. Outside in the courtyard I saw surprised faces as I ran blindly, not knowing where I might go. The inner gate was now closed and locked, but I did see a set of steps that led up onto the wall surrounding the house. The steps emerged into a guard tower that had two men stationed in it, from where they might observe the courtyard. From the guard tower it was possible to step out onto the high wall that overlooked the street below, so I ran for the steps, knowing that the guards above me would be waiting at the top.

 

There they were, and they seemed astonished as they saw a screaming slave hurtling up the steps, brandishing a white hot branding iron. Both men backed away and picked up long staves, turning in the cramped guard room to face me as I hurtled at full speed into the area

 

I had to get to the far door that opened out onto the wall. From there I would jump to the ground, no matter how high the drop might be. The risk of breaking a leg was nothing compared to the prospect of being branded. I slashed at one of the men with my branding iron, but my blow was parried by the stave. His superior strength forced my arm to my side with the parry, and then the second man brought his stave down on the length of the iron, forcing my hand and the weapon it held to the ground. 

 

Before I could swing the iron back towards them, both men bore me down to the floor. My right wrist was immediately pinned and the iron was pulled from my fingers. I screamed and writhed; I tried to bite savagely at a man’s face with my teeth, but the second man took hold of my hair and made that impossible. They turned me onto my belly and drew my wrists behind the small of my back as I struggled. Quickly, they secured my wrists with binding fibre, and then addressed themselves to my ankles as I kicked out with my feet. Finally I was bound, helpless, at their mercy.

 

“We don’t see that very often,” remarked one of the slavers.

 

“Not even with panther girls.” 

 

A thick gag with a padded bit was thrust between my teeth and secured to prevent me biting, and then I was lifted up and thrown over the shoulder of one of the men like some sack of wheat. 

 

By now quite a crowd had gathered in the courtyard, and none of the men there seemed at all amused by what I had done. There was little I could do other than squirm and bite down on the gag as I was carried back to the smithy where the branding rack and the hot irons were waiting for me. 

 

Leorah still hung from the wrist chains, her knees grazing the ground as she endured the horrible pain in her left thigh. From her glazed look I could see she was in a state of shock. 

 

Hersius had blood streaming down his face from what was presumably a broken nose. Good. I had done something worthwhile at least. But nothing now could save me from being dragged to that vertical rack where, first, my wrists were untied and then, taking two men to control me, they were secured either side above my head. The same thing was done with my ankles, freeing, parting and then securing them to the side shackles. Finally, my left thigh was placed in the vice which was then screwed tight, holding my thigh immobile. 

 

“Remove her gag,” said a bloodied Hersius. “I want to hear her scream.”

 

And I did scream, the moment the gag bit was pulled from between my teeth. I screamed loudly, and tried to bite the hand as it quickly withdrew. 

 

“Quite the little bitch,” said the metal worker. “She’ll regret all of this when we lay the whip on her afterwards.”

 

“That she will,” said Hersius. He stepped forward, his left hand holding his nose to staunch the blood. “I will whip you so severely that you will not be able to stand unaided. And then I shall whip you some more.”

 

I spat directly in his face. “Face me with knives!” I screamed. “Free my hands and face me with knives, if you dare!”

 

He punched me in the stomach and watched as I vomited.

 

“You think you are strong? You’re not strong, girl. Just a few hours in the sub-basement and you would be begging for a chance to be found pleasing. Your bravery comes from ignorance of this place, nothing more. I have seen this resistance before in a girl, and I have seen the girl again a day later when there is no more fight left in her.”

 

“Give me a knife and I will kill you,” I gasped, with what little breath I could still muster. 

 

Even then I still clung to the faint hope that this was all a test, and that at the very final moment, just as the white hot tip of the kef brand hovered a finger’s breadth from my thigh, Donna would appear to call a halt to this. She would stand there and she would say to me, “do you now know what it means to be a slave?”

 

A new kef brand was taken up by the metal worker from the forge. Taking his time, he approached me, holding my gaze with his own.

 

I stared wildly about the room. Donna must be here! Donna must be here! Any moment now she would show herself.

 

The kef brand hovered before my thigh. I screamed with new found breath. I shook my head wildly. I strained at my ankle and wrist shackles. 

 

I could not move my left thigh even the width of a piece of straw. 

 

And then the white hot kef brand burned deep into my thigh and I screamed myself raw.